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« on: December 21, 2014, 12:13:19 pm »
[This is the first chapter of a book I began writing during my absence from PS, I had some much nostalgia for the character, the story poured out of me with love, I also made up a city and a village far from Hydlaa]
Distracted by the rather noticeable dark stain on the chest of her ceremonial gown, Siteya tried to remember what might be the mysterious substance doomed to draw her unwanted judgment at the Council Hall. She repeatedly picked at the spot with frustration before giving up and sighing with a short burst of breathy irritation. She loathed wearing the gown, as it was a worn down reminder of her past life, but it was the only garment she owned that identified her station as High Priestess and suitable for travel and light enough for the long warm walk. The gown held such a complexity of emotions and memories, woven from fine linen and embroidered with leaves and berries around the neckline, she grazed the patterns with her fingertips, designed to show her station as a Daughter of Xiosia, she allowed herself a moment to remember the Nolthrir, that tailored the garment for her years ago, an enigmatic lover, friend and at times, enemy. She pushed herself away from her thoughts as she felt her eyes welling with tears and gave herself a shake to off the emotions of her past life. Her eyes gazed in the mirror at her red braids, usually hanging freely down her back, now all wrapped up high on her head and held together with an ornamental short wooden stick, carved with images of charm flowers and embedded with various gems, another relic from her past, a cherished piece that was once her mothers. Moving her face closer to her image in the mirror, she pushed a few wisps of loose hairs aside on her forehead and rolling her eyes, she told herself, “This will have to do.” She knew she must get on the road if she was to make it to Drayden by nightfall. Although it was a great moral crime to harm any Xiosian Priest or Priestess, as they have sworn a vow of non-violence in honor of the mother Goddess Xiosia, a lone female elf, on foot, after dark, was not wise. And although she was stealth and adept in spells of the Brown Way, she knew it best to stick to the sun lit path. She checked her pack for everything, counting the few parchments that needed Council seals; she slung the pack over her head as it slouched to her left hip, then grabbed a large basket that had been fastened with a leather strap, over her right shoulder.
It was her concern that Brother Jast, although qualified to make beer that was legend in song and bardic tale, had very little skill in the art of diplomacy. As a man of few words and fewer compassionate convictions for the vitality of the village, his only concerns were in the barrels of brew that the Talad Brothers of the village were celebrated for. She supposed this was a blessing, for there are only two reasons a monk is sent to live in Tarre, either they have no true passion for prayer or have great skill at brewing beer. This gave her certain freedoms to do her work without the watchful eyes of zealous monks or any other over righteous Gods men that might thwart her practices as a sworn Priestess. She had no stomach for pompous holy men. To Siteya’s advantage, Brother Jast trusted her in representing the village of Tarre in front of the Council, as she had proven her dedication as a healer to the monastery and the small surrounding village almost as soon as she arrived three years past. She was a bit more nervous than usual visiting the Council, a few months ago, a strange and ancient relic was unearthed during an expansion of the brewery. The moment Siteya laid eyes on the small heart statue, she knew it held dangerous powers, refused to look upon it any further and had the monks lock it in a vault. She wanted the Council to deal with the matter as soon as possible and she hoped she had the ability to make this happen. She looked down at her fingers as they returned to grazing the stain on her gown, once she had been a High Priestess of the Daughters of Xiosia, and the respect from the politicians that came with such a title. Her eyes grew somber and watery as she slipped into her thoughts of her old life, loneliness crept upon her. So much time had passed almost unnoticeably and yet it felt a lifetime since she left her home in Hydlaa.
