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From the Cradle


Once upon a time, in the deep north lands of Aolyth there was a town without a name. For you see dear reader it was barely a town at all, rather a small community of farmers and so most folks would say “I’m going over to the Ruthven farm” or “the Llewyn Stead” and no one ever thought to count them together and give them a name.

The town that wasn’t a town and which had no name was scattered across a rocky sloping hill, between a lush green forest and the cliffs of a mountain. It was from this boulder strewn heath which the farmers eked a living of sorts. So poor were they that for many years the Lords of the land failed to collect tax by way of Krown or Food for the cost of venturing to this near-barren backwater outweighed any gain that could be made from the journey.

Of all the families living in this not-a-town one couple had found their bed to be the most fertile place in this barely tillable land. With the first child this was greeted with joy, with the second happiness, with the third contentment, their fourth apprehension, their fifth uncertainty and their sixth despair. The children came so close together they were nearly twins, each bringing a new hungry mouth to feed, each exhausting the mother more and forcing the father to work himself ragged.

When the kind and quick eyed midwife of the village announced that the wife was heavy once more with child, news of the seventh was greeted with near horror.

The midwife had in the past offered them remedies to their abundant fertility but though the wife had come to rely on the other women with great trust the husband did not, especially when it came to his manhood and so he forbade it.

They had once considered leaving the town without a name. But the road was long and treacherous and passed through the verdant forest which encircled the mountain and so the farmers. The woods were home to all manner of beasts and fey running free and wild in the murky half light among the engorged vines and gnarled trunks of the ancient groves. And with the arrival of each child the journey became more dangerous and more impossible and so they stayed.

On the day before midwinter’s eve the child was born. The midwife rushed over with her broad brimmed hat and bag of herbs and rags. The labour was long and difficult but eventually the child was born, a healthy little girl. Of all her children the birth of this girl had filled the mother with the most sadness, she had developed a deep bond with the baby before it was even born, as if the two were sharing in deep and half remembered secrets, and now it was brought into the world she grieved that she would not be able to give her all that she need. Through the skills of the midwife both mother and daughter survived the difficult birth and once it was clear both would be fine, she tipped her hat and promised to return the next day.

On midwinters eve a small parade of well wishers shuffled through the house. There was little fanfare; a newborn in this household was something one set their calendar by not celebrate with enthusiasm. The midwife came to check on the newborn and satisfied she once more took her leave.

Once the house was crowded only with their children rather than strangers the husband comforted his wife. But the comfort turned to longing, as he had gone without during the later part of her pregnancy. Tired beyond words and exhausted of mind and spirit it was then that the wife noticed they had no crib for the new born. Not a surface was spare in their small dwelling, not a drawer, nor a basket and she persisted that she could not put down the new born till the husband had fetched them wood and made a crib.

Eventually and with little enthusiasm the husband pulled on his warm but tattered coat and his well worn boots and set off towards the forest. The wife having bought herself some respite and hoping the walk in the cold would cool her husband’s blood, settled back to rest with the babe at her breast.

The husband wandered to the tree line at the bottom of the hill and regarded the bent , cut and generally unhappy looking stumps and remnants of the trees the community had made use of. His blood was indeed running hot, but now with a slow sad anger and so he continued on from the tree line entering the forest.

As he walked across the soft dry bed of pine needles, enjoying the unnatural warmth between the trees he would occasional swing his axe one. Not to cut it down, but simply out of frustration.
Swish. Thud.
A pine was suddenly surprised with an axe to its side.
Swish. Thud.
His wife assumed he did not love his children or her, he knew that.
Swish.Thud.
He did, otherwise he wouldn’t work his fingers to the bone for them. But the constant crying was about more than anyone could take.
Swish. Thud.
In truth all he longed to do was spend his days playing with them.

He had wandered further into the forest than he had since he was a foolish boy; he wasn’t that much older now. Too much of a man too soon.

Looking around he could barely tell it was winter in here, he stepped down into a hollow encircled by trees where moss and green grass grew despite the season. And there by a small burbling burn was a cluster of sturdy trees, beautiful and unmarred by rot or moss their branches delicate and despite not being evergreen still in leaf. The thin smooth branches made him think of his new daughter, lying swaddled in a cloth of green and black the midwife had lent them. It was then he decided he would use one of these trees to make her crib. Then perhaps even if he didn’t get a chance to show it, she would know that she was loved.

Swish.
Thud.


---
Kedri Senderthen- The Spring Storm
Fredegar Bumbleroot - A Happy-go-lucky Halfling
Pug - Half-Orc Dock Worker
10/13/2011, 3:03 pm Link to this post Send Email to everf   Send PM to everf Blog
 
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Re: From the Cradle


The husband made long smooth planks from the trunk and from those he fashioned the base and sides of the crib. Into these he made small carvings during the long night. From the delicate flexible branches he wove an intricate headpiece which he decorated with dried leaves of the greenest green.

