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June 3, 2003
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The Plaza at the end of the
world...
Yosannah is exiting the Cathedral, hands
in the pockets of her jacket. She trods slowly and evenly, watching
her steps as she does.
A pale figure stands dead center in the
wide obsidian path, looking up in an expression of mild wonderment at
the church...an expression the vast edifice, of course, was seemingly
created to evoke. A broad-brimmed western hat perches on his head,
pinning wisps of long, straight hair of virtually no hue down in a
curtain around a drawn and weathered face. At his throat, long
fingers absently toy with something...
Painted in winter shades the lines of
flesh and bone, the man's complexion is drained of life's warm tints.
Shoulder-length silvery hair frames still youthful features, draping
unbound. He is nonetheless lively enough, a ghost of a smile
lingering on the edges of his pale, expressive face and reflected by
the animated flicker in eyes the hue of light shadows. A casual
awareness marks every movement, the air of one accustomed to sizing
up the mood of a gathering at a glance. Slender, quick fingers linger
too long on every object that passes into their grasp as if
unconsciously testing each for some feel of weight and balance,
punctuated by the occasional toss and smooth catch of hands long
accustomed to such a thing. Riding leathers cling to the man's
slight frame in undyed shades of brown. Also of untreated cloth, a
wide-sleeved shirt of simple cut spills unheeded from the arms and
open throat of a sturdy, laced jerkin. Pants tuck into well-traveled
boots that extend to just under the knee.
Yosannah lifts her gaze from the obsidian
walkway under her feet. She notes the man with faint amusement, a
smile playing at the corner of her lips. A stray strand of hair falls
over her eyes and she reaches up to brush it away, lifting her chin
at the man as she does, "That was my reaction when I first came to
this place a month or so back."
Joachim lowers his eyes from the looming
structure in turn, his face eerily skull-like...but no, some trick of
the light perhaps. Gaunt he is indeed, his eyes crinkling a little
despite any lack of bright light as if he is concentrating...his face
lined with tired...but skeletal? No, the illusion fades as the man's
face splits into a grin of its own, the grey eyes looking back warmly
at the approaching woman, losing entirely their appearance of strain.
"Never seen this place with these eyes of mine," he says. "Thought it
was nigh time I did so." His voice carries the the easy twang of wide
open spaces under burning suns.
She pauses mid-stride to consider the
man, wincing and turning her head slightly to glance at him sidelong.
Lips pursed lightly as a question plays in her eyes, she slides her
hands from her pocket, fingers on her left hand clasp about her right
wrist. She inquires of Joachim, "You uh... you're not from here
Mr..."
Joachim turns fully from the Church
towards Yosannah, fingers dropping from his throat to expose an
amulet on an intricate silver chain. A single stone sits in the
hollow of his throat, a deep amber irregular sphere that seems would
fit snugly into one's palm. At first glance the even gem seems to
refract the ambiant light dully...a second glance proving the light
coming from it comes somewhere from within it, pulsing in a strangely
alluring manner. "I'm what you might call a wanderer Miss...I come
from all over and no where at all. A common occurance in my line of
work I suppose..." He trails off, his hand straying to a flat,
flapped pouch hanging securely at his side. "But don't you worry," he
adds wryly. "I'm not one o' them transients."
Yosannah tugs at her lower lip with her
teeth, gaze falling to the amulet about his neck. For a moment she is
still save for the slow, gradual rise and fall of her chest as she
breathes in and exhales. She shakes her head slightly as if jarring
herself from a daydream; her eyes meeting his as she asks, "I'm
sorry, I didn't catch your name, Sir." She takes a step closer to him
and holds out her hand, "I'm Yo."
Joachim raises the hand from his hip to
take yours. His skin feels faintly dusty. "Joachim will do," he says,
his clasp lingering long enough to turn your wrist upward gently.
Grey eyes flicker to study the silver band there with a casually
professional interest. "Interesting design," he says offhandedly.
"Though perhaps a bit plain for something as delicate and, if you'll
pardon me, lovely as yourself."
