Sworded Tales

Finishing the sip that he was taking, Borlak turned his dark brown eyes upon the person addressing him.  In his quiet manner, he replied, “Yes, I was approached and given an invitation that was just enticing enough to put the feet of my mount on a path that I had not intended.”

His head tilted slightly in thought, or maybe remembrance, a fond look sparkling in his gaze.  “As for home,” he continued, “You are correct that it is not the great city.  Nor is yours, I believe.” Continue reading

The “Riddles and Rhymes” and “Echoes of Her Past” series here on Sworded Tales refer to a PC named Cynthia Anna Marie Domin.  She was birthed for a World of Darkness Changeling game in which we played chyldlings.  Here is the original concept sheet for her (an act I perform for many PC’s, but hers was more involved than most):

Profile:
– a 37″ tall, seven year old girl, app. 42 lbs.
– long, dark auburn hair that always seems to be hanging in her face
– little pug nose, deep brown eyes, prominent throat mechanics and a gap between her left incisor and canine
– ears are attached to the head the whole way around, not pierced
– round, dark, slightly raised birthmark on her hamstring about three inches above the knee
– always wears a denim jumper in varying shades of blue with a front chest pocket
– shiny black patent leather shoes with frilly white ankle socks
– always carries her backpack with her

Backpack:
– black with leather bottom, front and main pouch
– carries: a book and crayons for coloring, a stuffed animal, a pouch of goodies, a play phone, marbles

Notes:
– the howl of the wind
– screams of the dying live on in a curse
– ‘We are the screams of the dying.  We are the howl of the wind.  We are everywhere.  We see everything.  You can not hide from us…’
– do not scream, it will only make them stronger
– they are at peace during the calm, during the storm, none can withstand them
– each whisper, each moan, each howl, each scream…is another one
– we travel the void, the space between life and death
– we walk with the dead living and the living dead
– we are the echo
– ‘Do you hear it? Strength from the screams. There is peace in silence, but the screams are what make me whole. Will you scream for me?’

Looking back on that initial concept and then the host of memorable scenes that developed in playing Cyndi, she was a landmark character for me.  I can’t say I fancy playing children, but I made my little Sluagh girl an ancient soul who was a delicious cross between Wednesday Addams and Samara from The Ring, though Cyndi was alive and kicking (quite literally) long before Samara found her way to mainstream media.  The chyldling flashbacks I had when I first saw Samara squirm from the television…  *FALCONPUNCH!*

The fact that I could play Cyndi like the prodigal visionary added such potential.  I think she gave me further insight into character depth than any other I had played, at least up to that point.  The innocence of youth blended with the horror of eternal precognition.  What’s not to like?

I’m sure her echoes will be long lived both here and throughout the other paths I walk.

I grew up on them.  Long before the television blossomed into a banal and countless cartoon menagerie, there were a select few channels from which to choose.  My preferred viewing agenda was Looney Tunes, Tom & Jerry and Hong Kong Phooey.  

Timeless classics of the perverted culture of the age, there was rarely an after school date or Saturday morning pajama fest that didn’t find the antics of these zany characters splashing across the screen.  Mix into that a box of Frosted Flakes or some other equally sugar inducing cereal, and WHAMMO! you had yourself an event.

Among the most classic in my memory, What’s Opera Doc? (aka Spear and Magic Helmet), Rabbit of Seville and Touché Pussycat.  Can I tell you?  The cavalcades of classical music and animated chaos that permanently imprinted the psyche.  Nothing but sheer genius.  So many wonderful snippets of memory, Marvin the Martian, the Coyote Acme antics and a host of other creative seeds.

Cartoons.  I wouldn’t be the creature I am today without them.

Curse

I curse this place and all who enter here.
Within these walls of dishonor and fear
Will be a haven of distrust and lies
Breeding hate and anger and despise.

Never again will trust break through.
Never again will the truth ring true.
Hone will be lost in this tomb of gloom.
All attempts at ruling here will end in doom.

In this place of darkness, shadows will reign,
Echoing their unavenged screams of pain.
An abyss of horror all things good will shun
Until the wrongs have been righted, and justice is done.

Continue reading

Seravis met her gaze without contempt, unable to see a means by which he would lose this engagement.  The younger man flourished a hand toward Merinde, granting her whatever time she saw fit to relish her final evening as proprietress of the Last Dance.

