Topic: The Long Journey Home

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-09 18:27 EST
Connar tugged at the reins of the dark-maned horse, urging the animal down the cobblestone streets, heading to the town center, where the latest rounds of executions were about to get underway. He had only just arrived in the ancient French city of Narbonne, with its picturesque castle perched on the cliffs high above the jagged coastline below. The near serenity of the city, when viewed from afar, was in stark contrast to the seething darkness emanating from within its walls.

The whole of the region was swelling with chaos, coming under different rule for the third time in less than a decade, each successive conqueror more ruthless than the last. The people lived in fear of instant and harsh recrimination from the new land lords.

The fairest of the maidens were claimed by the new governors and magistrates of the land and treated as if their property. Those who refused to submit to their new masters were summarily charged, under the guise of witchcraft or demonic possession, and beheaded or burned at the stake ? or both. Demons and witches did roam the land plying their craft whenever and wherever it suited their dark intentions. Their infrequent sightings gave fuel to the fear and subjegation of the villagers.

Much of this ancient warrior?s time was split between the far-off realm of Rhydin and his own medieval world. Each time he passed through the portals between his two realities, he wondered if it would be his last. Connar had loved and lost?though even as the images and thoughts of who and what he had lost flashed through his mind, he reasoned to himself that one cannot lose that which was never possessed in the first place ? though every soft breeze that caressed his skin would argue to the contrary.

Connar had replaced the unfamiliar emptiness inside with his work ? the cleansing of his world of the darkness that had followed him here from Rhydin?s shores. It was growing more difficult now, as his time and era was plunging deeper and deeper into darkness?the darkest of ages earth would ever know.

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-10 00:52 EST
A young woman, with curly, blonde, mud-caked hair pleaded with the onlookers in the village square, her voice dry, cracking, begging for any ear to hear her pleas only to receive a backhanded blow from one of the guards and cursing commands bidding the condemned to shut her mouth. There seemed to be far too many cords and ropes binding the small-framed woman to the stake in the center of a freshly stacked pile of wood and timber. The several guards standing about seemed overly concerned about those cords working themselves loose. The woman began to plead again, straining at the ropes and cords cutting into her flesh, only to receive another blow from the guard. She recoiled, spitting blood from her mouth, eyes flashing red, her voice turning demonically deep, as she snarled at the guard, ?Strike us one more time, mortal, and we shall be the last thing ye ever touch!? The guard, as he had done afore, took a cautious step away from the prisoner.

Connar pushed his way through the back of the crowd, which, upon seeing him, began to freely part, giving him a wide berth. As he neared the center of the commotion, a dark-robed cleric bowed deeply, ceremoniously at the waist, greeting the stranger, ?We bid thee welcome, Lord Valdor.?

?Stop calling me that,? Connar growled as continued past the cleric and strode up the mound of wood, stopping to look at the woman staked there. She was trembling and looked away from the man in dark armor standing before her now. He turned to face the crowd, looking down at the cleric, ?For what cause has this woman been condemned to die??

The balding cleric looked up at Connar, his voice filled partly with fear and anger, ?She is possessed of a devil, my lord. She has been found speaking in tongues and with many voices, and leading the men of the village down forbidden paths.?

Connar looked from the cleric to the woman and back again, brows furrowing over his hazel eyes. ?And why am I needed here? By the appearance of the shallow graves dotting the landscape, I would gather ye have not had any trouble putting such as these to death.? His tone was biting, accusatory, tinged with anger.

?My lord,? the cleric began, stumbling over his words, ?We?that is to say?she?? The cleric looked tentatively at the bound woman and then took a step toward Connar and the pile. ?We have tried thrice, my lord. She has escaped each time and wreaked havok until we could capture her again. I am sorry to have needed to disturb thy work, my lord.?

Connar growled through clenched teeth, ?Stop calling me that. I am not your lord nor master!? He turned to face the woman, cupping her chin in his hand and lifting her head to look her in the eyes, as he spoke to the captive, ?So, what have we here??

