[Carillon]

On a night in Sedera, in an inn by the sea, two adventurers share a bed. One is a young human--or could pass for one, save the slight point to his ears and a slant to the eyes. He's scruffier looking than his companion, but the life and energy of youth radiate from him. His belongings are carelessly strewn across the room: well-worn boots, garments still bearing the faint scent of the woods, and his pack.

His companion, curled beside him, is much smaller than him though still tall for an elf. In the candlelit room, her pale skin almost glows. She might be considered willowy, save for the swell of her belly indicating to all the presence of the child growing within her. She listens to his teasing and his protests for a story alluded to but never told with good grace. She looks at him, relaxed and at ease after their exuberance, and traces a finger lightly down his side as she speaks, smiling.


Alright. But it's a long story, and I need sustenance. Give me a moment.


Stealing the sheet and winding it around her, she slips out of bed and splashes cool water from a basin on her face. She pours more from a pitcher into a cup and drinks, then retrieves a large bowl that she'd hidden away earlier in the evening. The bowl is full of fruits from the Sederan climate, mercifully cold due to the minor magic she wove around it earlier. Returning to bed, she places the bowl of cut fruit where both of them can reach it and curls up against him again.


Remember though, my sweet ... there is one condition to hearing this tale. You cannot repeat it. Too many people I care for could be hurt if this tale was told too soon. And as such, I will also leave out a few details to protect the innocent ... and the not so innocent. Agreed?


She savors a piece of mango while she waits for him to accept her condition, judging his sincerity. When she's satisfied, she begins.


A tale of vampires ... and other things. Though not, surprisingly, of tomatoes ... but we'll come to that. And not an easy tale to tell, for stories must start at the beginning, and this story has more than one beginning. So I shall give you both.

The first beginning goes something like this: Once, long before you were born, long before your father was born, long before even I was born (and that is a very long time ago indeed as far as you are concerned!) there was a young woman. Through an interesting coincidence, this woman was born near where I grew up, actually, but when she was still young, some decades younger than I am now, she went away from that place to study magic. She went to the place that many people go to study magic: Spellgard, Lucinda's city.

As you know, there are not many places of formal instruction in the world, but the Tower, the School of Magic in Spellgard, is one of them. There is the library there, The Library of the Outer Mind, and it is one of the centers of the Lucindite faith. And so it is a good place for a woman to want to study magic, and most there believe that all magic is a gift from Lucinda and can be used for good or ill as any tool can. But not all think this way, and a woman who took a particular interest in the necromantic arts might be frowned upon by certain persons, and not all of the people who offered to teach her might be composed of the kind of sound moral character as you and I. And so it came to pass that though she was a good student and quick to learn, she chose unwisely when seeking a master, and when that master owed a favor to someone, he decided to pay by selling her into a slavery of sorts.

There are many forms of slavery, but I would argue that the one Laa'ra was forced to endure was one of the worst. She was sold to two vampires seeking an apprentice and turned against her will. For the next few centuries, she lived in darkness. And oh, there are many kinds of darkness, my dearest. Most obviously, what had been done to her made it impossible to walk in daylight and she was condemned to wander the nights and hunt, bound by ... I suppose you could think of it as a geis of sorts to the vampire who turned her. As I said, it is a form of slavery, and all slavery involves one person having power over another. There are other kinds of darkness too, though ... the darkness of the mortal heart, for one. Laa'ra learned of all of these types of darkness, as little by little what she was forced to endure and what she was ordered to do consumed the parts of her that had been the young elven woman who loved magic.


Jaelle pauses for a moment to sip some water from the glass by the bed and nibble on a piece of melon, judging his reaction to the story. After a moment, she continues.


The second beginning to this story happened some time--several centuries, actually--after the first. It involved another young woman, born some time after the young necromancer, and this woman also loved magic. She was walking in the square in Hempstead one day when she felt herself being watched. She looked around and saw no one, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone (or something) was following her movements. And just when she was about to call out, a beautiful young woman who looked to be about her age and who was wearing a heavy cloak appeared in front of her, by the fountain.

'Give me your hand,' the woman said. 'Why?' said our heroine, for she was not entirely foolish and was rather untrusting. "Because I want to give you a gift," the woman, who was of course Laa'ra, said. The other young woman knew better. She knew much better. And yet she was curious, and something about Laa'ra called to her. She looked lonely and sad and in need of help. And so, completely deliberately and of her own free will, she reached out and took Laa'ra's hand.

And Laa'ra reached into her through that connection, and changed her control of the Al'Noth.

She turned my magic wild.