Re: The Wretched Rite - Round One - The Rose Ring
08-17-2011, 08:30 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by engineclock.
“So what’s going on here?”
Adelaide smirked, glancing up at the newcomer. She was in a better mood now that she had some willing prey (who, most importantly, hadn’t tried to attack her yet, or at least not very hard) and decided that she didn’t really feel like eating this new girlie. Not right now, anyway. She looked half-dead already; wasn’t much more than half a meal there to be had anyways. Pity. Nice hair. She laughed a pretty little titter and bared her fish’s teeth at Alice.
“Nothin’ at all, lady, just me and this fetching thing here havin’ a chat,” she purred, propping her head up on one hand and twitching the corner of her mouth teasingly. “See, she’s never met a rusalka before, y’see, and we’ve been havin’ quite the little heart-to-heart. Fancy that, eh?” She stroked a finger lightly across the back of Taelia’s hand, whose expression rapidly decided that it didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered and settled for mild embarrassment.
Alice stared. She didn’t like the way Adelaide was looking at her, dark eyes narrowed in what would have been a flirtatious leer if there hadn’t been something glinting in them that sent a chill down the Tsote’s spine. A muddled and cloudy fate hung about her freckled shoulders like a miasma, reeking of water and something odd and sharp that made her stomach curl. It was unusually obscure; Alice could barely read any of it, which unnerved her. All she could discern of this greenish girl was a vague disaster, long since past, and hunger, the hunger of a starving animal-
“Y’gonna keep staring, there, girl,” the rusalka chuckled, covering her bare chest with exaggerated modesty. “S’not polite, is it?” She shook her hair down, where it did a spectacular job of failing to obscure anything at all.
Alice shook her head angrily. “I wasn’t asking about you and her,” she said, glaring at the blushing Taelia. “I was asking about this. All this. Why are we here?”
Adelaide shrugged. “Y’heard the man, din’t you?”
“No! What man? I just showed up here!”
“We all did, chit,” the rusalka said, looking bored. “Did the whole yellin’ and screamin’ bit, some old bastard with one foot in ’is grave rambled fr’ an hour or so… you were there, girl. I saw you, din’t I?” She looked at Taelia for support, who nodded hesitantly. “You were ’en yelling yerself, towards the end.”
With a tired sigh Alice decided to give up this line of questioning. The girl was clearly delusional or confused or both. She hadn’t given up that smirk yet either, the one that made Alice feel like she was a piece of meat being circled by a wild beast, and it was starting to grate on her nerves. “So what now,” she said, staring around at the odd group gathered around. The flying mouse flitted far above their heads, occupied with some unknown task.
“You, um,” Taelia started, following her gaze nervously. “We’re supposed-”
“D’you remember anything, then?” The rusalka interrupted, tapping her hooked nails on the ground. She kicked her legs below the surface; water pooled up and ran out onto the grass. “Christ, ye must’ve hit yer head on the way here. Or gotten drunk.”
“Oh, be nice, Addy, she’s confused!”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
“Look, I just need to know what I’m doing here-”
“Oh, that’s easy enough, girl,” Adelaide crooned, flexing the talons resting on her jaw. “Yer s’posed to die.”
_______
Elsewhere, a princess slept.
No, I should be more specific than that. There were a number of princesses in the castle alone, let alone the town, most of them indistinguishable from this one. Blond, young, beautiful, and guaranteed to come with at least half the kingdom; she was nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in your usual storybook fare. But she was human, and that was more than could be said for the rest of the town. She would do in a pinch.
It’d been a rather slapdash affair, getting this all together. Not my fault, that. There are limits to what you can change in a given span of time, aren’t there? It wouldn’t be believable if I changed the entire setting beyond what I already had. Everyone asleep all at once; the usual nonsense about the Curse, the Sorceress, the Spindle, the Hedge. You all know where this one is going. On close inspection the parts of the story didn’t quite connect: why had no one heard of this curse before? Why had no one removed the spinning wheel from the tower room? Shouldn’t the princess have known about the curse? Sloppy, I know, but what else could I do? It wasn’t like I had time to plan this. Certainly if I had the arrangements wouldn’t have been quite so bland.