Although she loathed meeting with the Council and leaving the quiet peace of the village, she looked forward to the long walk into town as it gave her time to enjoy the fertile countryside. It had been a rainy spring and she enjoyed the quiet time, gathering useful herbs that would be easily spotted and plentiful in the meadows along the stretch of road into town. She called to the back of the room, “Brynn?” A young maiden elf with a mess of wild brown locks rushed through the open archway that connected the kitchen to the main living space of Siteya’s small home. Brynn wiped her hands on her linen apron, “Yes m’lady? ” Siteya tapped her fingers lightly on her lips, tying up loose ends in her mind, “hhhmmm…I’m headed into Drayden now…to stand before the Council…,” she looked about the room as if taking tally of her desk, shelves and unmade bed, she jerked her head upright as something triggered her thought, and pointed her first finger upward as she spoke, “Please be sure to check in on Nem Grady, although she won’t complain of pain, I know her bones are giving her much grief, make sure she is using the tincture I left with her,” She added, “Be sure to lock up when you are done,” Siteya glanced over her own messy desk, books and parchments piled and strewn about, “and don’t stay up to late again rummaging through my library?... get yourself home to rest before too late?.” Siteya winked with a smirk. Brynn answered politely, “Yes m’lady,” with her eyes adverted down Brynn added, “ May the Goddess keep you safe on your travels Lady Siteya.” She bowed curtly and forced a polite smile before turning and heading back into the kitchen. Siteya could hear the sound of glass clinking about and knew Brynn was back to working diligently. The young girl was a Dermorian like herself, an elf born of the woodlands and gifted with Brown Way. There similarities did not end there, they both came from a long line of healers and they both lost their mothers at a young age. When Siteya first arrived in Tarre, the village was under a curse of devastating plague, the sickness had taken more than half of the village, including the town’s only healer, Brynn’s mother. No matter how hard Siteya tried, she could not get the girl to smile often, but she was a born healer and really showed true devotion. Siteya hoped one day that Brynn might follow in her own path and send her to Hydlaa for training to become a Priestess of the Daughters of Xiosia. Siteya glanced around her room, although not much more than a peasants hut, she had everything an elf could need and her library was impressive enough for any scholar. She had found contentment here in this space and for that she bowed her head and spoke a simple prayer of gratitude softly to her Goddess, in her ancient Dermorian tongue.
Siteya had a much needed early start, as she had suspected, the Goddess was kind this season, her basket almost full with stalks of mullein and milk thistle, a handful of snakeroot and as many dandelion heads as she could stand to pluck, but she was losing light and knew she would have to forego any further off-road excursions for the rest of the day. Once back on the path, she thought while in Drayden she might stop in for a visit to her friend, Soph Baquie, an older blind women she met in the market place on her first visit to the city over two years ago. Although her story was much more epic and slightly more mysterious then Siteyas upheaval. Soph had also fled from a past, making a simple life for herself in Drayden. The story, as it is told by the townsfolk, is that Soph was a Laanx Nun from a temple in the lands far to the North of Hydlaa. One day she called to the aid of a man supposed to be cursed by Dakkru, the dark and embittered Goddess that ruled the Death Realm. It is said that when she laid hands on the man she became locked into battle with Dakkru herself. The possession lasted several days and nights. She looked and smelled of rot and feces, spewing words of venomous hate upon those that bore witness in the room. Worn down to the last of her life’s vital energy, in a final moment of strength, Soph called upon Laanx, a God of the Great Azure Crystal, to free her from Dakkru’s deathly grip. It is said a blinding white light shot out of her eyes and mouth, she fell into a sleep that lasted several weeks and when she awoke she was completely blinded and had gained powerful and accurate skills as a Seer. It was believed by the Laanx Priests of her temple, who feared her new found power, that her gift was not to be trusted as a gift from the Great Crystal but yet a gift from DaKkru, and therefore would undermine and poison the purity of the temple. She was then excommunicated and sent far away from her native home. Although she would never say if the stories had any truths, Siteya held her in high respects and always made time for visits because although she was never known to sweeten her truths for any ear and spoke with frank bitterness, she was wise and honest. She decided she would make a gift of her gathered herbs to Soph, knowing the old woman would put them to good use.
