Shariwyn's Journey

Yesterday --

  A lone elfin maiden poked the dying fire desperately, trying to find a measure of warmth.  It had been another long, cold night on Wysoom, the kind that she alone could feel.  This had been her home once, at least in imagination.  A great tree used to stand in this very spot, and she had known exactly how she was going to build the house, but that was a long time ago... she was naive to think such thoughts, she was such a child.
  Nevertheless, the thoughts came, rapid, flashing images of a love lost, images of childhood play... images of her mother... She could almost see those silver-flecked icy blue eyes.  Her mother was the only one who had ever cared for her, who had taken her and loved her despite her flaws.
  The maiden shuddered, clasping her shimmering white robe and draping her deep green cloak around her, her long, blonde hair flowing freely and her dark blue eyes twinkling at the spent fire.  People could make fires, it was common, but the fires she made quickly burnt out.
  The cold she felt, the icy, bitter wind she knew well... she knew herself… the pain comes, and then more, and more, and more until there isn’t anything left to hold on to, not a brother to lean on, not a lover to get comforted by, not a dear friend to talk to.  Her eternal conflict played out on its own battlefield... in her mind.  She knew the battles she could win, and found that, even in the best of company, she could never defeat herself.
  She lied down in her bed of grass, silently gazing up to the heavens, silently praying for Sikkar, or any divine being, to stop her pain, to show her a path to tread, to be a light shining through the darkness.  She prayed, gazing at the moon but only seeing the face of her mother… She could almost hear the distant chords echoing through the wilderness of the childhood song her mother sang... She could hear the voice of her mother, every syllable of her speech sounding a soft, sweet, symphony... No answer came that night, save the whisper her mother, of the wind, “Shari... sleep.”

The Dream --

  The young elfin girl woke with a start, sitting up before quite coming to her senses.  She was terrified, but she looked around to just see her cozy little room, the room of a little elfin princess, or at least that’s what she pretended she was.  She trembled... those thoughts were for less serious times... right now, something was wrong.  Sliding off her bed, she began dressing herself in a rush when her keen elfin ears peeked up, hearing hushed voices whispering quickly in the hallway.  She walked to the door, half-dressed.  She dare not answer it, but instead held her ear to it, straining to listen.
  Two elves stood out in the low hallway, one draped in a fine blue robe, the robe of a judge, while the other wore a peculiar purple robe, the mark of a high-ranking wizard.
  “She would have wanted it, Erik!” the wizard whispered harshly
  “Who cares what she wanted... she was and still is a laughing-stock, even in death!” the judge countered, slyly adding, “I suppose you were one of her partners?”
  Death!  At this, the young elf perked her ears, a bewildered and confused look visible in her dark blue eyes.  Who had died, and why were these horrible men in her mother’s house?!
  “Do what you will, Erik,” the purple-robed man huffed at the other.  “But, when nobody sees fit to take another mouth to feed into their house, know that she will find her solace with the mage guild, and you will have no control over the estate.  She’s not yours, she’s nobody’s now.”  With that angered rant over, the wizard sharply turned toward the exit, cloak flapping behind him as he strode away.
  “Fine then, Eldritch.  Fine then...  We shall see who she wants... how much she cares for life when she finds out what happened to her mother...”
  The child jumped.  They were talking of her mother... what happened to her mother?  Tears welled in the child’s eyes, and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing.  She knew what had happened... and knew what the strange feeling was... She no longer felt the life force of her mother... Her mother truly was dead.
  “The poor girl would scarce live till morning.”  Erik grinned wickedly, staring at the purple-robed wizard, who had halted abruptly at this.  “...especially being the heir to so much gold, and with so many lawless rogues about, just waiting for the opportunity for little Shariwyn to come out of her tree.  The world is a cruel place, Eldritch, and I will suffer no wretched child to live with wealth beyond my reach...”  He grinned again, staring at the wizard’s back, watching him closely, slowly reaching for a dagger concealed in his sleeve.  “And think of the wealth of gold that lies right behind this door for us, dear brother.”
  Shariwyn lay on the floor, a sobbing heap, hearing the men’s voices rising in defiance of one another, each falling into different chants.  They wanted to kill her, she thought.  But, at the moment, she couldn’t care less what happened to her... in fact, she wanted to die... wanted to see her mother again.  She sobbed and sobbed, curling up in a little ball in the corner.
  A blast erupted from the hallway.  A yell was heard, and the stench of burning flesh hung in the air.  Shariwyn lost herself in her pain, scarcely hearing it all.  She closed her eyes tightly as the door creaked opened slowly.  Footsteps came closer to her.  A hand clasped hers.  She found herself sobbing on a purple robe.