She retracts her hand, fingers falling
back over her wrist and the bracelet that lingers there. Pulling her
arms to her chest she offers a light smile as she mutters
thoughtfully, "Joachim." She nods at that.
Joachim's hand hovers in air a moment,
wait-a-moment the gesture says. "But here...you don't mind do you?"
He bends over to unfasten the opening of his bag and it unfolds into
layers of leather flaps lined with a complex array of leather bands
and finger-sized pouches. The revealed silver wrought into chains,
rings, bracelets and any other number of designs glints in the sky's
light, assorted gems tone mounted into it winking like multicolored
stars. His actions dislodge the amulet from his throat however and it
falls between your eyes and the pale man's wares...he rifles
carefully through them for a moment, mindless of the throbbing
yellow-gold light dangling from his neck.
Yosannah's gaze returns to the pendant at
the man's neck. She lifts a hand to her forehead and runs her fingers
over her hair as she inhales slowly, closes her eyes for a moment,
and then exhales. She mutters softly, "Sir it would not be right for
me to accept a gift..." Her voice trails off as the lids on her eyes
open, slowly. Very gradually, the color in her eyes begins to fade as
if being filled by black storm clouds - swirling violently.
Joachim straightens, a chain of
interlocking shapes in native design adorning his fingers. Regarding
you a moment, he pushes up one side of his hat to lightly scratch his
temple thoughtfully. "Careful is good...so therefore we must arrange
a suitable exchange." Fingers close about the animal-shaped links as
his hand lowers, the other dropping once more to his throat to finger
the stone there. "What say you tell me what you know about this place
so I don't make a darn fool of myself," he says at last. "That'll
save me loads of time and possibly some embarrassment."
Yosannah blinks once or twice as she
inhales deeply, when she speaks it is as if a second voice can be
heard behind her own, "This place . . ." Whether she intends to
answer his question is unclear. At that moment, she lifts her hand
chest-level, fingers reach outward toward the pendant at his neck as
if she might capture the amber light therein in the palm of her hand.
The swirling vortex of nimbus in her eyes intent on the
target.
Joachim eyes widen slightly at your reach
and he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. "I see I misjudged ye girl.
The chain he holds is dropped, forgotten and gleaming on the black
road as he reaches up to unclasp the stone from around his neck. It
seems the light in the heart of it grows as the girl draws nearer,
lighting his pale face with a sickly, yellowish glow. He extends it
to her...
A wicked smirk plays on the corner of her
lips as his hand extends to her. Abruptly, however, her brow furrows
and her face is filled with torment and indecision as she seems to be
struggling with the urge to seize the item from his hand. Her breath
hastens and her hand shakes. And then she is motionless save for a
final plea, " ...Pestilence, don't."
At that moment, her hand lunges for the
pendant.
The pale man's face is a skull in ocher
light, deeply recessed features mimicking the girl's smirk in the
span of moments between action and reaction. He doesn't move at all
as she reaches, teeth gleaming in the brightening glow as he holds
the stone out to her.
Her hand clasps about the pendant, its
golden light searing forth from the gaps between her fingers. A
sudden gasp for air is the only sound heard from her lips as she
crumbles to her knees. Her jaw clutches as her body is wracked with a
massive charge of electricity emanating from the stone. Gradually,
the dark nimbus seem to pour from her eyes; the cloud like mist is
siphoned rapidly into the item clutched in her hands.
Joachim watches, waiting. His wicked grin
fading into something far more somber and businesslike. "So much for
unasked for gifts my dear," he hisses quietly, stretching out the
hand that so recently held the stone over her, palm down. He murmers
something then and the thing begins to tug free of the girl's fingers
as the last of the entiry is locked within its already fading
surface.
Yosannah slumps over, body curled in a
fetal position on the walkway. Tears stream down her face as her body
convulses and spasms at the man's feet - the pain on her face is
unmistakable.