Siteya felt blessed on her peaceful journey with blue skies, a kind breeze and plentiful signs of Xiosias abundance. She basked in the ambience and solitude. There had been so few travellers from Tarre. She had only seen a couple of farmers and there rivnak drawn wagons headed back to the village, and an older man with a boy she caught up with and passed as they stopped to rest. But after arriving at the cross roads of Hydlaa highway, the road became more crowded with travellers. With only a few hours journey left to get to Drayden, she was thankful, her feet had started to ache and her belly rumbled, with only a portion of cured beef and two slabs of bread to hold her over from the morning. She stopped briefly to tighten the strap on her left boot when she saw a young pregnant Noltrir elf resting near her, the blue of her skin seemed a tad pale, it was obvious the woman had travelled a great distance and Siteya was concerned for her and the baby’s health. She rose up and walked the few feet over and squatted to be more at level with the elf, who was resting with her legs stretched out before her. Siteya greeted the blue elf, “Good day, I am Siteya, a Priestess of Xiosia,” she then bowed her head briefly and smiled with open warmth. The Noltrir elf’s face drew more reserved and untrusting as she quickly glanced to Siteya and then around her blanket nervously. Siteya quickly responded by standing up and moving back a few paces, “My lady I wish you no ill harm, I am a healer and vowed to help those in need, you seem tired from your travels.” The Noltrir Elf glared at Siteya for a few moments as the fear slowly dissipated from her eyes, she quietly spoke, “I am okay, a bit tired… and hungry.” She shifted her legs to her right side, leaning on her left arm, she continued with a downcast shyness, “I am Feala, my mother lives in a village, a day’s walk past Drayden, I am headed there to have my baby.” Feala placed her right arm protectively over her swollen belly and held her gaze there. Siteya smiled at the gesture, and added to the comment, “and soon I believe…have you a midwife where you are from?” Looking up to Siteya, Feala nodded and replied, “Aye, but it has been sometime since I last saw her.” Siteya sat down next to the young elf and slipped off her basket of herbs and hip bag, “Do you mind if I check your little ones health?” her voice full of concern. Feala shook her head back and forth slowly. Siteya smiled and moved in kneeling next to Feala. The Priestess closed her eyes and rubbed her hands together, a warmth and subtle glow building between the friction. Feala sat up, stretching out her legs again, leaning back on both hands. Siteya placed both hands on Feala's belly, gently but firmly, she sat still, her breath meditative for several extended moments. The Priestess then opened her eyes, still focused on the pregnant elves belly, she moved her hands around slowly, palpating gently and then deeper with her fingertips. In a calm soothing voice Siteya asked Feala, “Breathe in and out for me.” Siteya pushed a bit deeper and continued palpating. Feala winced a bit, but breathed in and out and relaxed. After sometime of this same practice, Siteya placed her right hand on Feala’s left hand and met Feala’s eyes smiling and with an open joy in her voice as she calmly spoke, “You have a healthy baby growing inside.” Siteya squeezed Feala’s hand and continued, “You need rest and food now.” Feala nodded her head up and down and lowered her eyes, “Once I get to my mother’s I shall rest.” Unhappy with Feala’s answer Siteya raised her brow and frowned and in a stern motherly tone replied, “You will rest and take a meal in Drayden.” Feala mimicked the frown, “I cannot, I…I have no tria for such things.” Siteya slowly stood up, grabbed her pack and pulled a small cask of water from the bag, and yanked out the cork, she offered it to Feala and with the same motherly concern added, “I shall make sure you have lodging and a meal at the Inn.” Siteya looked on to the road and asked, “Shall we walk together the rest of the way?” Feala took the water and sipped at it a few times before taking a huge gulp, she handed it back to Siteya, her eyes filled with tears, “I cannot repay you for this kindness.” Siteya grabbed the cask and popped the cork into place, she slipped it back into her bag and responded quietly, “There is no need for repayment; I just want you and your baby to get some rest huh?” She smiled and extended her hand to Feala, “Let us go before it gets dark then?” Feala grabbed her hand and Siteya helped her up to her feet. They both got there packs secured and began quietly walking down the road to Drayden together.
