Shapeshifter -Part IX-

Noon was sleepy and relaxed as I stretched my shoulders, still in my pajamas. I had fed Necro when he alerted me it was time, and drank from some of the best steaming hot apple cider. The autumn, fruity scent filled my heart with homely warmth and joy of the coming season. Narcissa's keys were gone from her tiny bowl, and I felt the sun from the window cascade over my back.

I cozied up in my knit, auburn sweater on my couch in my furry pajama pants, keeping the cool chill out, and resumed my favorite book from yesterday. Hungover-brain fogged my mind a bit but I was just getting to the good part. 

Hours slipped by quickly, and before I knew it I was pulling on my favorite jeans, trying not to fall on my face, scrambling out the door to go see Annabelle again at the bookshop.

I half-ran over to the bookstore, late by only a few minutes, the cool breeze chilling my warm face from rushing so hard. I could see my breath as the sun began to go down while I straightened myself up and pulled the door open.

My golden-haired, six foot friend stood in front of the counter, checking out some books. "Zeph?" I asked, my mouth wide. "When did you get back from Paris?" I smiled, walking up and hugging his soft frame tightly. 

"Just earlier today! It's so nice to be back." he smiled a gentle smile and straightened up his polo shirt. "And how are you doing?" 

"Good! I-" 

"Here to see me?" a melodic voice asked, as Belle strode up to us, silent as the calm before an impending storm.

"Belle! It's great to see you!" I squealed, hugging her a bit awkwardly. 

"This is Zeph, he's one of my best friends, he just got back from Paris!" 

"Oh, hello, I'm Annabelle. Have we met somewhere before?" she asked genuinely, shaking his hand firmly.

"Maybe in passing?" he scratched his head, giving an odd, questioning smirk.

"Eh, I don't know." Belle shrugged and turned to me, her olive skin looking so... soft… "I actually was wondering if you would take me to the local graveyard? I heard it's quite lovely at sun down."

"Well, don't let me spoil your fun." Zeph laughed and sat down at a nearby table with one of his tattered, ancient looking books. "Text me when you're done so we can catch up! And maybe the three of us can grab dinner, sometime." And he was lost to the rest of the universe into the deepest of fictional caverns.

"You know, we can absolutely catch up later. I won't be too long!" There was no response, just a silence left behind by my words going in one of his ears and out the other. I swore I could hear the wind rustling the bushes outside as the air became empty for a few moments.

I turned back to Belle. "Well, let's go then!" Without thinking I grabbed her by the wrist and away we went, back through the creaky, metal door and into the chilly autumn air. 

After the rush of chilled breeze I felt the warmth of her flannel jacket over her wrist and without skipping a beat, let go and felt my face heat up. We casually walked the old roads of Marblehead, the sidewalks crumbling and vines crawling up the sides of aged, crooked houses. I pulled her along by her arm occasionally, as she stopped to gape at our historic architecture.

"You are very new here, aren't you?" I asked with a smirk. "Are you impressed?"

She looked me up and down suggestively. "Absolutely." She reached out to take my waist. 

"Just wait until you see the gazebo." I turned before she could reach me and kept walking, knowingly up the winding roads, smirking along the way. What, am I seventeen again?

Finally we came to the steep, grassy hill with a set of stone stairs built into the side. The cemetery smelled of freshly cut grass, combined with dying leaves and an air of humidity. I could see why, as the sky filled with ashen, heavy clouds on our walk over. A single, cold rain drop touched my nose.

"Wow, this place looks ancient." Belle remarked, eyes wide at the steep mount of dirt, dotted with different ages of tombstones.

"It goes back to the seventeen-hundreds. There's a lot of history here." I said with pride. 

We marched up the smooth stone stairs, each gigantic step more tiring than the previous. As we came upon the halfway mark, we could see the wooden, cesious gazebo, the pointed roof towering above the old tombstones scattered in every direction. As we came upon the peak I shivered as the skies opened up above us, the cold rain drenching us completely. We ran up the grey stone path and onto the cement floor of the old structure.

"It wasn't supposed to rain today!" I nervously laughed, feeling the weight of my water-soaked braids coolly dripping all over me. A freezing chill rolled down my spine. I took off my icy sweater and laid it on the bench next to me, where I sat on the dry, old wood. I looked out at the misty, showering rain, which coated the tombstones darker and the ground with a richness I had seen so many times before. But this time was so… different. In my gut was a sense of profound, universal, almost magical timing. 