Our makeshift princess lay on a bed in the highest room of the tallest tower, her lily-white gown marred only by a single spot of blood on the sleeve. The symbolism was obvious: a maiden pure of heart struck down in the prime of her life by the cruel hand of fate. Tragedy at its finest. But of course she wasn’t really dead, not yet- merely cursed by the miniscule wound on her finger. A spindle prick. Her sixteenth (seventeenth? Eighteenth? What difference did it make?) birthday; a prophecy fulfilled. Classic. She would be woken by a hero’s kiss, the curse would end, and all sorts of uncomfortable questions about the type of man who would romance a sleeping girl would remain unasked.
But there was the hitch in my plan, the spindle in my finger, if you will. Heroes are just as rare as princesses. Probably even more so, given the one to three (or twelve, or five, or twenty) ratio that seems to crop up so often. Yes, I know what you’re thinking here- why not the Youngest Son, the Returning Soldier? The Merchant’s Child, the Unpresuming Fisherman? The usual suspects. Well of course I’d considered them, you silly fool. Who did you think I was? The problem was that the hero had to be an outsider- no peasant lad would do in this situation, no matter how deserving. I needed a wandering Prince, or something of the sort. A strange hero, unknown in this land. Conveniently oblivious to the meaning of the Hedge and the true identity of the sleeping princess.
Just my luck to receive eight of them, then, isn’t it? Right out of the wild blue yonder.
It was of course a shame that so many of them were female, and the only true male not even human. In way, though, I suppose it was wryly fitting- this was an odd retelling of an old tale to begin with. A woman Prince was certainly not any more out of line than a patchwork legend about an insulted witch and a magic shrub, when you thought about it. It’s not like I had any other option. We have to make do with what fate gives us, alas, even I.
It would not be particularly challenging to lure the Prince, whoever she would be, to the castle. Any hero with half a dash of sense would recognize that the highest location was always the most important. Even now they’d gathered in the hills- if only I’d thought to include a Sleeping King or an Enchanted Grove! Such missed opportunities pain me; they hint at negligence and sloth. Still, the fire couldn’t keep them back forever, could it? It wouldn’t destroy anything of importance. That would make for a poor story indeed. Sooner or later, something would lure them back. It was only a matter of time.
Still, what’s a story without some drama?
In the lowest room of the tower, a sleeping dragon woke.
“So what’s going on here?”
Adelaide smirked, glancing up at the newcomer. She was in a better mood now that she had some willing prey (who, most importantly, hadn’t tried to attack her yet, or at least not very hard) and decided that she didn’t really feel like eating this new girlie. Not right now, anyway. She looked half-dead already; wasn’t much more than half a meal there to be had anyways. Pity. Nice hair. She laughed a pretty little titter and bared her fish’s teeth at Alice.
“Nothin’ at all, lady, just me and this fetching thing here havin’ a chat,” she purred, propping her head up on one hand and twitching the corner of her mouth teasingly. “See, she’s never met a rusalka before, y’see, and we’ve been havin’ quite the little heart-to-heart. Fancy that, eh?” She stroked a finger lightly across the back of Taelia’s hand, whose expression rapidly decided that it didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered and settled for mild embarrassment.
Alice stared. She didn’t like the way Adelaide was looking at her, dark eyes narrowed in what would have been a flirtatious leer if there hadn’t been something glinting in them that sent a chill down the Tsote’s spine. A muddled and cloudy fate hung about her freckled shoulders like a miasma, reeking of water and something odd and sharp that made her stomach curl. It was unusually obscure; Alice could barely read any of it, which unnerved her. All she could discern of this greenish girl was a vague disaster, long since past, and hunger, the hunger of a starving animal-
“Y’gonna keep staring, there, girl,” the rusalka chuckled, covering her bare chest with exaggerated modesty. “S’not polite, is it?” She shook her hair down, where it did a spectacular job of failing to obscure anything at all.
Alice shook her head angrily. “I wasn’t asking about you and her,” she said, glaring at the blushing Taelia. “I was asking about this. All this. Why are we here?”
Adelaide shrugged. “Y’heard the man, din’t you?”
“No! What man? I just showed up here!”
“We all did, chit,” the rusalka said, looking bored. “Did the whole yellin’ and screamin’ bit, some old bastard with one foot in ’is grave rambled fr’ an hour or so… you were there, girl. I saw you, din’t I?” She looked at Taelia for support, who nodded hesitantly. “You were ’en yelling yerself, towards the end.”