Arriving at the gates of the town, Siteya knew for the last stretch they were being followed. She did not mention this to Feala as she did not want to cause alarm to the young girl. She chanted protection spells under her breath as they entered the city. Glancing about the streets she saw nothing to confirm her suspicion, but she still felt uneasy. They arrived unharmed at the only Inn in Drayden, thus named the Drayden Inn and found the Innkeeper, Cherbit, a humble man that Siteya had grown to trust after a few years of visiting the town. She arranged for hot meals and rooms. Shortly after finishing their meals, she got Feala settled in her room, and took a few moments to place powerful wards of protection at her door before finding her own room and bed. She wondered if she should go down to the tavern and keep an eye on the traffic below or just take a chance that whoever was lurking behind on the road had lost interest. She decided she needed her rest more and left it to fate that she and Feala would be safe through the night.
The Council Hall was particularly overcrowded and stuffy. Siteya always felt like she could barely breathe in the Godless space of pompous decree. The Council members, all men with puffed up egos and horrendous costume, played out there power tripping fantasies on the poor masses of Drayden, Tarre and the other outlying villages. She had always despised the politics of men, it was her devotion to the Goddess that made it so obviously sickening to her, the corruption and greed that always surrounded the places they dwelled and exuded there power. Visiting the Drayden Council Hall reminded her of why she fled from her city life in Hydlaa. She took a deep breath, straightening her gown and fixing her hair before walking to the front of the long narrow room and taking the nearest seat she could find to the front. She was on the registers to be heard that morning, but looking around the over populated room; she wondered how long she would wait. She felt uncomfortable in such a public space discussing the relic among so many strangers. She sat wringing her sweaty hands in her lap, looking about the room. The ceilings were far too low, the walls made of cheapened over-polished wood and only two windows in the back of the room let in natural light. There five long benches were stiff and upright and spaced to close together, full of poor fools like her, dressed in their finest, clinging to official parchments awaiting their turn to stand before the Council. Siteya wanted to get up and bolt out the back doors, held herself firm and prayed it would be over soon. At this days meeting there were five Councilmen sitting in the front of the room, on there shiny wooden thrones, raised up by a two foot platform. She only recognized 3 of the 5, and barely remembered their names, except Garvo Hampt, sitting front and center, the leader of the pack. Garvo had this greased back dark hair, a sliver of hair on his lip resembling a worm more than a mustache and when he spoke it sounded like he was chewing leather. Siteya tried to relax, reminding herself that the village relied on her to stand up in front of the Council and speak on their behalf. A few others were called before her, matters of little interest, she drowned out the discussions, trying to meditate and portal herself back to her roadside meadow earlier in the day and almost didn’t hear Garvo chew out the words, “We shall now hear from Tarre's representative Satya Ganya.” Siteya startled upright from her slumbering slouch, she reached into her pouch to grab the parchments in hand and then stood up and walked to the front of the room. She was silent for a few moments to make sure she had the full attention of all members before she spoke, “Good Councilmen of Drayden I will not take up much of your time, I have three matters of importance to discuss with you today.” She paused and made full eye contact with each member before continuing, she switched on her most charismatic smile. She began with a dignified tone, “Councilmen, as you know, the Monastery of Tarre, has been expanding its brewery as the demand for beer grows, we had hoped expansion might bring more work and income into our village since we have lost so much from the sickness that plagued us many a few cycles ago,” She handed two parchments to Garvo and addressed him directly, “the Monastery has purchased land from two villagers, two different deeds that need the Council seal.” Siteya cleared her throat, coughing into her clenched fist. Garvo unrolled the parchments, squinted his eyes and reviewed the deeds before he passed them off to the Councilman to his right, who eyed them suspiciously and glared at Siteya over his thick wire frames, before stamping each with a seal. Siteya took a deep breath as Garvo raised a brow and wiggled the hairy worm on his lip as he spoke, “and so Ms. Ganya, you have a third matter?” She held her breath a moment wishing he would stop mis-pronouncing her name and continued in an