Joachim's fingers close on the stone as
it rises into his palm. He lingers a moment, watching the girl before
turning to leave. Halfway through the pivot he stops however, pausing
to crouch down to her side. Nimble fingers retrieve the fallen
necklace of silver, animalistic links laying beside her before just
as deftly, gently attaching around her neck. "It will pass little
one...soon," he whispers sibulently. With that he stands quickly,
glancing about himself for a moment.
And in a short space of long strides the
pale man is gone.
Ada-Shazandra arrives from the flaming
archway. She strides with the swift stealth of a feral feline, her
eyes luminous and fresh with angry zeal, her robes ablaze in wreathes
of blinding crimson. Yet the lady's riled senses are keen. A sharp
bird-like gesture tilts her hooded head towards the weeping woman,
and her tread immediately soothes to a wraithlike drift, "Yosannah,
child, pray who hurt you," she coos approaching.
Yosannah's tears fall silently as a
consequence of the pain she seems to be experiencing. A trickle of
blood drips from the corner of her mouth and she slides her arms over
her stomach. A light moan escapes her lips, "Ada... thank
god."
Corianton emerges from the archway,
scanning the plaza. Upon spotting Yosannah, he alter's his
course.
Ada-Shazandra bends to the jagged ground
her robes raggedly torn by the harsh breath of a passing wind
revealing a landscape of alabaster pale skin, hauntingly scented with
rose oil and cream. The priestess twines her lissome arms over
Yosanna's crumpled bruised figure, "Hush, precious. Speak not. Let me
feel you."
Corianton approaches. "Lady Prelate. May
I be of assistance?"
Yosannah nods, once, to indicate
understanding. She closes her eyes - her breath rattling as she
inhales.
The haughty aura of pride and regal
stature are erased from Ada-Shazandra's bent silhouette, as she
embraces Yosannah, cradling the woman child-like into her own lap.
The priestess smiles, those brilliant jade green eyes lit with
exquisite serenity, "A fraction of a turning since his return and
already my Lord Corianton plays a Knight in shining armor." She tells
Yosannah, "You are in great luck, dear lady!" There is soothing jest
to her Anglican accent.
Brandon arrives from the flaming
archway.
Corianton says "What
happened?"
Brandon lands from his low-altitude
flight near the Entrance to the Church. He pauses for a moment
looking around fixing a feather.
Corianton's thick arms cross as he
surveys the surroundings not unlike he were standing
guard.
Yosannah swallows and offers a forced
smile. She mutters softly, apparently for the lady's sake,
"Pestilence, Ada. She was taken from me..." Her body spasms again,
"The disease she left... I think it's killing me." Another tear,
"...I'm scared."
The sound of metal on metal clinks as
Brandon walks, the plates of armor rubbing on each other. He spots
Yosannah and the others looking a bit confuced.
Ada-Shazandra lures Yosannah deeper into
her tender embraces, her celestial robes spilling like gemmed blood
over the pavement, "I do not know - nor does it matter. Not yet." A
faint rasp of a shadow cruises over her ashen rose lips, "My Lord
Corianton - would you be so kind as to lift the lady? I suspect it is
best we take her to cozier premises."
Corianton says "I have a trump of a
hospital, if that suits?"
Corianton kneels beside Yosannah. "My
Name is Cori. May I lift you?"
Yosannah offers little more then a nod
and a grimace to Corianton.
Brandon moves to Ada, "Is there anything
I can do to help?" he offers in a deep rasp not fitting to his normal
voice.
Corianton with easy and great care take
Yosannah into his arms, and braces her a gainst his chest gently
incase she should convulse.
Corianton with easy and great care take
Yosannah into his arms, and braces her against his chest gently
incase she should convulse.
Yosannah rests her head against the man's
chest, fatigue and worry in her eyes she mutters softly to the him,
"I need Corey's pendant..."
Ada-Shazandra hums musically as she rises
deft and nimble to her feet, "No. Though it is most considerate of
you, Lord Corianton." A gentle nod is delivered to Brandon, her
honeyed voice rushed, lending her charming accent a graver note, "I
fear she has preciously little time. Take her to the Cathedral.