The wife watched her husband work, engrossed long into the night with his craft and it awoke in her a remembrance of the boy she had known once and made her less sad. By the noon of Midwinter the crib was finished and the baby was laid within to rest, still swaddled in the same green and black cloth of the midwife. And having fulfilled his quest the wife took him once more into their bed, where his desperate longing was replaced with genuine affection both thought had died.

Being midwinter the sun disappeared behind the mountains barely an hour after midday and darkness covered the small settlement. From the window of her dwelling the midwife watched the home in which the newborn lived, watched the candle and the hearth dim unnaturally. She watched a gentle drift of snow dance on the air, spinning out from the forest and swaying to rest on the roof and she watched the stillness and silence which fell just as surely as the unusual snowfall. Her lips drew back and one eye narrowed and a small noise of disapproval escaped her throat before she turned to reach for her broom.

--

Within the home the light from the hearth and the candle seemed unable to travel far from its source as if tired. All had fallen into an unnatural slumber even the most rowdy or excitable of the bairns and all were still.

A gentle light shone first by the window, then by the door and finally down the chimney. The light flowed softly out from the hearth, its pure whitish yellow light extending in silken ribbons and outshining the deep red of the fire. Then as quickly as it started the light collapsed in on itself. It was replaced by a slender, elfin woman draped in vivid green and white silks bringing to mind the image of a snow covered pine. She bent over the cradle containing the newborn, her wide eyes unmoved by the sight, narrowing only at what had become of the tree cut from her grove.

“Stand back from the crib Fey wench.” The voice was strong, coarse and commanding, and came from the Midwife who had just entered the home. The Fey did not look up straight away, unsurprised by the Midwife’s arrival, after a moment the forest spirit spoke in reply.

“This is no business of yours, Witch.” Her voice was in comparison musical, light and friendly. And as the Fey raised her eyes and stood at her full height the comparison was just as vivid visually. The Fey stood tall and slender, her features smooth and youthful her hair long and soft. The Midwife had a weathered face, not yet old but deep lines were already being worked upon her features, she had the beginnings of a hump and her raven black hair was tied up in a bun beneath her pointed broad brimmed hat.

“The wood for this vessel was taken from a sacred tree. I knew her name and she held many secrets which will now never be known and many songs which will now never be sung. She was cut from my grove violently and then twisted, Violated, into this shape, this container. I come to reclaim her; the contents placed within are mine also, as recompense.”
The voice of the fey flowed like the quiet whisper of a brook in a forest, and as her indignation flared so did the soft glow of her form.

“And what do you want with a human babe?” The midwife asked, her tone no-nonsense and plain.

“I do not want a child, I want my friend back. But since that is not possible recompense must be paid.” There was a coldness to the eyes of the Fey which chilled the midwife to her core, she glanced at the mother. The midwife had sensed the bond between mother and daughter. For all the children she already had the wife would be devastated beyond consoling should she vanish without trace or worse yet be found when the snows thawed. And while it could be the Fey would take her as a companion for amusement it was just as likely the newborn would suffer.

“I cannot let you take the child.” The midwife declared and she struck the handle of the broom against the floor.

“Is that so?” The Fey’s features shifted unnaturally her eyes narrowing her nose distorting and her mouth stretched displaying a row of pointed needle like teeth. Her hair billowed behind her as a strong chill north wind blew the door of the dwelling open, snow pouring into the room. Her hand reached out for the babe.

The Midwife cowed momentarily by the sudden snow storm reached into a pouch in her apron and threw a glass jar into the hearth. The small glass container was filled with a mixture of graveyard soil, the crushed chitin of insects the dust of anvils and sulphur. The enchanted concoction burst in the dim flames and exploded them into life, the fire burning brighter and deeper than it ever had. A maelstrom formed in the small one roomed abode as a cloud by turns as black as the midwinter night outside and as sickly yellow as diseased flesh contorted and mixed with chilled air filled with gleaming snow.

The air was thick then thin, infernally hot then desolately cold pungent and crisp moment to moment as each woman screamed summons and enchantments at the other amongst the chaos. For while the Fey was a powerful creature in her own right she was far from her grove and though the Midwife had made bargains with powerful forces she was not herself intrinsically strong.

The pair was too evenly matched for one to best the other and so the Midwife attempted to bind the spirit from action, banishing her from the home forever. However the spirit fought back and the Midwife’s protection cracked, though it would protect the child through to next Mid-Winter when the sun set a year hence she would become vulnerable once more.

With that the Fey burst once more into an explosion of light and snow and was gone. The Midwife attempted her best to clean up the obvious signs of a struggle but with so many children it didn’t look terribly different than before. Then with a glance down at the baby girl sleeping soundly in the crib she left.


---
Kedri Senderthen- The Spring Storm
Fredegar Bumbleroot - A Happy-go-lucky Halfling
Pug - Half-Orc Dock Worker
10/13/2011, 3:03 pm Link to this post Send Email to everf   Send PM to everf Blog
 
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Re: From the Cradle


Much the same scene occurred in the household the following years. Though from the second year onwards amongst the maelstrom the Midwife was convinced the child remained awake and unaffected by the sleep brought by the snowfall.