overly sweet tone, “Yes Councilman Garvo, last month, I spoke to you of a certain discovery we made in the cellar of the monastery, that we would like to have officials of Drayden come and investigate, I have yet to receive any word on the matter.” Garvo raised his brow with extreme severity this time and looked to the man sitting on his right side, “Do you have any notion what this woman is talking about?” The man just to the left of Garvo, bedecked in a purple velvet vest and a golden gems on every finger, clapped his hands together quickly, several times with irritating staccato and giggled through his nose, as if Siteya's matter was some form of comedic entertainment, he quickly barked in nasally reply , “Oh yes, Garvo, have you forgot? It is the matter of the dark relic found in the monastery cellars.” Siteya rolled her eyes and put her head down for a slight moment to hide her disgust. Garvo replied with a snide mocking tone, “The dark relic…please Satya… remind us of this mysterious item found in the monastery.” Siteya, unable to hide her disdain for the Council members jibes, raised her stature up tall and, lifted her chin up high before responding to Garvo, pronouncing her words with clear proximity, “I am Siteya Ganaya, a High Priestess of the Daughters of Xiosia, trained and ordained in the city of Hydlaa, must I remind you?” She thought she heard a female just behind her snicker softly before Garvo, obviously offended by her response, slouched back in his chair, his eyes dramatically bulged in pseudo shock, he pursed his lips and glared at her. She did not wait for a response but moved forward a few steps and continued, “Last month I delivered a proposal to the Council, addressing the matter of a discovery in the monastery basement, that was to be read amongst the Council and you had stated then, the Council would respond with an answer as to whether you would send an official to Tarre to investigate…” she took a few steps forward and lowered her voice, speaking directly to Garvo, “I have not heard from the Council and had hoped to receive word today as to how you wanted to deal with the discovery, she spoke in almost a whisper,” … it makes the monks and the villagers uneasy to have it there.” She managed to soften her expression to resemble one of sincerity and true concern. Garvo did not miss a beat and responded with an impatient fatherly tone, “Ms. Ganya, why do you bother us with such ridiculous talk of dark relics?” He used his fingers to make quotations as he said dark relics, then continued, “IF you are such a High Priestess, then you need not bother us with such matters…you deal with it.” The Councilman to his right handed the stamped parchments to Garvo and he held them out to Siteya, making no further eye contact with her, he gloated out, “We shall now hear from Pratt Sheffer of Helspin.” Siteya stared at the parchments in his hand in disbelief; she blinked her eyes two or three times before being able to take the parchments from Garvo. After snatching them from his gloved hand she shoved them in her bag and with frank disdain and outright frustration she blurted out, “Thank you and Good day Councilmen.” Siteya turned abruptly on her heels and made for her way out. The back of the room was such a blur she could barely visualize the frame of the doors as she pushed her way through them and out into the overly sunny day. So enraged she did not notice the cloaked female Noltrir elf that slipped out the door just after her and slipping off into the alley. Siteya ran a few blocks down the street before she yelled out in frustration, repeatedly stomping her foot.
After her awful morning at the Council Hall she had spent the afternoon gathering some parchment and other much needed supplies, as well as a few requested items for some of the elder folks of her village. As she strode down a narrow cobblestone road with a heavy pack and her basket full of herbs, she looked up at the azure suns softening brightness above and hurried her foot steps towards Sophs house. Many of the lodging places in Drayden were cramped together with rather small entry ways. She walked up to a door that had sign hanging above with a simple drawing of an eye. She knocked a few times and called out, “Soph, are you in? …It is Siteya, come for a visit.” She waited some time, before the door slowly creaked open, a few small bells could be heard jingling with the doors movement, from within the darkened foyer, a frail, hunched over woman with long white hair and clear milky eyes emerged and cawed out with a raspy but surprisingly strong voice, “Come round to wag your tail about my place again have ye?” Unbeknownst to the blind woman, Siteya raised her brow and quickly smiled, “And good day to you Soph.” The old woman had already turned away from the door and walked back into the darkness. Soph continued her tirade, “well, don’t stand there glaring at me, bring yourself in and make us some tea.” Siteya moved in quickly and closed the door behind