Brother Brandon, you are welcome to accompany us." That said she
strides forth, the stealth and grace of her swift pace
impeccable.
Corianton frowns and looks down to
Yosannah. A soothing rumble is issued. "Rest, save your strength." he
looks up. "She speaks of a pendant. Do you know someone else named
Corey, Lady Prelate?"
Ada-Shazandra fluffs a pillow upon the
leather-bound couch, "Lay her here." She mouthes, words
supple.
Corianton carefully sets the woman down
and then steps back out fo the way.
Yosannah's head falls into the pillows.
Perspiration has begun to form on her forehead. She directs her gaze
to Corianton and licks her lips, "...please."
Corianton looks to Yosannah, dark brow
furrowing.
Ada-Shazandra sits down, sweeping her
robes aside with a swift hand, her porcelain pale palms cupping
Yosanna's moist face. Thick luxuriously long lashes tangle shut over
her luminous eyes.
Brandon stands to the side, his form
still waiting for some sort of instruction.
Yosannah licks at her dry lips, "Ada...
Corey's amulet." She closes her eyes, "At my Inn. It'll help."
Potent and pure, Ada's voice rings
through your mind cutting your conscience like a hot knife through
butter, "Rest child. I am here and the Serpent is with you." She
hungers for your ilness her greedy touch
like usurping the nausea of your
convultions, "What is it - what ails you?"
Corianton says "Where's your Inn, My
lady?"
Brandon offers, "In Banished Sun, I
believe." he thinks, "Yosannah, are you talking about the
Club?"
The lines in Yosannah's forehead seem to
fade at Ada-Shazandra's touch. She lifts her fingers at Brandon's
words as if to indicate acknowledgement, "Webbers. In Elbridge."
Brandon nods, "I will be back soon." he
takes to steps forward and is gone.
Ada-Shazandra is lost to the room -
seated hypnotically statuesque, her long black hair weeping over
Yosannah trembling tragic figure. Only her sealed lashes cast somber
shadows over the chiseled curves of her porcelain pale
cheeks.
Yosannah mutters softly, "Lady, I am so
sorry..."
A numb weakness settles over your head,
throbbing with the invasive presence of Ada-Shazandra's perfumed
mind. You taste rose petals underneath your tongue. Gradually the
violent fever of your convulsions is drained and you are left
lightheaded - ravaged and yet curiously peaceful.
Yosannah's breath begins to come in
painful weezes and blood drips from her nose. "I should have known
better when I saw the man..."
Brandon returns, practically flying down
the stairs however his wings are gone. "I have it, here it is." he
moves quickly to Ada and hands it off.
Each tremble, every tremor cruises
through Yosanna and rattles Ada-Shazandra's slender grasping limbs.
The priestess bends her dashing black brows - the tempest upon her
fair face beaded with a dazzle of perspiration. A droplet of ruddy
liquid seeps through her livid lips and fades as though sucked into
the corned of her tender mouth.
Corianton remains intent and
motionless.
A dizzy giddy lightheadedness relieves
the ache within your temples, your limbs too weak to move - your
heart hypnotically rhythmic, and the creamy taste of your tongue
mixing delightfully with the scent of roses. The scalding presence of
the priestess mind relents, fading into a candlelit warmth - before
withdrawing it diminishes completely.
Yosannah's eyes seem distant and calm.
Her body still and her breath even.
Corianton allows his gaze to move from
Yosannah, as if snapping out of some daze. The next object of his
gaze is Brandon. "You know her?"
Ada-Shazandra wheezes and coughs, a
garish sound - her violently trembling hands pulling away with
measured restraint from Yosannah. The lady shivers, lips and lashes
aflutter with a sickly beat.
Yosannahs eyes flutter as Ada-Shazandra
pulls away, "No, Ada." She makes a weak attempt to lift herself into
a sitting position but is not entirely successful, "What have you
done."
Brandon nods to Corianton, not speaking
very much as he watches Yo.
Corianton steps forward to offer support
to Ada-shazandra.
