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Part 7 Meeting with Magic
If this is your first visit, you can find the beginning of this story by going back to the first of the Friday’s Fantasy series. You can also navigate to each section of the story from the sidebar –>->-> over there.
For my neglected regulars, I apologize, I know how much you have been waiting for a new chapter. Circumstances, some within my control, and some not, have collaborated to cause a fair amount of dysfunction in my routine. Anyway, I present to you one more attempt, and hope to satisfy your craving for at least another week.
Tirashar stood at the ready, prepared to strike again, yet no enemy remained. Muscles tensed, pulsing with anticipation, perspiration gleaming as it mingled with the blood splattered across her face and body. Her irradiant coral hair fluttering in the wind, wisps trailing down her face, adding a little mystery to her expression. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins, hear the thunderous pounding of her adrenaline charged heart. Before her lay a abstract of brutal mayhem and destruction, rendered by her hand. Blood, entrails, and various body parts lay strewn at her feet. A feeling of fear, surprise, and shame, overtook her sense of being, bringing with it a series of muscle tremors that seemed to travel along her entire body. The shame of losing control… the one… strength she valued above everything. She had tried to control her emotions and actions from a very young age. Her belief that a warrior should hold her feelings close, and cover those emotions that would betray. For the one thing that can give your enemy the advantage, is to allow your weaknesses to be exposed.
The shockingly vicious, emerald green fire that seemed to light her eyes slowly faded, turning to a soft, almost polished, turquoise blue, cold as ice. As realization of what she had just done, invading her thoughts, causing a mild state of shock. Tasting bile as the sent of blood and death encompassed, and overcame her senses. It was an odor she had smelled before, but never due to her own handiwork. She feared that her actions was the reason for the intensity of the odor.
Tabitha stood in an arched entryway, frozen in shocked silence. Her eye’s wide with stunned amazement as she gawked at the gruesome scene before her. Arms crossed in a subconscious protective stature. Tirashar is filled with such lethal rage. Who would have known her to be capable of a ruthless abandon like that. She thought to herself.
Darfrain slowly approached Tirashar, glancing apprehensively at the features of her face. Amazed by the transformation taking place within her eyes, Darfrain watched as Tirashar visibly shook from head to foot. He approached her cautiously, knowing she may still be in a berserk state of mind, liable to strike out at anything. “Tirashar, it’s me Darfrain. Have you been hurt? your covered in blood!”
Breath coming in short gasps, Tirashar answered nearly whispering the words. “I am un-injured… I think… I’m not sure. What was that all about?” Shaking her head to clear the fog of battle… as if the simple gesture could accomplish such an astounding task.
Darfrain moved closer, examining Tirashar for any evidence of wounds. He noticed a sweet, fragrant, yet musky odor mingling with the salty, coppery smell of blood. Sensations deep in his soul stirred, exciting him in ways he had never quite experienced before. His heart racing on a new and profound beat, Darfrain’s breathing quickened. The tanned skin of his face betraying him, while it flushed to a ruddy color. Uncomfortably, quietly Darfarain aswered Tirashar “They are Punt’s, a religious sect that are becoming more and more extreme in their beliefs. Apparently they were attempting to capture the child of some wealthy residents, I suppose for ransom or maybe sacrifice. Their actions seem to be getting bolder every day. They are either very foolish or overconfident, but I am starting to think they may be getting help for new sources.”
Desperate to regain his composure, Darfrain stepped away from Tirashar. “The soldiers will take care of this mess, come along you need to meet Cloemilla.” Darfrain turned and walked off toward the center of town. Leading Tirashar away from the scene of carnage. Tabitha, seeing her two friends leave, had to run to catch up, still in a slight state of shock.
They headed toward an array of sculpted granite columns, and a courtyard befitting royalty. Once they entered, Tirashar realized it wasn’t a courtyard at all, rather a beautiful and ornate building designed to appear like a courtyard. Inside the walls were accented with more granite columns polished to a wondrous sheen. Tapestries of vibrant, lively colors hung between some columns. Gold and silver draperies stretched gracefully, flowing between others. A bench, carved with stunning detail and intricate designs, was positioned so anyone sitting on it looked out over an interior garden. A garden to excite all the senses, filled with the beauty of nature in so many forms, flowers, fruit trees, and vines.
Sitting on the bench, a beautiful elfin maiden, apparently gazing out into the garden. Snow white hair flowing down her back, the sides braided and brought to the back. She was wearing a gorgeous flowing gown, that wrapped her her in a shroud of nobility. As they neared the woman, she stood and came around the bench with a grace that made her appear to float. “Darfrain, my son, you have returned; and brought guests I see” she said.
“Mother, this is Tirashar, and Tabitha” Darfrain stated. “This is my mother, Cloemilla” introducing her to Tirashar and Tabitha.
“Tirashar, what a unique name” Cloemilla said as she walked toward Tirashar, hands out, ready for a welcoming grip. Tirashar noticed Cloemilla’s eyes immediately. They were completely white, as if milk, except for the pupils that appeared to be nearly silver in color. They also seemed to be looking straight through her. Then she realized they couldn’t be looking through her, for they were not capable of sight at all.
Cloemilla gripped both of Tirashars hands in a feminine welcome, as if they had known each other for years. As she did, her eye’s seemed to fog just a little, and she shrugged just perceptibly. “Such contradictory forces at odds with in your spirit dear. You are a strong fighter, a warrior with passion and capability. Yet you have a magic with in, that has yet to show itself… Ahh, there is much power there hidden under the cloaks you hide your emotions behind. Your searching for something or someone. I can’t see it, perhaps because you don’t know who or what it is yet. I believe you are descended of great wizardry and healing knowledge. Umm, where did the warrior spirit come from, interesting?”
Tirashar, mouth agape, stared at Cloemilla in shocked silence. How did she see all those things? She must be mistaken though, I have never had any magic ability! Tirashar thought to herself.