The small hamlet of Daruqhaar was the dying breath of civilization before the blasted wastes of the north.  A sordid and conflict ridden history congealed around a singular fact which explained the village’s survival nestled in such unforgiving lands.  The inn known as the Last Dance was blessed, or cursed, depending on which side of the argument was preferred.  The power behind the anomalous structure was unknown, but a dizzying number of tales surrounded the source material.  Whatever the origins, the Last Dance served as a beacon to those that would gamble in this challenging terrain.  Daruqhaar survived as a result, flourishing or rebuilding as circumstances dictated. Continue reading

The city had always been home to Grenna, caressing her with the mercantile aroma of war and the languid touch of sewage.  The storm seasons grew worse and the daily fallen now outweighed the newborn hope, but gods how she loved it!  The savage thrum of power and the criss-crossing array of cultures were a breeding ground for dreams.  That the goddess of sleep interlaced such wondrous moments of unconsciousness with nightmare was only fitting.  A young girl could not afford to become placid.  Not when that young girl intended to become a legendary purloiner. Continue reading

Not that Kurn expected anything would surprise Erellia, he looked to the Elven woman for her reaction to the arrival of the man that had just added his mount to the others and now approached the quick camp.  No weapons, simple ornamentation, robes and small fineries.  A mage then, or a priest of an order Kurn could not place by token.  The half-smile was genuine enough to prompt a nod of greeting from Kurn.  Words would certainly be exchanged soon enough.

The lizardman took up a patient vigil at the periphery of the tent, albeit safely clear of the deluge, as the tea brewed and the late arrivals filtered in.  He joined some of the rest in drying off through minor magic, invoked by little more than a couple of whispered syllables and a few quick pats of one hand across his scaled person. Continue reading

Pride.  Pompousness.  Self-importance.  Arrogance.  Machismo.  Smugness.  Asshattery.  Call it what you will.  I have no fucking time for it.  None.  If it were legal to punch smug people in the throat, I’d be known as the Larynx Crusher.  Few things push my buttons equally well.  Though willful ignorance is close.  The moment you choose to stop learning should be the moment they put pennies on your eyelids.  Never before.  But I digress.

We were talking about conceit, and the only thing worse than one arrogant jackass is a host of them.  Understanding your place, as an individual, and our place, as a species, in the universe is a defining element for your identity and consequently your belief structure and peace of mind.  Such true perspective comes from appreciation of scope.

We are small.  So very small.  That does not mean insignificant, that our stardust selves don’t matter, only that petty notions, like conceit and greed and power, need to be kept in perspective.  There is so much more than our tiny flecks of existence.  How could anyone believe that they are the pinnacle of anything?

Give this ancient, boundless universe the respect it deserves.  Then open your minds, and maybe, just maybe, the universe will give something back.

Lies

Left to right and right to left
Fear by stolen, truth of theft  (Theft of truth, stolen by fear)
Lies about truth and truth about lies
Wrong come words the when surprise  (Surprise when the words come wrong)
Quick to judge and judge too quick
Reflections of power, mirrors of trick  (Trick of mirrors, power of reflections)
Eyes blind open & open blind eyes
See not will that those awaits demise  (Demise awaits those that will not see)
Choose friends carefully and carefully friends choose
Change and shift they as threaten and confuse  (Confuse and threaten as they shift and change)
Fun is foreboding and foreboding is fun
Done is that all undo can mistake the simple one  (One simple mistake can undo all that is done)
Sidhe to Satyr and Satyr to Sidhe
Lies into truth turn will Cyndi.  (Cyndi will turn truth into lies) Continue reading

Money in the bank.  That’s the way you see it.  When your boss, Hollis Sawthorne, organized this little project, he knew only the best man for the job would do.  That would be yours truly.  There isn’t anyone sharper, keener or saltier this side of Carson City.

So when word came down that Mr. Sawthorne was offerin’ thirty percent of the take from his new mine up near Damrea for recoverin’ some stolen property of his, you naturally jumped at the chance.  You’ve had your eye on a piece of land up Damrea way for some time now, and heaven knows you’ve parted more than your share of me from their most trusted companion.  What’s one more?  With what you’ve got stashed added to the take of that mine, you could finally get away from dodgin’ bullets and find yourself some young filly to settle down with, maybe even raise some young ‘uns of your own.

But to business first. Continue reading