"Well, I suppose we're stuck here now, aren't we?" Belle remarked, sitting right next to me.

I looked from her over to the carvings myriads of people had made into the layers of paint upon the wooden support beams of the gazebo. Wow... Last time I was here... The memories left a dull wrench in my gut, reminding me of the last time I saw them, their perfectly picked outfit for our anniversary, and their eternally dark eyes filled with regret and anguish while I broke off our engagement. 

"I know you like me, a lot... But I'm not sure I can do this." I stood up, taking away my arm from touching Belle's, and breathed in deeply. I couldn't stop looking at the carvings I had made with my first love so many years ago on the beam standing right over me. Jagged hearts scarred the paint, and gave me an itch within my chest that I couldn't quite scratch away with my untrimmed nails; A reminder of all the time I had given up to the pursuit of love.

Annabelle intensely gazed at me, but I couldn't quite meet her face with my own eyes. I paused a few moments, but there was no reply.

"After all of the relationships I've been through, that have brought me up to this... This just feels a little too familiar. I didn't mean to lead you on." I finally looked at her face, and she gave up no emotion or expression in stark contrast with the flowery, pointed look she had just a few minutes prior. She stood up, still staring, hands in her pockets of her black, flannel coat. I couldn't quite be sure, but I did a double take as I thought I saw her standing there without water having even touched any part of her hair or clothes. I quickly shook my head as if to try to clear it, and I saw her standing there, drenched but not shivering a bit. 

"I see. So you need time?" She asked, the lack of inflection in her voice still unnerving and hollow. 

"I think so. I won't mind hearing from you now and then, but it's just too soon for me to be having any sort of crushes."

"So you do have a crush on me?" She asked, hesitantly.

"That's not really the point, dear." I felt a short rush of annoyance. Typical. "I think it would be best if I go home."

"As you wish." She said blankly, sitting back down the bench, just watching.

The rain, as if the thunderous skies had heard my request, settled down so I could walk away from this girl in peace. 

The walk home was cold, and lonely, but I couldn't escape the feeling of my heart beating through my chest and satisfaction every time my boots stomped the ground, one step after another. Oh, what did you do? I asked myself over and over, taking out my irritation on the soaked sidewalks underfoot. I can't feel bad for needing space.

But what if to move on, I need to give in?