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-11 16:32 EST
Connar?s searching gaze was met by the woman?s tear-filled eyes. She had been through much trial and tribulation ? it showed in her soot-stained face and countenance. Her clothing was tattered and torn, hanging off one of her bare, bruised shoulders. Her face and body had been pummeled by rotten produce and small stones cast by the mob. Tears streaked her face as her body hung limp against the ropes binding her tightly to the stake. But he was looking past what lay on the surface, peering deeper through her clouded blue eyes to the essence hiding within the unwitting host. Her voice rose to his ears, weak, soft and trembling, ?Please, just let me go. The people have gone mad. The whole of the land is lost and full of deceit and lies.?

The once silent crowd now grew restless for action, beginning to call for the prisoner?s death with chants of, ?Kill her. Kill her. Kill her!? Their collective voices grew louder and louder as the circle of spectators around the timbers pressed in tighter.

Connar turned to face the mob, his voice rising above the clamoring chorus, ?Taisez-vous, tous! If she be truly possessed of a demon, as ye claim, do ye not know that killing her does nothing to the creature within? The destruction of her body merely frees the evil spirit to possess another.? He knew the blood-lust crazing the land was stronger than any rational reasoning they might yet possess.

?She has the devil in her, brought on by her witchcrafts!? one voice among the throng shouted back at him, inciting the crowd once again.

?If she has a devil, have ye prayed for her? Have ye sought to free her of this burden? Or is the shedding of blood the only thing that will appease your appetite for vengeance?? Connar was growing weary of giving evil for evil, tantamount to throwing oil on a fire in hopes of dowsing the flames. Darkness fed off of it, infecting everything around it, drawing the people further from light and truth.

He turned back to the woman, fixing his gaze once again to her eyes and what lay just beyond those windows to the soul. A voice hissed forth from the woman?s lips, curling them in a wicked snarl, ?What have we to do with thee, Valdor??

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-12 03:20 EST
Connar?s jaw tightened as the woman spoke with an unnatural voice. ?Tis a lost cause in which ye are engaged. But ye know that, don?t ye. We can see it in your eyes, read in on your countenance.? The crowd hushed as the verbal exchange continued, marveling that even the woman or that which possessed her knew his name.

?Tis ye and your kind that are misled,? Connar?s voice was low, spoken through clenched teeth. He would not play their game, nor give them an audience for their rabble. His posture changed as he stood straightway before the woman and the demon host inside, gripping her chin tightly so as not to have the eye contact broken. He spoke again, this time in an ancient, forgotten tongue, but known to the demonic spirits, one that they immediately recognized. ?Ye shall leave this body forthwith.?

Voices shrieked out as if in pain, spirit voices mixed with agony-filled cries from the woman as she was rent from within, twisting her features, causing her body to pull and strain at the ropes binding her. The demonic spirit cried out in the same ancient language, causing the crowd to murmur that Connar too had become possessed. ?War is coming thy way, Valdor. Thou art all alone, none stand with thee in this world any longer!?

He didn?t need an evil spirit from the nether world telling him that. He had sensed it for quite a while. The struggle against darkness was nearing futility. He narrowed his gaze upon the woman and placed his palm against her head as he held her fast with the other. He continued to command the spirits from the woman?s now lifeless body, ?Anek vitorom cenare, anek vitae dieste!? The last word uttered as he pulled his hand forcefully from the woman?s head, as if extracting a heavy weight and casting it off into the air. The onlookers stepped back from the scene that had held their attention so tightly, the rush of air and sudden stillness sending chills down their spines.

Connar began cutting at the ropes with his dagger, freeing the woman who fell limply upon the pile of wood. He knelt down and scooped her up in his arms and began to descend from the would-be executioner?s pile. The throng pushed back at first as he began to walk through them, but soon hushed murmurs turned to shouted accusations. ?This man is in concert with the demons, for he speaks with them and does their bidding!? It took only a moment or two longer for the first hard object to strike his face, followed by a steady rain of rotten food and stones. He shielded the woman?s face as best he could, walking with determination to his horse.