With each passing year when the sun set on midwinters day the midwife would once more fight off the spirit and each year her powers grew as she learned more and prepared more while the Fey remained the same. But the glint in the Fey’s eye and the small curved smile indicated to the Midwife that eventually her powers would fade, old age would begin to take her and the Fey was willing to return every year till that day.

On the last year the Fey came for her she spoke before battle could commence and made an offer.

“You cannot protect the girl forever Witch.” She commented sadly, though her eyes danced with barely contained glee. “One day she will wander beyond your protection or you’ll slip on an icy stone and snap your back like a brittle twig and I will come for her and I will finally be repaid the debt owed.”

The Midwife stood, her hunched shoulders by now had locked into quite the angle and you could read the years on her face clearly though not too many had passed since that first midwinter. She did not dignify the eternally youthful creature with a response and instead kept her broom extended between the two with both hands: a line separating them, while the child (now a young girl) lay sleeping between them crowded on a bed between two of her sisters.

“And she has been changed. Those first years spent sleeping within the remains of an honoured cousin of my grove changed her made her… different. You’ve noticed it too. She will leave this place, there is no stopping that now and when she does she will be beyond your protection.”

The Midwife faltered, she had sensed it, seen the odd keenness to the little girls eyes

“If you surrendered her to me now, I could teach her the grace of my kind. She could become a friend of the Fey unlike her father.” The ethereal woman’s eyes flashed with a wave of either malevolence or beatitude, the midwife could not discern. “You are tired, at the door of becoming an old woman. Soon you will be a hag. Can you really say you would not be glad to have this yearly burden removed?”

The midwife regarded the sleeping girl. Over her life the woman had brought a great many children into the world. Some she had lost before they even arrived, some she lost later. But each and every one stung her deep in her breast. It was why she made the bargains she did. Though it would cost her dearly when the time came to balance the scales it helped her keep her children and their mothers alive even if the world she kept them in was full of hardship. And none had she fought more for, cost more, than the one before her.

Though she was bound as a midwife never to utter such things she looked upon her as the progeny she never had. Otherwise why would she have sacrificed so much and so long?

But the Frosty !@#$ across from her was right, protecting her like this at a distance would never last and when finally the Midwife fell, as would happen sooner or later, the young girl would be unprepared. All of this flashed upon the Midwife’s face and the Fey’s cool blue lips curled into a smile sensing she would finally have her prize.

Perhaps the Lady of the Pine Grove really did have a life of grace and happiness in mind for the girl but the Midwife could not trust that to be the case. Her breast rose and fell as her breath deepened, resolution growing there within her chest like a flame. The Fey stared at her passively, curiously wondering if she were about to die of some mortal failing right there.

With a shot the Midwife began to chant in an ancient and profane tongue, the fires unbidden and unmolested grew bright and tall and a dark shadowed presence entered the room. The Fey about to resume their usual fight was cowed by this darkness, her eyes showing the most emotion the Midwife had ever seen, that of fear. From her apron the Midwife pulled a short curved dagger and in words that sounded horrific even without their meaning being clear she sliced her palm open above the girl and allowed some to fall upon her forehead.

“I anoint her as my apprentice!” The midwife announced. “In time she will be privy to my secrets, my workings but till then she is a naïve, an innocent. All her debts, her sins and trespasses fall unto me and only those which I wish to return to her shall be returned. I hold the debt you wish redressed so it is me you shall come calling for. But if I can protect another for a whole year from your interference….”

With that the Midwife stuck her broom into the flame igniting the straws and walking towards the Fey keeping the flame between the two. This forced her around the bed and to retreat towards the door.

“… just think about how well I can protect myself.”

The shadowed presence in the room loomed high behind the woman and the Fey’s eyes were wide in seldom felt fear.

“Begone from the place and darken my doorstep no more!”

Before the encroaching flame and shadow the Fey once more retreated not to return now for many a year. The old women sighed and dunked the flaming end of her broom into a snow drift to put it out before regarding the burnt ends with mild annoyance. Heaviness began to fall upon her as the room returned to normal. As she had done in previous years she attempted to tidy up the mess made and mopped her blood from the brow of the sleeping child before the effects of the sleeping spell wore off. This time though she took one thing, the cradle the girl had once been a babe in.

The next day the Midwife trudged down to the farm once more. She sat and spoke with the Husband and the Wife, who was once more heavy with child. She offered to take on the girl as her apprentice in Midwifery. The husband agreed distractedly as if it was a small matter of little consequence, though in truth it cut him deeply. The wife seeing finally a chance to free herself of the sadness she had always held for that particular child of hers locked eyes with the Midwife. A great deal passed between the two women in that moment, more than can be recorded in words and the mother agreed.

So it was on the day after Midwinter the Midwife and the girl trudged up the track to the ramshackle old cottage to begin her training.


Last edited by everf, 10/13/2011, 3:19 pm


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Kedri Senderthen- The Spring Storm
Fredegar Bumbleroot - A Happy-go-lucky Halfling
Pug - Half-Orc Dock Worker
10/13/2011, 3:03 pm Link to this post Send Email to everf   Send PM to everf Blog
 


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