With a tired sigh Alice decided to give up this line of questioning. The girl was clearly delusional or confused or both. She hadn’t given up that smirk yet either, the one that made Alice feel like she was a piece of meat being circled by a wild beast, and it was starting to grate on her nerves. “So what now,” she said, staring around at the odd group gathered around. The flying mouse flitted far above their heads, occupied with some unknown task.
“You, um,” Taelia started, following her gaze nervously. “We’re supposed-”
“D’you remember anything, then?” The rusalka interrupted, tapping her hooked nails on the ground. She kicked her legs below the surface; water pooled up and ran out onto the grass. “Christ, ye must’ve hit yer head on the way here. Or gotten drunk.”
“Oh, be nice, Addy, she’s confused!”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
“Look, I just need to know what I’m doing here-”
“Oh, that’s easy enough, girl,” Adelaide crooned, flexing the talons resting on her jaw. “Yer s’posed to die.”
_______
Elsewhere, a princess slept.
No, I should be more specific than that. There were a number of princesses in the castle alone, let alone the town, most of them indistinguishable from this one. Blond, young, beautiful, and guaranteed to come with at least half the kingdom; she was nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in your usual storybook fare. But she was human, and that was more than could be said for the rest of the town. She would do in a pinch.
It’d been a rather slapdash affair, getting this all together. Not my fault, that. There are limits to what you can change in a given span of time, aren’t there? It wouldn’t be believable if I changed the entire setting beyond what I already had. Everyone asleep all at once; the usual nonsense about the Curse, the Sorceress, the Spindle, the Hedge. You all know where this one is going. On close inspection the parts of the story didn’t quite connect: why had no one heard of this curse before? Why had no one removed the spinning wheel from the tower room? Shouldn’t the princess have known about the curse? Sloppy, I know, but what else could I do? It wasn’t like I had time to plan this. Certainly if I had the arrangements wouldn’t have been quite so bland.
Our makeshift princess lay on a bed in the highest room of the tallest tower, her lily-white gown marred only by a single spot of blood on the sleeve. The symbolism was obvious: a maiden pure of heart struck down in the prime of her life by the cruel hand of fate. Tragedy at its finest. But of course she wasn’t really dead, not yet- merely cursed by the miniscule wound on her finger. A spindle prick. Her sixteenth (seventeenth? Eighteenth? What difference did it make?) birthday; a prophecy fulfilled. Classic. She would be woken by a hero’s kiss, the curse would end, and all sorts of uncomfortable questions about the type of man who would romance a sleeping girl would remain unasked.
But there was the hitch in my plan, the spindle in my finger, if you will. Heroes are just as rare as princesses. Probably even more so, given the one to three (or twelve, or five, or twenty) ratio that seems to crop up so often. Yes, I know what you’re thinking here- why not the Youngest Son, the Returning Soldier? The Merchant’s Child, the Unpresuming Fisherman? The usual suspects. Well of course I’d considered them, you silly fool. Who did you think I was? The problem was that the hero had to be an outsider- no peasant lad would do in this situation, no matter how deserving. I needed a wandering Prince, or something of the sort. A strange hero, unknown in this land. Conveniently oblivious to the meaning of the Hedge and the true identity of the sleeping princess.
Just my luck to receive eight of them, then, isn’t it? Right out of the wild blue yonder.
It was of course a shame that so many of them were female, and the only true male not even human. In way, though, I suppose it was wryly fitting- this was an odd retelling of an old tale to begin with. A woman Prince was certainly not any more out of line than a patchwork legend about an insulted witch and a magic shrub, when you thought about it. It’s not like I had any other option. We have to make do with what fate gives us, alas, even I.
It would not be particularly challenging to lure the Prince, whoever she would be, to the castle. Any hero with half a dash of sense would recognize that the highest location was always the most important. Even now they’d gathered in the hills- if only I’d thought to include a Sleeping King or an Enchanted Grove! Such missed opportunities pain me; they hint at negligence and sloth. Still, the fire couldn’t keep them back forever, could it? It wouldn’t destroy anything of importance. That would make for a poor story indeed. Sooner or later, something would lure them back. It was only a matter of time.
Still, what’s a story without some drama?
In the lowest room of the tower, a sleeping dragon woke.