He set the woman upon the front of the saddle and climbed up quickly behind her, catching her before she fell over. The verbal assaults and volleys chased after them as Connar set the horse in motion with a firm kick from his heels. He felt a trickle of blood run down his cheek as he pushed the horse to a full gallop, not looking back until they were far without the city walls.

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-13 02:30 EST
A small fire burned brightly on the deserted beach, the young woman lying motionless near the flickering light and warmth of the flames. Connar had wrapped her frail form in his cloak and now sat upon a large piece of driftwood a few paces away from the woman and the fire, looking past her to the crashing waves hitting the beach off in the distance.

He had washed his face and hands at the water?s edge, the salt water stinging the small wounds on his face and arms. He looked at the woman, strands of her blonde hair being swept slowly across the sand by the gentle sea breeze. She was no bigger than Elessaria?it made him marvel that any would wish harm upon any such as they. He had set a recently made sack-cloth dress next to the woman as she slept, her clothing was shredded and stained beyond recognition. It was a gift from Eless, he had no idea that he would be making use of it so soon nor in such a manner as this.

Connar clasped his hands under his chin, resting his elbows upon his knees as his mind traveled back through the events of the day, then drifting back to events of longer ago, the relentless pounding of the waves against the shore giving a cadence and rhythm to his mental meanderings.

Hours later he would be brought back to the present by the slow stirrings of the woman. She moaned at first, caught between her nightmares and waking. She eventually sat up quickly, looking frantically about at the fire, the beach, and the darkened night sky. As she caught sight of Connar?s shadow hunched in the distance, she scrambled back in fear, clutching the cloak about her.

?Who are you? What do you want with me?? her voice weak and trembling.

He remained seated, unmoved from his position, not wanting to appear as a threat to her. His voice was calm, steady, reassuring, ?My name is Connar and I mean ye no harm. Ye needn?t fear me.?

She looked about quickly, the realization that they were alone, and that if he meant her any harm, he could easily have done whatever he willed while she was unconscious. She remained curled beneath the heavy cloak, as she stared back at the shadowy figure speaking to her. ?Where am I?and how did I come to be in this place??

Connar knew that she would have no recollection of the events leading up to her being lashed to the stake and condemned to die. She would next likely ask about her cuts and bruises and think him a madman when he would try to explain what had befallen her. He would do his best to try to explain how he came to rescue her and cast off the evil spirits plaguing her, that he had taken her from the city and ridden a safe distance to this place where they now found themselves. She sat in silence as the explanation rolled off his tongue, a soft nod of her head every now and then until he had completed the drawn out answer to her original question.

He motioned toward the shoreline and the sea, ?Why don?t ye go try to clean up a bit. There is a sack-cloth dress there ye can put on if ye so desire.? The woman simply nodded and took up the dress and moved toward the water, his cloak still draped over her shoulders, dragging on the ground as she walked. Connar watched her until she reached the water?s edge and began to wash, her tattered dress falling from her shoulders as he turned his gaze to the sand covering the scuffed toes of his boots.

He was lost in his thoughts when he heard soft steps in the sand approaching. Connar looked up at the woman, who was setting her tattered rags into the fire. She seemed nearly transfigured from the washing. Her hair was wet and hung in twisted curls tumbling over her shoulders, her face washed clean of the blood and dirt that once concealed her gentle features. Her blue eyes seemed to shimmer in the firelight with a new life and energy to them. The cloak was still wrapped around her, warding off the chill of being wet in the night air. She made a motion as if to remove the cloak and offer it back to its rightful owner, but he waved her off, ?Keep it?the cloak is yours?Ye look far better in it than do I.?

She sat down by the fire, curling her legs underneath her body as lowered herself to the sand. He motioned with his head to a small pack on the ground by her. ?There are a couple of apples and a crust of bread, and flask of water in there. Ye are welcome to it. Ye probably have not eaten in quite a while.?

The mere mention of food brought sharp hunger pains and she eagerly dug into the pouch and tore at the crust of bread with her teeth. A smile curved his lips as he watched her feast on the meager meal. The first apple practically vanished core and all in a matter of moments. As she bit into the remaining apple she looked over to him for the first time, now suddenly aware of her ravenous behavior. ?Please, won?t you please come sit here by the fire and share this apple with me. I?ve eaten all your food and left you with none.?

