The Sign and the Druid
Cloudspeak - December 31, 2005
I was making my way through Thunder Bluff to deliver a message to
the elders when I saw her standing among a crowd gathered in the
square. Her fur was as white as snow and she wore simple clothes
of red and purple. Delicate and lovely horns protruded from above
her ears. The crowd was gathered around a speaking druid, Hidua I
think they called him, but I heard little of what he said as my
attention was on the female. That’s when I noticed the hoof.
Dark, with purplish fur. A satyr’s hoof. Only one druid I had
ever heard of had such a hoof.
Snowfeather.
Curious I sat on a log bench and tried to meld into the crowd.
But the speakers words were lost on me as divided my attention
between him and white druid. Occasionally, out of habit, I would
look up at the sky. It was deep blue as the sun was setting. What
few clouds were dotting the sky were round and fluffy like a
rabbit tail. I felt a sudden sense of drowsiness overcome me.
Snowfeather was in chains. Her limbs each bound in iron and each
length attached to a wall. How can this be? I wondered. No chains
of this world can hold a druid. But it was so. She snarled and
spoke harsh words of a language I had not heard before. She spat
them like venom and I soon saw the target of her ire. Though I
could not really see. It was a shadow of the darkness, it was
small and hunched. Two yellow glowing eyes stared emotionlessly
as it lifted a gloved hand to touch the bound druid. Snowfeather
snarled and tried to bite the hand that was hastily pulled back.
Then figure stepped back for a moment gazing at its captive. My
stomach turned when I heard the slithering of its blade as it was
pulled from its sheath. I tried to rise but could not. My legs
had never felt so heavy and no matter how hard I tried, I could
not will them to move. Then the shadow spoke. Its voice was dry
and raspy. Although its tone was firm and resolute, it was not
without sadness or regret.
“I am sorry, Coddler,” it said. “It is for your own good.”
Then she took the blade and struck the satyr’s hoof from the
druid’s leg.
“No!” I screamed as light burst forth causing me to raise my
hands in front of my eyes. As I blinked away the spots and my
vision returned I saw I was staring at the moon. Darkness had
fallen and all around me were gone. I rose to my feet, but
suddenly felt ill as I stumbled about. I fell to my knees in the
pond and vomited. Several late night fisherman cried out in
disgust and complained about the drunks. But I did not care. For
the moment my pride had vanished. I only wanted to purge myself
of the vile feeling of helplessness threatening to overwhelm me.
After a few a while I rose shakily to my feet. Ignoring the angry
stares of those around me, I made my way toward the lift. I
needed solitude and time to think.
“What does it mean, great mother?”
The old woman rose and perched herself on the brick hearth
surrounding the fire place. She gently laid a fresh log into the
dying fire before answering.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I echoed in surprise.
“The loss of time is not unheard of among those that read the
clouds,” she answered. “But it was just that. A reading which was
brought forward for interpretation. Nothing more. None I have
heard of ever had visions in this manner. Best keep what you have
seen to yourself.”
I shifted uncomfortably and she turned to look at me with
narrowed eyes. “You told her.”
“I spoke to her last night when I saw her in Thunder Bluff,“ I
admitted with a bowed head. “I had not intended to, but… It’s
complicated.”
She snorted. “Yes. A lovely cow seems to have that affect on
simple matters.”
I could feel my face flush under her gaze.
“This was unwise and reckless of you, son,” she told me. “The
future is not set. There are too many influences that guide its
path, and that path is random and chaotic.”
“She said she knew this person.”
“And so matters are worse,” she sighed. “You have planted a seed
of distrust where none had yet been sewed. This alone can have
many affects on the future. Not that I am concerned for the
welfare of this cult. They will all turn on each other like rabid
jackals in the end.”
“She is part of them, they cannot be all that bad,” I said trying
to defend Snowfeather.
“Oh? War and deception are their tools. How do you know she was
not wooing you to their circle?” She struggled to her feet and
eased herself back into her chair. Her gaze fell upon the giant
bow hanging above the fire hearth. The women of the Cloudspeak
tribe had been the interpreters of the sign. With no sign to
interpret they took up other professions. My great mother was a
renown hunter once and her mind seemed to be lost in those times.
I thought she had nothing more to say until she spoke again.
“They are led by a necromancer whose own lands are dead. What
does he care for ours? I am concerned with this contact you now
have with them. I believe they stand against the very nature of
your vow. The return of balance. Your forefathers were some of
the most honorable I have known. But their quest for ‘tribal’
honor destroyed them. The tribe is dying, my son. No one
remembers our deeds any longer. Worry about your own honor. It
will guide you.”
“Even so, I will need strong allies, great mother,” I told her.
“I cannot honor my vow to destroy the great tree alone.”
“True enough, but you must choose wisely,” she leaned back in her
chair and closed her eyes. “Ask yourself, my son, is the price of
your honor worth the cost of your soul?”
I sat awake a long time after she fell asleep. I sat next to her
long after the fire died listening to her breathe and pondering
her question before I answered.
“No, it is not.” I whispered aloud. “But perhaps she is.”
[Chilalli]
After her bath in Dendrite's reflecting pool, Snowfeather stalked
off to water's edge.
"Last bull of his tribe huh.. could be interesting.." she
whispered as she opened her flask and drank.
She fell asleep shortly thereafter, confronting her nightmares
again.
_________________
Little gray kitten... torn in half.. eaten.. fur buried near
Stonebull Lake..hurry.. before someone sees..
Yichimet's death stare..blood flowing down her chest..laughing...
Looking down at her leg... flesh rotted away to white bone...
hoof covered in puss..agony...
Licidion falling from the needle... on fire...
Cloudspeak lying face down...claw marks exposing his spine... a
dented Festival goblet lying next to his smashed head..
Daala ...naked... arms and legs broken and posed on top of her
dead succubus.. deviant positions...
Pincus.. speaking in tongues... obeying..
Lascivious standing over her.. blade coming down...
Silence and then nothing...
_________________
When morning came, she knew it would be a difficult road.
Maledictus was rallying the horde in Brackenwall. They were off
to kill a King.. again..
Sighing, she checked her gear and made way for the wind rider.
The ride to the Bluff would be good for her.. to think.