her. The room was in complete darkness except for a small fireplace where a few embers glowed brightly. She watched the dark figure of Soph shuffling to a table at the center of the room and then the rush of a match was heard before the room was illuminated by one oil lamp. Siteya looked about the small crowded space and laid eyes on the hearth of Sophs quaint domain with many tinctures, drying herbs hanging from the rafters and jars strewn about with mysterious liquids within. She loosened her basket from her back and rolled up her sleeves preparing to make the requested tea. She turned to the old woman, who had now sat down at one of the two wooden chairs at the table, her milky eyes void of any clues, and asked, “What shall I brew then Soph?” The old woman, unmoved on the chair responded with a sharp questioning tongue, “Snakeroot?” Siteya almost dropped a mug she had just grabbed upon hearing the word; she placed it on the counter before looking at her basket of herbs with confusion. The old woman let out a cackle that rang out through the small room before it turned into a mucous filled cough, a large gaunt smile consumed her face; she found much amusement in Siteya’s reaction as if she saw it with her own eyes. Through her cackling cough she jested, “Girl…or should I say High Priestess, you bring a gift of snakeroot, knowing its only real usage is for the sight… “ She continued cackling in a more subdued tone that dissipated into another cough before she gravely spoke, “we shall drink the snakeroot, you have a darkness that must be revealed, and Thelish has seen it fit that you have brought the tool to see the vision too.” Siteya sighed aloud, “but…Soph…I am not sure I have the time do this now.” Soph swatted the air with her hand and chided, “Oh foolish child, get to making the tea, when will you ever learn not to question me? Mash only the one root there.” She pointed to a large marble bowl a pestle nestled inside on a tall thin stand built to hold it in place it securely. The Priestess rubbed her head nervously, her eyes full of worry. She decided not to question the seer further and grabbed a root from the basket and placed it in the sink bowl and poured a bit of water over it. After she cleaned the dirty white root she then chopped it into small pieces on a board with a bowed knife and placed the bits of root in the marble bowl on the stand. Siteya added a few pieces of wood to the fire and stoked it with a few heavy breaths. Once the fire came to life she hung a teapot above from a hook and set about mashing the root, she then divided the mashed root into two servings and wrapped each in a small piece of gauze before she placed them in a brown ceramic mug. She searched a small table in the corner for the honey pot and brought it over to the mugs, dripping a small bit into each mug to mask the bitter flavor of the root. Soph, who had sat quietly all the while, chimed in, “Don’t you worry yourself none about those Council fools, you’ve got a mess of trouble approaching and ain’t no silly Council gonna save you girl, those bastards never took heed to a damn thing I ever had to say.” The screeching sound of the steaming teapot startled the frozen expression of fear off Siteya’s face as she jumped up and reached for a thick piece of linen lying by the fire to grab the heated pot by the handle. She filled each mug with hot water, and then placed the pot on hearth of the fireplace; she grabbed both mugs and sat down at the other chair. Soph placed her hands on the table, slowly she felt around until she found the mug placed in front of her, she raised it up in the air, “Now girl pray to your Goddess to keep you safe through the journey and make haste with that cup.” With raised mug Soph spoke aloud, “Laanx, bring us through the darkness to the light.” Siteya, transfixed momentarily by Sophs prayer, looked down at her own steaming mug and her brows furrowed with uneasiness before she spoke her own prayer with serene authority, “Xiosia, keep me safe and guide me to your wisdom.” She blew briefly on the steaming water and began sipping at the hot bitter liquid, her face briefly screwed up with the taste. She fought the horrid angst the flavor produced on her tongue and took a few bigger gulps until there was just the wet mound of gauze and a bit of liquid left. Immediately she felt the room turn on a slight axis, the darkness in the corners crept in slowly forming looming unnatural shadows around her, she looked over to Soph, whos white washed eyes seemed to glow more brightly. The old woman commanded Siteya, “give me your hands Priestess,” as she reached out her own open palms. Siteya found it hard to slide her hands across the table as she became weighted in a blurring darkness and Sophs hands seemed further and further away, it took all her might to reach them and as soon as she made contact, Sophs hands clenched hers so tightly she yelled out as a blinding light streaked into her vision that knocked her sight impaired she was surrounded