Sunday, December 12, 2004
roleplaying story...
The sunset was spectacular, with dark storm clouds in the southeast reflecting somber silvers, radiant oranges, and blood colored reds as Maven Darkhelme finished lashing his small raft. The storm would reach shore in 2 hours, but Maven didn’t plan on being onshore then. His near-delirium panic was telling him to be on the ocean as soon as possible. He didn’t expect to survive, and didn’t plan to try. All weapons, potions and armor would be left along with his diary on shore. He wasn’t sure why he was tempting the gods, but he was going to venture onto the ocean armed only with his quick, yet subtly insane mind.. It started months ago, and could possibly end tonight…
Maven Darkhelme awoke on a road south of the town of Dundee as any other; he had no memory of any previous thoughts, yet his body suggested at least 20 years of life since birth. He was content with learning slowly, and fighting passionately against the forces of evil. He met friendly Valornians, noble and common alike, ventured into the dank sewers, the Dark Forests, and Duberry’s Swamp, never questioning why. He was involved in some hunting parties, but mostly wandered alone.
It was on one such lonely wandering that started his downhill slide down the slope of sanity. Maven was exploring the southern plains, when he decided to venture south farther than he had been before. Suddenly he stopped short. The dwindling grasses revealed pearly-white sand. The breeze blowing from the south carried with it a scent of salt, tantalizing faint. Memories from a past life flooded though Maven’s mind, a torrent of pieces of a life once known, not a complete book, but snippets of pages. A huge boat, gilded like a swan… a farm, home to hard work, and an abusive father… a young woman named Ni’iva, half-dressed entering a room, his room… The shock of remembrance drove Maven to his knees, silent tears flowing down his cheeks. Slowly, he crawled forward, until he reached the top of a dune, and the sea stretched forevermore in front of him. He remembered a pirate ship, more noble than dingy, and recalled his captain, Nicnayal Blugrut, and a perilous storm, being swept off the deck by a gargantuan wave, watching his ship Flayan sail on, then disappear behind the crest of a wave godlike in size, felt 200 feet of ocean crash on top of him, and then nothing. Another memory, of Maven being bathed in soft white light, as an omniscient force judged him, told him his name was “Maven Darkhelme,” told of the wiles of a demon/man named Balthazar, and then Maven woke from his slumber. It was sunrise, and gulls were beginning to pick at him. His head thundered with voices from the past. With one last, longing glance at the sea, Maven turned and headed for town.
Maven’s friend Sam Fraydye spotted Maven as he entered the inn.
“Mave, my friend, grab a chair, I’ll buy you some ale… Maven, what’s wrong? You look like Balthazar has just jumped from behind a hedge and yelled ‘Boo’”
Maven glanced at his friend, said nothing, and left. His companion’s friendly face brought back memories of another friend, lost in the storm. Shaking his head he went back to the plains, and hid from society for days, not eating, not talking, every few hours wandering back to the ocean where he would gaze over the horizon. When he returned to town, he went to the shrine, prayed to the gods for peace, but heard nothing. Once the gods actually came down and talked to Maven, but now they were silent, mocking, laughing at Maven. He cursed them, desecrated the shrine, and fled town, shouting at old friends, and phantom memories. Alarmed citizens tried to stop him, but he waved his sword, and they backed down.
At night, Maven snuck back into town, stealing wood planks, parts of chairs and fences, belts, twine, string, and food. His stealth rivaled that of the best of rogues; his madness heightened his senses to almost beyond human capabilities. He took his booty back to the shore, and with a skill unknown before his madness, built a seaworthy raft.
With leaden footsteps, Maven ventured unclothed into the sea. Climbing aboard his raft, he surrendered his fate to the gods, and at last, his mind was at ease.
I dedicate this story to my dear friend, who wishes not to be named...
Maven Darkhelme awoke on a road south of the town of Dundee as any other; he had no memory of any previous thoughts, yet his body suggested at least 20 years of life since birth. He was content with learning slowly, and fighting passionately against the forces of evil. He met friendly Valornians, noble and common alike, ventured into the dank sewers, the Dark Forests, and Duberry’s Swamp, never questioning why. He was involved in some hunting parties, but mostly wandered alone.
It was on one such lonely wandering that started his downhill slide down the slope of sanity. Maven was exploring the southern plains, when he decided to venture south farther than he had been before. Suddenly he stopped short. The dwindling grasses revealed pearly-white sand. The breeze blowing from the south carried with it a scent of salt, tantalizing faint. Memories from a past life flooded though Maven’s mind, a torrent of pieces of a life once known, not a complete book, but snippets of pages. A huge boat, gilded like a swan… a farm, home to hard work, and an abusive father… a young woman named Ni’iva, half-dressed entering a room, his room… The shock of remembrance drove Maven to his knees, silent tears flowing down his cheeks. Slowly, he crawled forward, until he reached the top of a dune, and the sea stretched forevermore in front of him. He remembered a pirate ship, more noble than dingy, and recalled his captain, Nicnayal Blugrut, and a perilous storm, being swept off the deck by a gargantuan wave, watching his ship Flayan sail on, then disappear behind the crest of a wave godlike in size, felt 200 feet of ocean crash on top of him, and then nothing. Another memory, of Maven being bathed in soft white light, as an omniscient force judged him, told him his name was “Maven Darkhelme,” told of the wiles of a demon/man named Balthazar, and then Maven woke from his slumber. It was sunrise, and gulls were beginning to pick at him. His head thundered with voices from the past. With one last, longing glance at the sea, Maven turned and headed for town.
Maven’s friend Sam Fraydye spotted Maven as he entered the inn.
“Mave, my friend, grab a chair, I’ll buy you some ale… Maven, what’s wrong? You look like Balthazar has just jumped from behind a hedge and yelled ‘Boo’”
Maven glanced at his friend, said nothing, and left. His companion’s friendly face brought back memories of another friend, lost in the storm. Shaking his head he went back to the plains, and hid from society for days, not eating, not talking, every few hours wandering back to the ocean where he would gaze over the horizon. When he returned to town, he went to the shrine, prayed to the gods for peace, but heard nothing. Once the gods actually came down and talked to Maven, but now they were silent, mocking, laughing at Maven. He cursed them, desecrated the shrine, and fled town, shouting at old friends, and phantom memories. Alarmed citizens tried to stop him, but he waved his sword, and they backed down.
At night, Maven snuck back into town, stealing wood planks, parts of chairs and fences, belts, twine, string, and food. His stealth rivaled that of the best of rogues; his madness heightened his senses to almost beyond human capabilities. He took his booty back to the shore, and with a skill unknown before his madness, built a seaworthy raft.
With leaden footsteps, Maven ventured unclothed into the sea. Climbing aboard his raft, he surrendered his fate to the gods, and at last, his mind was at ease.
I dedicate this story to my dear friend, who wishes not to be named...
