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Joined: 13 Nov 2005
Posts: 40
Location: Southern Calimifornia

PostPosted: Tue Oct 30, 2007 8:22 pm    Post subject: Heartwood Reply with quote

So, I was writing a little background story for my character in WotM, and i wanted to see what you guys thought of it. I know, it has horrible grammar and punctuation, and my sentences tend to run on. I also think i have a tendency to over-describe some things and under-describe others. But i wanted to put it up here anyway just for someone to go over and give me some pointers / whatever. So, with no further stalling for time..

Heartwood: Prologue.

In a cabin on the outskirts of Storm City, Tyrion Brins prepared a pot for tea. It was getting late, and the fall chill put an ache in his bones. Tyrion chuckled to himself, "I was not always this way.. Once, many years ago, I was a well known marksman. Tyrion Ravenmantle, they called me, for I could down a raven in flight from three hundred paces, and put a second arrow in it before it hit the ground!" He continued as he put a small brass kettle on his wood burning stove, "I had so many names back then: Tyrion Sharpeye, Tyrion Ironbow, Deadshot Brins... But with the good came the bad, too. The gnomes that i came across liked to call me UltraOcularBowmaster RX300, like i was one of their crazy mechanical contraptions," Tyrion grimaced at this. "But Tyrion Stoutleaf, thats a name I have not heard in well over forty years."

Tyrion turned to his visitor and smiled a sad smile, "You remind me of her, you know," He gestured to the note that lay newly opened and unfolded on the table, "Its the eyes." His visitor had arrived earlier in the afternoon, and Tyrion had welcomed the guest. it was not often he had company of late, and even though he lived not more than ten minutes by horseback from the outskirts of eastern Storm City, the hilly road to his house was rarely traveled. Even as happy as he was to entertain company, the note that the traveler had delivered to Tyrion had nearly broken his heart.

Dear Tyrion Stoutleaf,

The months have grown long since you have left me, and my heart yearns for you to return to me. I have joyous news! I am with child! She will be born in the spring. Hopefully you have returned by then, when your duty is done. Please come to us soon. Love always, Maischka Goldensong

The note had been dated fourty two years earlier, and was written in an elegant script with a delicate hand. Scrawled across the bottom was a rough note in crude common

Mai died in childbirth, Baby sick. Probably wont live through winter - Dr. Higgob Glibinfogger

Having finished boiling the water, Tyrion poured a variety of leaves into two ornate looking teacups, and poured the steaming water over them. He had still not recovered from the shock of gaining and losing a child in a matter of moments. He placed one of the steaming cups infront of his guest, "Go on and have a cup, its good Elvin tea. You wont find its like outside of the northlands, and it'll more than likely cure what ails you." Tyrion knew little of the person he now sat across from at his small dining table. She had said almost nothing since she had arrived, yet she was far more interested in him than just a normal messenger would be. He studied her as she thanked him and took a sip.

So far his guest not given away much about herself, and the heavy traveling cloak she wore also had a hood that kept her face almost completely hidden. Even with that, Tyrion had noticed far more than most would, years of being a marksman had trained his eyes to catch details others could not. From top to bottom this person, this lady, was a traveler. The dust of a hundred roads was on her cloak, and her clothes were well-worn but remained well kept. She carried very little, but Tyrion could tell that there was more to this girl than she let on. The only distinguishable thing about her was the faint shimmer of blue in her eyes, that even the hood could not hide. She carried a longbow: but even without that he could tell that she was a marksman; from the way the tips of her glove's index and middle fingers were worn on her right hand, and the bulges under the cloak that he recognized as quivers. He had also noticed that she had a light cough that had not let up since she had entered, and he feared for her health.

"Have you taken ill?", Tyrion asked with concern. "I hope it wasn' on the account of delivering that letter."

"No, Tyrion Stoutleaf. My ailment has been with me since my birth," she said with a smirk that Tyrion barely caught, "One can hardly blame themselves for that"

Her tone confused Tyrion. He sensed a familiarity in it, like a friend to a friend, or one to a family member. But he decided to take it in stride. "As I had said traveler, I haven' been called that in a long time. When you had came, at first I thought you mistaken. Only one person besides you has ever called me that." He paused for a moment, trying to remember this person. Had they met somewhere? Had he known her before? It wasn't likely, as he had not traveled outside of the Elwynn Forrest in the last 15 years, and this lady hardly seemed to be even that old.

Taking the opportunity, he pressed, "I never did catch your name. There seems to be something familiar about you? Have we perhaps met at the market before?"

"No, to be honest I've never seen you in my life. But I have been looking for you for a very long time, Tyrion Stoutleaf." A tone of sadness filled her voice as she said the last part. She stood up and turned away from him. "That note on the table was given to me by Dr. Higgob twelve years ago. He told me to search for you and deliver it, so search I did. You have not been an easy person to find." The stranger began to remove her hood, but facing away from him, he couldn't see her features yet. "You asked my name? My name is Loralae Heartwood". As she said this, the hood slid down the back of her head, and her short elven ears became visible, as well as her black hair. No, not black, red: Red that was much deeper and darker than blood. She turned to him, and his heart broke for the second time that night. It shattered into a thousand pieces, but it was not pain that Tyrion felt. He doubted he could ever be sad again.

"My name is Loralae Stoutleaf Heartwood," tears of joy filled her eyes, and she locked them onto Tyrion's, "and I am your daughter."
Roses are red, Violets are blue
You are a bread, I am love you.
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