by complete darkness. She heard her own screaming voice off in the distance, and then she saw him, the young Dermorian elf, that she knew to be her once beloved Janzeth, lying there in devastating sickness, her memory playing out before her, his eyes swollen and sunken in, darkened circles surrounding the sockets, his body covered in sweat and pestilence, a stench of death so sharp in the air, it took her might not to vomit from its essence. She crawled to his side, sobbing, her heart ripped with pain, she reached out and placed her hand on his heaving chest, through sobbing moans she pleaded, “Janzeth, my love, please don’t leave me.” Choking on his own thick and swollen tongue, he managed to speak, “Siteya…you must…stop me” he began a coughing fit as blood spewed from his mouth onto Siteya’s face, his eyes bulged with pain and fear before going pitch black, the corners of his mouth lifted to a grin as he giggled with a growling deep feminine voice, that seemed to take over his whole being and resonate from the darkest places in her own soul, the giggle turned to a wicked powerful laughter and whatever took residence over his soul, spoke “My heart is your blackest death, my heart is cursed by men’s greed, my heart is war and hate and sickness, any who shun and shame my heart shall be cursed for all must return to my realm …blay un de asu…blay un de asu Dakkru…” Janzeth reached his hand to Siteya’s throat, his grasp so severe she choked for air, feeling her own imminent death she flailed and reached for his hand, but his strength so great she was losing the battle and in what she thought was her final moment of life, he let go, she fell beside him, gagging and gasping for air until she began breathing, her chest heaving so intensely he thought her own heart might burst. She felt herself falling. She continually fell into a darkness that was endless and timeless; all the while she could hear the chanting and wicked laughter still emanating from within her own mind as she lost track in her endless fall. And then she abruptly slammed back into her body, she awoke lying on the floor, her eyes adjusted to the Sophs room, unsure of how much time had passed, she knew she had to have been lying there for at least an hour as the fire had died down to embers once again.
She managed to lift herself up to sitting; she looked about the darkened room. Siteya rubbed her throat with her hands, still feeling the remnants of Janzeths hands that held her choking and coming more to her senses, quickly turned to find Soph, sitting quietly, her milky eyes in their own void. Soph turned her head subtly to face Siteya, as if she sensed her need, “Girl, get up and get that bottle there.” She pointed to a shelf with canisters and bottles. Soph added, “The tall blue one, quickly, open and drink as much as you can.” Siteya slowly got to her feet, her brain banging in her skull; she reached for the bottle and uncorked it. She turned the bottle upright and gulped a few swigs before the sweetness, masking the taste, revealed a sharp muskier flavor that made her choke and gag. Soph, hearing the gags responded in her own heavy breath, “Good girl, now hand it to me.” Siteya quickly handed the bottle to the old woman and watched her gulp it down the same. Soph wiped her lips with the back of her hand, she sat the bottle on the table and coughed a bit before she spoke, “Sit Siteya, sit here and tell me what you have seen.” Siteya tried to speak of her vision, she started to form the words but the image of Janzeth with his hands around her neck held her in its grips and the words were replaced with heavy and uncontrollable sobbing. With a more comforting softness Soph responded to her cries, “That’s right girl, you must let that pain out, take your time, but then you find your words.” Siteya let the sharp emotions take her heart and rip it open, she moaned and sobbed until she felt a sickness rise in her belly, she managed to get up from the chair and find an empty pot hanging from a hook by the hearth. Grabbing it she laid it on the ground and threw herself to her knees and heaved bile that felt like all her organs were loosening inside her and about to come out of her mouth. She sat with her head in the pot, convulsing and retching repeatedly until there were no more contents or bile in her stomach to heave. She curled up on the floor rocking herself and whimpering for a long while before she wiped her mouth and eyes clean with her gown and sat up, “The vision…it was horrid…” She sniffled, with each shortness of breath from sobbing but managed to continue, “I saw my past…he was taken by the darkness.” Tears streamed down her face, but she held herself together with determination to speak, “She spoke of her heart, Dakkru…blay un de asu.” A deeper fear came over Siteya as she rubbed at her throat, she managed to stand up and get back in the chair. Soph sat there with her in silence for a few minutes before she spoke with a rattled voice as if she was too weakened