Download Game! Currently 97 players and visitors. Last logged in:ArgooniInfernoValopusRhoads

Library: sharon

Books

Author: toudi
Date:Nov 24 2006

Power and energy come in forms that are infinitely diverse, and all life is
equipped to drain every last ounce, vampirically, from the source, no matter
how strange or nebulous its shape. For Sharon, a typical young woman, this was
especially true of music. She knew  that music held great power, even if she
never rationalized it that clearly. 
She was a healer, as are many of her kind, and she spent many hours wandering
the Batrealm, healing those who had been hurt in the pursuit of money or gems.
They too, were after power,  though they did not have Sharon's gift for
finding it in any scrap of melody. Whether it be  from the giant,
bellow-pumped organ near the altar in the temple of Taath, or in the wind 
through a copse of trees, Sharon could find the music, and through it, her
power. She would  often rest from the ardourous profession of bringing health
to the injured by sitting in the  Bard's hall, listening raptly. The bards
loved her, for she would clap happily for any song, no matter how
incompetently it was produced. The apprentices cherished her especially, for
her enthusiastic approval lifted their spirits when they grew discouraged with
their progress, or lack thereof. 
Her patients noticed that she would hum to herself when treating a
particularly tough, or deep, wound. Her pleasant contralto, by no means
spectacular, but still harmonious, never  quite ceased in its' tuneless
meandering. When she seemed depressed, or especially tired, her friends would
often drag her to a performance, hoping to raise her spirits. Most telling of
all, the pendant she received from Taath was in the shape of a flute. 
Energy flowed into Sharon and out of her fingertips into her patients. Within
mere months, she had gained such favor with her god that even the power to
bring dead adventurers to life was granted her. For weeks this kept her busy
to, and beyond, the point of exhaustion. This endless cycle of healing and
resurrection eventually calmed down as people began to learn to be more safe.
The calls gradually lessened, and Sharon spent most of her time in the center
of the Bat city, casting healing spells. 
One day, however, a call came from deep within the Mansion in the Noble
district. It was a telepathic cry for help, laden with grief and panic. Sharon
would have ignored such a call, for the house northwest of the Gilded Lion Inn
was filled with all manner of unclean creatures. But the one in trouble was a
dragon, and she had to go. 
As she traveled quickly, her tiny wings carrying her as fast as she could make
them, she tried not to dwell on what she might find there. Taath was the god
of Death, but some creatures defied death in evil and twisted ways, living
past their rightful time, feeding on the energy of the living to exist. The
concept of these creatures frightened Sharon, for she used her energy to
preserve life, not distort and destroy it. 
The house barely impinged on her consciousness as she rushed up the stairs to
where the fallen dragon lay. She prayed to Taath loudly, and in moments, the
noble beast was alive once again. She cast several healing spells, and
concentrated, focusing on healing its' wounds. So engrossed in her work, she
didn't notice the spirit that had floated out of the wall behind her. It
raised its' claws, preparing to strike to diminutive healer down. 
The dragon leaped to its' feet with a roar, and began to claw viscously at the
attacker. Berserk with rage, it sought only to protect the little one. Intent
on saving both of them, it didn't notice that Sharon was standing still,
listening carefully to the sounds of the drafty, creaking house. As it clawed
the undead life from the spirit, Sharon slipped quietly through a hidden
doorway. 
She didn't see anything. Her lack of perception was no longer based on fear.
She was listening to a melody, and her other senses had shut off, so that her
ears might concentrate fully. The song was one of power, and life, and she
could not resist its' call. It made her entire skin thrum with energy, and she
knew if she learned that song, power would be hers. Eagerly, her feet flew
across the floorboards, hurtling her towards the source of the sound. 
As she turned the corner, she realized her myopic devotion to music had
deceived her. The power of the song was irresistible, but it was not hers to
posses. It came from one who used music to defy the fabric of the world. It
came from one who hated the music, even as she used it, not one who loved it,
as Sharon did. In her arrogance, she thought that she was the only one who
could draw power from music. Now she would learn from that mistake. With a
sigh of resignation, full of regret, Sharon closed her eyes and waited for the
banshee to embrace her.


Books