Connar did not move, remaining seated on the bit of log. ?Ye may eat the whole of it?I only wish I had more to offer, m?lady.?

She took another bite of apple, warmed by the fire and a full stomach, letting the cloak slide off her shoulders, revealing the sack-cloth dress underneath. ?Please, my name is Christine. I would much prefer that you would come sit here by the fire with me. You must be chilled sitting way over there.? She patted the area next to her as if to emphasize the invitation.

?Tis best if I remain?? Connar?s words were cut short as the sounds of hooves pounding the sand could now be heard coming towards them. He looked over his shoulder at the advancing party on horseback ? four riders moving swiftly toward the small campfire.

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-15 18:59 EST
The riders pulled up just short of the campfire, a cascade of sand thrown from halting hooves sprayed over the ground. The lead rider pulled at the reins, turning the horse as he looked from the frightened woman back to Connar?s shadowed figure. The men were not soldiers, for they wore commoner?s clothing. Connar had not moved from his place on the log, his sword remained sheathed in the sand, the tip buried partway up the blade, well within his reach if needed.

?We?ll be taking the woman,? the lead rider yelled out, barking his demands, pointing a short sword in Connar?s direction. ?If ye know what is best, ye will remain where ye are.?

Connar looked at the woman as she inched back away from the fire and the men on horseback. Her gaze was fixed on one rider in particular, who seemed disinterested at best, his eyes bearing heavy lids and circles beneath, signs of having missed more than a few night?s sleep. Connar looked at the woman, her eyes turning toward him as he addressed the lead rider, ?We shall see what is best and what isn?t and then act accordingly?What cause do ye have to claim this woman??

Before the lead horseman could speak, the man with fatigue written on his features spoke up, his voice tired and weary, his words short and to the point, ?She is my wife.?

As Connar looked from that man to the woman, she diverted her eyes, looking down at the sand by the fire?s edge. Silence hung heavy over the group as none spoke to dispute the man?s claim, not even the woman spoke to the contrary. She looked up at Connar, tears welling in her eyes. Whether she had been mistreated or beaten by her husband or his associates, he did not know, but her silence spoke volumes. Perhaps she was having recollections of her nefarious activities undertaken while she had been possessed of evil spirits. That mattered little now.

The lead rider grew impatient and bellowed his command once more, though he lacked the courage to remove himself from the saddle and take the woman himself, ?She is coming with us!?

Tears now streaming down her cheeks, terror on her face, she looked to Connar, as if asking in silence why he wasn?t coming to her defense, wondering if the man who had rescued her was now no longer interested in her plight. Her voice trembled and broke as she pleaded, ?What?what will become of me??

The leader of the horsemen spoke first, growing more and more agitated by the minute, ?That is naught for ye to??

Connar stood, cutting the man?s words short, raising his voice to meet the volume of the other man, ?They intend to return ye back to the village and take your life, woman. Your actions, whether truly your own or not, have caused much shame to befall the village and your husband, though I suspect he might very well carry much of the blame for how ye arrived to be here now.?

The woman?s husband looked away from Connar?s accusatory gaze. How this stranger could know of certainty their intentions toward the woman, they could only fathom, but it only made them all the more uncertain about what they would next do.

The lead rider looked back over his shoulder to his companions, trying to ascertain whether they still faced the task as one or if their collective intentions were now in doubt. The man turned his attention to Connar, who was still standing in place, giving no sign of aggression nor or a willingness to back down. The leader of the search party spoke again, the measure of anger and resentment growing in his voice and words, ?We have come to take this man?s wife. What becomes of her is none of your affair. If ye try to interfere with our business, then ye shall meet the same fate as the woman. Mark my words!? the last line delivered as the point of the short sword shook in Connar?s direction.

Connar stared at the man as he reached for his own sword, taking the hilt in hand and drawing the blade slowly from its perch in the sand. ?Careful, friend, for the manner by which ye judge, shall ye be judged likewise. If the husband wishes to claim his wife, let him so speak, otherwise, your claim to take her shall fall on deaf ears.?