Breaking Some Strings, A Short Story

    'Tis not everyday adventurers seek out assassins outside of the adventuring racket; Those who do the dark deed without a moral shield or deadly friends to watch their back. But in a dank bar so far removed from the main roads of Vindelhiem that its only real purpose is to sell alcohol during the shady and illegal proceedings happening within is where Boe found two of the most stereotypical adventures sitting at his table. An ork wearing mostly war paint and animal skins was keeping hold of a gnarly looking axe next to a cleric girl. The girl was pulled right from a quaint mountain village and was well wrapped in a robe that obscured her body type. She had the look of a girl tempted away from a simple life by the 'thrill of adventure.'
    Boe was the exact opposite of what an assassin would look like. Dressed in loose merchant clothes and a wide brimmed hat hiding most of his face as he sat in the chair in a practiced foe relaxed posture that would allow him quick access to throwing knives and pushing the table over. The pair sat silent as they studied one another before the cleric girl spoke.
    "We require your help," she started timidly, looking to her companion before continuing. "We have... A delicate problem."
    "We want you to murder our bard." The orc said in traditional orcish straightforwardness.
    Boe outwardly raised a eyebrow with professional practice, but inwardly he sighed deep enough to make you wonder about his character traits. It seemed the business of bardic killing was in season within his profession, but it was a specific kind of bard.
    "Let me guess: loves the spotlight, big on the sparkles in his magic, becomes hysterical and whiny when he's not the one involved in social interactions?"
    "Are you also a psychic?" the cleric asked, eyes wide with all the confirmation he needed.
    "Just a good guess," Boe said, making a motion for the girl to start the explanation all new contractors give.
    "It started out fine enough," She began. " He was always melodramatic, but in a quirky charming way, for a while at least. But as our party continued adventuring he began getting... a little obnoxious.
    "Annoying," the barbarian butted in, "The more attention we received the more he wanted to be the 'face' of our party, wanting to soak up more and more of the acclaim."
    "Yes, the more charming and unique he tried to be the less we really liked him." the girl said solemnly.
    "So why not just kick him out of the party?" Boe asked.
    "We can't, he handled all the official paperwork, hirelings, and our money its all under his name." the holy woman toyed with the symbol of her patron around her neck. "Our Wizard has tried to get him to split the burden but he refused."
    And there it was, Boe thought as he mulled things over. Simply kicking him out would mean all the wealth and whatever home base they managed to attain would go with him, but they can't kill him themselves because the motives are plain as as a dark elf in daylight.
    "I see, well if I am to kill this bard I'll need to know a few things about him." Boe switched his casual sitting to a more professional upright pose, what better way to show that they were in business.
    His name was Joruush. He was handy with a lire, not very proficient with that fancy short sword strapped to his belt, and his brilliant and flashy clothes blinded everyone within eyesight of him. He had stroke into the largest and flashiest bar within the city of Vindelhiem and threw enough money at the bartender to make instant friends of the half drunken patrons and put on a show for them.
    Easy enough for Boe to find, he had found a nice secluded spot within the bar and played up the drunken merchant he was disguised as, and watched his query. His contractors had told him he used a sizable chunk of party funds to perform this stunt, a habit that followed from their lesser known years and only grew more extraneous as the groups popularity rose.
    Poisoning would have been the easiest thing to do, a two-part poison which would make the patrons of the spiked barrel queasy after their hangovers, but that final drink bought by 'that pretty thing over there' and he'd have been dead within minutes. But Joruush didn't drink, merely pretended to and passed it along to another.
    Another would simply acquire a long bow, a few dexterity and steady aim potions with a eagle eye drought chaser and send a arrow though his brain matter, but the orc had insisted it being a 'horrifying accident.'
    Getting up and stabbing him was out as well, as magic armor and the contractors request made the easy route a murderer's dream. On the subject of magic, that was also off the table thanks to the unspoken code of adventures: 'Investigate how our party member died, and enact brutal vengeance if possible."
    "Sadly my friends!" Joruush's boisterously high pitched voice cut though the crowd, "I must take my leave!" with that he made a plodding and ostentatious walk out the door.
    The assassin followed after into the torch lit streets of the city, the bard being incredibly easy to spot and follow, already attracting pickpockets and street thugs hiding in the shadows. It was then Boe noticed a pair of yellow eyes glinting near an open sewer grate.
    A fun fact about the beings known as ratlings, is that they love gold, they will do anything for gold, and when motivated they can come together in great numbers for great effect.  But they can be quite messy, which makes them terrible assassins in most cases. But when the mangled and brutalized body of the bard was found, Boe got his bonus and the local population of ratlings was culled down ahead of schedule.
    A win-win situation for all, save for Joruush. All his effects and land were seized by his party, followed by a quick burial in the Vindilhiem Cemetary. The tombstone was so bombastic and garish it would be tradition to throw a cloth over it during the somber ritual of putting the dead to rest.
    Boe would often muse over his luck of the ratlings being out that very night and simplifying his job, musing that the very gods themselves disliked the bard so much he gave him an easy pass. Given he wasn't a religious man, he never bothered to ask.

Itching Underneath

Ivory tusks trapped under skin
Aching and swelling within the rush
Bursting with yearn to feel the wind
Which envelopes the sundered, dead brush

Swaying my desire to be freed
As the skeletons of old bones spread
Gently under the depressed, old tree
Witness to my claw-marks seeking tread

My blood boiling, writhing, tingling nerves
Wishing for freedom from this cage
From these monstrous, clinging flesh curves
I once believed were beautiful

Without the pain and the hollowed heart
My soul, empty isolation
Happy becomes a moment of art
Of love, of divine emotion

Moves the ivory, the teeth and bone
To rest within the muscle walls
Scratching the innards no more alone
No more at all, the loved one calls

The swelling to calm and settle slow
Upon a midnight, eyes of sleep
His voice is heard once again, below
The depressed, old tree's kept from weep

One more time before the cold night ends
His light rays shine upon me some;
Thawing every touch the love would send
Beating fast, flesh has overcome

Dread of nightmare steals the sleep time
His voice rings clear to stall the fears
Wings keep safe as a blanket of lyme,
Stone to keep away streams of tears.

Thank you, Friend

Someone told me yesterday that my writing was powerful, punchy, prosaic, and uniquely my own. Well, thank you, Mr. Ferguson for your kind words.
I needed a push to continue writing, and well, thank you for being just that. :)
May your fire always burn brightly.

And to Ozymandius - I'm sorry we waited so long to continue writing. I hope you will forgive me, my vulpine friend.

Love, Madeleine