Ada-Shazandra gropes at her own stomach,
swan-like stylishly manicured fingers raking at the gossamer robes as
though she would claw the sickness from her womb, "Serpent - tumors,
typhoid, tuberculosis, cancer, scarlet fever, yellow fever, leprosy,
hepatitis, so many of them so many - I could not help her more - "
Her slur wheezes into a gagging cough.
Corianton remains close to the Prelate,
but does not yet make a motion to touch or otherwise assist her. To
Brandon, "I think our Lady Prelate might find the need for some
water."
Yosannah raises a hand to her mouth in an
effort to hold back a sob, she lays her head back on the pillow,
obviously lacking the effort to do little else. She mutter something
inaudible.
Brandon returns with a nod as he moves
towards Ada, he turns back and calls up the stairs. "Prepare a bed!
Lady Ada is ill! Bring water, and a cold rag." A monk looks down the
stairs and nods to Brandon.
Ada-Shazandra's wraithlike silhouette is
ravaged by rabid convulsions - her regal shoulders collapse and the
veil of her enigmatic hood silks over her humid dark black tresses.
Rampant streaks of ebony black cling to her sunken cheeks - her
child-like eyes horrifically wide, "Hells preserve us." But she tames
her shock, willfully declaring, "Brandon, no! I am well." Her stoic
words ring brisk before they are muted with a cough, "I simply need
time." Already the pearly beads of sweat begin to fade from her balmy
skin, "I shall regenerate." She whispers.
Corianton says "No need to start rumors
of illness, merly fetch her a glass of water." rumbles with a wry
expression. He looks to Yosannah. "And how are you feeling, My
lady?"
Brandon nods, "I dont take chances with
the ones I care about." the monk returns with a glass of water. The
monk bows his head the Prelate thanks him and gives the glass to Ada.
Ada-Shazandra dizzied, accepts the glass
- a slippery pink tip of a clever tonguue dabs the parched corners of
her willful mouth and she sips. The shiver lingers, her eyes
wondrously wide and feverish - but the lady sits taller now, her
darkly lustrous head bowed to the men, "My gratitude to you both,
Brother Brandon, Sir Corianton."
Corianton grins. "Not a sir yet, My Lady
Prelate. I am at your service nonetheless."
Brandon smiles to Corianton, and reaches
up to the air and draws the sigil of the serpent.
Ada-Shazandra stands, perhaps
instinctively grasping the breadth of Corianton's arm. A phantomlike
smile taints her wan lips, "Lead me away for her, to the desk, at
least." She mouths to Cori, "I may be contagious to her."
From the couch, Yosannah's breathing
comes even. Her chest rises and falls like one who has drifted off
into the world of dreams. Occasionally her body shakes as if chilled
from fever.
Brandon bows his head to Ada, and moves
to Yosannah. He watches her for a brief second before placing the
Amulet on her chest.
Corianton supports Ada-shazandra as much
as she allows and slowly escorts her to the dest. He pulls out the
chair and guide Ada-shazandra into it like a dance partner. Once she
is seated, he removes his jacket and lays it over
Yosannah.
Ada-Shazandra strolls towards the desk -
her lithe weight leaning generously over the crook of Corianton's
elbow. The Prelate pivots upon a dapper heel, her sleek fingers
lacing through the canopy of lavish tresses that drape over her
radiant face, "Yosannah, my child you are ill and you must rest. I
will not keep you here - though here your will be safe and have
asylum. You're ill, child - and I can cure you - at least replenish
you better."
Yosannah moans softly at the lady's
words. Whether she is conscious or not is, obviously, debatable. Her
hair falls across her face as her head drops to her shoulder, eyes
flutter behind closed lids as if she may be dreaming...
Brandon wraps the pendant's chain around
Yo's neck and takes a damp cloth from the table to her forhead.
"M'lady should I take her to the bed that is prepared?"
Corianton gently tucks his jacket around
Yosannah to keep her warm. His great bulk retreats and faces
Ada-Shazandra. "I do not wish to suggest you are weak, My lady, yet
certainly such a impressive task has risen the need for you rest?"