All attention turned to the husband and wife who were now staring at each other, wordless regrets and silent apologies written on their faces. Only the soft crackling of the dying fire and the distant crash of waves mired the silence. At long last, the man turned his horse about, giving one last look at his wife over his shoulder before prodding his horse away from the scene. The other two riders soon followed suit, leaving the would-be leader alone to face Connar.

?Her life may be spared this night, stranger, but her day of reckoning will come,? the man gruffly spoke as his sword was sheathed.

?The only life spared this eve was your own,?Connar said as he shoved his sword back into the sand, his gaze directed to the dying embers of the campfire.

The man gave one last glare back to the woman, disgust in his eyes as he turned his horse around and spurred the flanks to join the others in the distance. The woman watched in silence as the riders slowly faded into the darkness enveloping the beach.

Her attention turned back to Connar as she saw him move over to his own horse, loosening leather ties and pulling a large satchel from the saddle.

As she began to speak, mustering the courage to break the silence and thank him, Connar?s voice quieted her again. He was speaking matter-of-factly, no emotion in his voice, ?Stay here as long as ye like, I do not think your husband will be coming back for ye. Take my horse and whatever other provisions are in the saddlebags.? He had slipped the satchel strap over his head and shoulder, adjusting the weight across his back as he moved to take up his sword, placing it in its sheath. ?Ye would be well advised to travel as far away from here as ye are able. Ye are dead to any ye once knew.?

She rose to her feet, clutching the cloak about her against the chill of the night. She felt lost and abandoned, left alone to face an uncertain future. As Connar completed the last of his preparations, he faced the woman once more, her voice shaking as the sudden reality of her plight weighed heavy upon her, ?Why can?t you stay with me?can?t I come with you??

?Where I go ye cannot follow, for death would surely await ye with more certainty than if ye were to remain here. God speed ye on your way, Christine.?

He gave her one more lingering glance before turning to walk away and begin the long journey home.

Connar Valdor

Date: 2007-06-27 20:51 EST
Fever racked his body as it fought against the seeping blackness coursing through his veins. The chill from the ice-cold lake helping to abate the rising core temperature of Connar's mortal flesh. The fever also invoked vivid flashbacks of the alley-way skirmish that had rent him into a charred, bloody mess. As he set fingers gingerly to his shoulders, intense flashes of pain were followed by visions of the dragon Aerendir clamping down on him with razor teeth and powerful jaws - ripping him apart, casting him across the ground, and hurling fiery blasts at him. Connar would shake his head, blinking back the glimpses of the recent events, using Shea's healing tonic sparingly.

He had entered a fray in which he knew not of the nearly grave consequences of his actions, wrecklessly endangering those around him. Connar acted independently, frustrated at seeing Icer in plain view, held captive by the demon, while the inn went about its business, as if not caring one wit.

Connar had no idea in his ruse to get Icer away from her demon captor, that Oziendis had not one, but three dragons under his spell, doing his bidding. As he began to try to set Icer free, he was met by powerful resistance, the likes of which he had never seen. He sat now trying to relax as bruised ribs reminded him at each breath of his folly. What he may have begun alone, many struggled in this conflict together; Elessaria using her powers to protect and shield her friends, Panther using all his feline prowess to keep after the demon slaver, Shea of Greenstone, promise-bound not to enter the fray, she used the wind and magic to keep Connar and others from meeting a charred and fiery death. There were others, too, working to set not only Icer free, but her mother, Moon, as well.

He would come to learn later that Aerendir was also a captive against his will, a cousin to Icer. Connar would rest, not risking a return venture to the Inn, lest he should see or sense the demon Oziendis lurking about again. Sleepiness would come slowly as he tended to his wounds near a make-shift camp fire. He rested his back against a tree, feeling broken in body and spirit. He had descended close to hell's door on many occasion, but never feeling as though he had left part of himself behind. The heart of darkness is a vacuum to all hope and courage, he feared that home was further away now, plummeting away from his grasp.