The Journey Home --

  Shariwyn woke with a start.
  The dream had come again... it always did.
  She remembered the moments painfully; the exact moment when she had been told her mother was dead.  The pain always came with such thoughts, the pain she had become so familiar with.  She had been spared... the valiant man that Eldritch was had saved her.
  The young woman cried.
  Much more could be said about the next few moments, of the feelings that were felt in the form of tears, of the unavoidable images that flashed in Shariwyn’s mind ...but... it truly was an everyday occurrence in the existence of Shariwyn Greenmeadow.
She cried for many long moments, before composing herself and standing, readying herself for a trip back to see her friends.
Her friends...
  She could almost see the vibrant face of Kitsune, a feline rogue that Shariwyn had come to know quite well in her travels, could almost hear the swoosh of an arrow fired by the off-beat centaur Kiyluth, could almost hear the annoying jokes that Talrinian, the half-angel, told of their mothers, could almost smell the sweet scent of the half-angel priest, Lacrimus’s castle... the place she currently resided.
  She missed home.  Missed the noble quests that everyone seemed to always find themselves (some, rather unwillingly) in the middle of.  Missed the mere sight and conversation of each and every one of her wonderful friends.
  Shariwyn packed quickly and set off as soon as possible... it truly would be good to see how everything was.
  As she slipped off in to the wilderness, she took one final look at this clearing and silently vowed to come back soon.  She turned back to the path, a few teardrops scattering along the path as she walked... this time, they were tears of joy.
  Home is where the heart is... and for Shariwyn Greenmeadow, home was with her friends.

Home Sweet Home --

  The road was a long and tiring one.
  Shariwyn trudged ahead, the bottom of her cloak showing obvious mud-stains, but still she walked.  She walked many days and many nights, pausing to rest a minute number of times, but on she stubbornly tread.
  The sun had been setting at different times, Shariwyn realized, a signal of the change of seasons... Already, the leaves of the mightiest of trees had started to change color, the event making the journey quite a pleasant one, and, as Shariwyn walked, she paused to gaze at the beauty of the starkly contrasting colors more than once, wondering if any bards had ever penned of such beauty through the same eye... Idle thoughts, she declared, and on she trudged.
  The evening of the ninth day, Shariwyn neared the most familiar territory for her friends and her.  She had been walking for the better part of three days and felt thoroughly exhausted.  One more rest, she decided, and she went about making camp as usual.
  Was that a rustling she heard in the leaves?  Oh, probably a doe, or perhaps even a squirrel, she thought as she lie her head back down.  No, there it was again... Shariwyn sensed something was very wrong and drew her glowing blue short sword, Harmony, by name, as she stood and quickly went into a defensive posture, scanning the area. 
  A grunt was the only warning she got before a huge club came down.  Shariwyn was barely able to jump out of the way.  The huge giant clambered into the clearing, obviously thinking her a small foe indeed. 
  The giant raised his club, but this time, Shariwyn saw an opportunity.  She dove under the swinging club and stabbed down hard on the giant’s foot.  The giant howled in outrage and kicked her off, the quick move taking her completely off-guard and throwing her off-balance.  She scrambled frantically, seeing the large club swing quickly for her and knowing that if she didn’t act quickly, she would be squashed in mere seconds.
Her thoughts churned, but Shariwyn ultimately came to accept this fate... everything seemed to be going in slow motion, the club was coming down, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
  THUD!
  Shariwyn looked around and realized that the club had indeed come down... two feet away from her.  She glanced around frantically, wondering where her good fortune had come from, and then noticing an arrow sticking prominently from the outraged giant’s forehead.  Shariwyn grinned.
  Nothing she could do.
  Kiyluth, the centaur archer that Shariwyn had known for so long came charging onto the path, bow quickly discarded for a pair of perfectly balanced axes.  The giant reached for its club only to receive two swift slashes to his arm.  Warm giant blood flooded forth.  Nevertheless, the giant had his club again, and cunningly feinted to bring his club down again, only to fall on the mighty centaur... right into a lightning-quick streak of ice that burst from Shariwyn’s extended finger and through the giant’s thick skull.  It started to groan, then, apparently forgot what it was doing, a confused look splayed across his dumb giant features before dipping his head low in death.
  “This be the thanks I get fer savin’ ye, eh?  I see how it is!” the slightly-squished centaur asked in his regular broken Common Tongue.
  “Aye, yes!” Shariwyn playfully responded, “Want more weight?”  Shariwyn felt truly happy to see her old friend and knew that he was in no immediate danger, therefore, she concluded this chance of teasing him a great prospect indeed.
  “Yer gonna’ be given’ me more weight?  Ye shud be ashamed!”
Shariwyn giggled as she began thinking of a spell to move this corpse.
  It was good to be home.