by her own vision, “that poisoned relic must never enter your house Siteya, if it does you must run as far as you can…and even then it will plant its seed within you.” Siteya was startled by what Soph had revealed, she sensed no metaphor in the words and it frightened her, attaching the gloom of the experience to her in a way that truly left a dark cloud above her that she now knew was only hers to bare. She sat in the chair stunned by all that past in just an hours’ time, she felt more like a child then a Priestess and she just wanted to get away from everything. She looked up to Sophs face, the white glaze of her eyes haunted her, she stood up and went for her basket, pulling out herbs and laying them on the table, her stomach feeling queasy and unstable, the room still looming with shadows, her voice quivered, “I must get back to the Inn, I am leaving you with mullein, dandelion, milk thistle and…another bit of snakeroot…Goddess help the person that must drink that next round with you.” Soph startled Siteya with her abrupt coughing cackle, “Well maybe I keep it for your next visit?” She continued cackling but then stopped and a graven voice took over, “Siteya, heed my words, run from Dakkru’s heart where you find it…and you will find it.” Siteya grimaced silently, her tears ample once again, visions of vomiting her own heart out of her mouth flashed before her. Siteya swallowed down her sickness and tears, she squatted down next to the blind seer, grabbed her hand and kissed it, “I do take heed in all you have shown me.” She looked over to the pot that contained her stomach bile and added, “I will clean up my mess here before I go.” Soph pulled her hand away to place it on Siteya’s cheek, she shook her head, “No need, to worry about that, I want you to go get some rest now, Priestess, for you will need it.” She grabbed her face and pulled it close to her own and concluded, “I will not be seeing you again, I want you to know you are strong even when you are not a Priestess.” Siteya pulled her face away as every muscle in her body tensed at the seer’s words. She moved back and grabbed Sophs hand again and held it there for a long silence, her face torn with the pain and eyes glazed with sorrow, she studied the old woman’s face before muttering out of habit, “And Goddess bless you Soph.” She threw her empty basket and bag over her shoulder and fled quickly out the door and down the street.
Siteya stumbled more then walked back to the Inn, she found herself needing to stop a few times and vomit which resembled more of a dry heave as there was very little she could vomit in her stomach. Her mind tinged with madness and hallucinations fueled by the snakeroot still working its way through her veins. She saw bloody pumping hearts protrude out of each passerby’s chest, shadows transformed into dark and looming creatures bent on consuming her. She saw Janzeth's screwed up face spewing with Dakkru's wicked laughter and when she finally got to the tavern doors below the Inn, where she sought only her bed and to hide from the visions under her blankets, a large Ylian man with long oily yellow hair and straggled beard, loomed up from behind her, the smell of whiskey reeked from his every pore. He grabbed her abruptly, around the waste, and leaned into her ear, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the red whiskey as he spoke, “lovely lady, let me bed you and I will keep your forests moist.” He turned her small body around with a switch of his wrists; his free hand grabbed her firmly by the waist and pulled her closer. He sneered with proud deviancy as he moved in to taste her lips, she saw only the face of Janzeth, with fangs opening wide to devour her. Siteya screamed and promptly blacked out. A cloaked Nolthrir elf woman moved in quickly to grab Siteya’s falling body from the Ylian man and with her free hand gave the man a jabbing push away. She pulled off her hood to get a better look at the Priestesses limp body, worry evident in her glare, the weight of Siteya proved to be slightly too heavy for the small Nolthrir elf to hold, she gently lowered her to the ground and quickly gained her standing before turning to the towering man and calmly speaking, “Now da’ rling, we don’t want the guards searching round for th’ man who accosted a Xiosian Priestess, do we?” The man glared at the Nolthrir woman, weaving his weight left and right uncontrollably, he staggered toward the blue elf and in slurred speech responded, “May…be I jus have a go with you…I heear that Nuurish girls are best on account of tha gils.” The cloaked elf returned the glare and quickly purveyed the street; spying two nights watchmen strolling toward the tavern, she nodded to them. The Ylian man followed her nod over to see the two men in uniform and nonchalantly stumbled off in the opposite direction. The Noltrir sighed aloud, shaking her head before squatting down to the Xisoan Priestess, out cold, at her feet.
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