On the beach of an island that stood as part of the Cieldalaes, a large bonfire burned brightly. It illuminated a long strip of the sand, as well as the outline of a dinghy out on the water. Several men sat around the fire; midlanders and sea wolves alike. Seamen -- seamen of a rather unsavory variety, judging by the harshness of their colors. They all seemed transfixed, staring into the crackling flames with unnatural interest. Some of them had been drinking; the grog had fallen right out of their hands to spill onto the white sand below.Â
Soft, lilting plucks of a harp drifted on the air, swirling about a voice both womanly and sweet. The words sung were unimportant and garbled at the moment; the vagueness of the melody was in itself captivating. As the waves washed over the sands, so did her song sweep over the men gathered around the fire.Â
From nearby, slender bare feet sank into the cushioning sand, warm and inviting from the fire. Maroon silk skirted elegant ankles, caressing them with each graceful step powered by swaying, slim hips. Clutched in pale arms was a harp, plucked and strung in gentle fashion to accompany the voice that emergred from between the maroon-painted lips. To crown it all, auburn curls bounced over slanted eyes as dark as night, interrupted only by the pointy pale ears on either side.Â
The elezen woman circled the group, her steps ever slow as the words of her song grew ever clearer.
She bled at my birth yet she lived
She bled from your hand -- she endured
I toiled that her sorrows were cured
By your blades her death was assured
Her red blood it sank to the ground
By deep roots of elm were they found
Drank up well to nourish the wood
A purpose I now see profound
The song picked up in pace as the notes grew dire; the beginnings of a calm yet speedy lament.Â
For yon wood was taken
From it did awaken
A wonder and relic of old
A bow, and a song
That would before long
See that her blood's will was done
All at once, the men slumped and tumbled in a cacophony of thuds, as if strings supporting them had been cut. With almost reverent grace, the woman ceased on the strings and swept down to examine the nearest man. Quite dead. The next, and the next. Dead, every one.
"Well, that was rather more effective than I thought," Cooed a voice from behind her.Â
Another elezen emerged -- this one quite different from she; her own skin was white as moonlight, rendered orange in the fire's glow. Silver ringlets spilled from her head, splashed upon by firey gold. Even her eyes reflected the flames, dancing and jumping even through calm observation. In her hands were both a grimoire and a quill, elegantly brandished. "Yvonne."
"Felicia," The harpist Yvonne greeted in reply. "Are Raymond and Liucen here?"
"Yes, yes, they're here. Superstitious dolts, the both of them. Convinced that your song is a poison for men. I would enjoy sitting them down to explain how it works." Felicia's voice was barely a sigh. "...it did do well though. It made them extremely susceptible to the toxin."
"I'm glad I could help," Yvonne murmured with a slight bow. "I hope they know they need to come and help us -- I'll not be moving these men on my own. Pirates or no, we can't just leave them here for the gulls."
Felicia turned with a dazzling whirl of her glittering gown. It was a moving tapestry of reflection that sought to rival the fire itself. A pause set her gaze back. "I'll fetch them, not to worry. Oh, I must ask...that requiem. Is it for your mother?"
Yvonne's maroon smile was sad, yet not unpleasant. She nodded. "And all her foes. I'll wait here for you then. Hurry back."
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