A Heart So Cold (Librarian)

OoC: Sooo, no idea how this is going to go or how the title ties into anything. I'm sure it'll resolve itself somehow.
BiC:

The wind was chilly, bitter with smoke, and carried with it the scent of rain. The evening sky was clear now, but there would be a storm tonight.

He sat on the wall, his sword in his hands, polishing it though it was already clean. The mindless task of rubbing the cloth up and down and up and down the blade distracted him and even let him escape, if only for a while, from his own thoughts.

He focused on his reflection, on the feel of the cloth under his fingertips and the cold steel through it, on removing every smudge and streak and speck of dust, anything, anything at all to keep darker thoughts at bay.

He was polishing the sword so violently that his hand slipped, and he yelped with pain as the edge slashed deeply into his palm. He raised his hand to his eyes and watched as a few drops of blood trickled down and fell to the ground, then wrapped the clean polish-cloth around his palm, wiped the blood from his sword, and got slowly to his feet.

Over the roofs, the wind sighed softly, and storm clouds gathered in the east.

OoC: You said you wanted coaching, yes? Well, I’ll include my commentary at the bottom of my post.

BiC: Miss Spider tended to a web. It was not a web she would use herself. Merely a model. She was working to create something beautiful, rather than something useful. And what she had her hands on was beautiful.

With a studied precision, she strung her sticky webs up and down, side to side. Supporting lines, criss-cross skeleton, clockwise spiral, and a space in the middle.

An inspiration that made her smile came to her suddenly. To fill the space inside, she drew upon memories she had from before she started going into the Rage. A word spelled out in webbing was the most perfect thing she could think of.

Gently, she took many small pieces of thread, and made an M. To keep the letter from appearing curvy, she used a separate piece for each part of the letter. Keeping every letter as angular as the last, she further made the characters O-T-H-E-R.

The Spider Wraith looked over her work, pleased at what she saw. Turning away, she left her web with the word MOTHER spelled out in the center. Satisfied, she did not stay to admire her own work. Someone would see it eventually, and that was what she cared about the most.

OoC: First thing’s first. I loved what you wrote. In fact, I like what you wrote so much, I really don’t want to have to say anything bad about your post. I’ll number the faults. 1) Although you described the weather beautifully, you failed to describe a SETTING, which is extremely important in an opening post. Exactly what kind of place are our characters at? 2) Although you characterized him perfectly, you failed to actually mention what character you were using. You might want to put a link to him in your out of character text. 3) Although I LOVED what you wrote and how you wrote it, you failed to hint at any future events other than a storm. Next time, you’ll need to move the plot forward with something less ambiguous.

Now, I wrote my post with flaws one and three, just so that I wouldn’t interfere with anything you post next. Please, move the plot forward. Don’t be nervous. Just use anything. The BA is experienced at catching whatever curveball that may be thrown to them.

Oh, and if I was too harsh, please tell me. Your piece was coherent and beautiful, but lacking substance. I really feel bad about criticizing something written so well. Trust me; with your abilities, you’ll be a top dog around here in no time. And, again, I hope I wasn’t too harsh.

OoC: Not at all, not at all! Thanks already. I meant to include Lachy's name, I guess I just...didn't.
Anyways, BiC:

Lachyn stood on top of the town's wall for perhaps a bit too long. He barely reached the inn before the storm broke overhead, and slammed the door on a torrential downpour that rattled so loudly on the roof it nearly drowned the loud chatter.

"Good day to you, Master Lachyn, oh most famed of wanderers," called Tabby, one of the regulars at the tavern.

"And to the lovely lady Tabitha," he replied, and she barked a laugh. Tabby might have once been lovely, but she certainly was no longer, with her scarred face and her tangles of thick brown hair, and one eye unfocused, completely blind, while her mouth was twisted into a permanent grimace.

"Play us a song, master minstrel," shouted Gergon, another usual customer.

Lachyn climbed onto a chair, sat on the table, and unstrung his lute from his back. Even with one hand bandaged, it was easy, natural, to hold it, the tune it up and begin to play, an old tune that everyone knew. Even so, though they'd all heard the song since they were children in their mothers' arms, everyone listened with rapt attention as Lachyn began to sing.

When he played the final chord, everyone gave a hearty round of applause, and Tabby snatched a tankard of ale for him from the barmaid. He began to play again, his fingers finding the right notes by instinct even though he was improvising. He looked about the crowded tavern for something to sing about, and his gaze fell on a spider. Grinning, he began to compose as he sang, some nonsense verses about the spider in the corner in the tavern in the inn.

It felt natural to be playing the songs, natural to sing pointless little ditties about spiders, natural to sit here, in the bright, warm room, drawing the crowd in with even the most ridiculous words. It felt right, as long as he kept his mind on the words and in the room, not in other inns, before other crowds, with another voice twining in and out of his.

No, Lachyn. Don't think about that. Someday maybe it'll all be like that again, but for now, this is what you have, so make do.

No sooner had he let the last note fade that the door flew open, letting in the cold gale and the roar of the rain. The fire danced and spluttered as a man, tall and cloaked, strode in and shut the door behind him. He shook his head like a dog, rain spraying in all directions from his mane of red hair. The talking dies down to a murmur as he stalked across the floor to stand at the table.

"Lachyn the Wanderer?" he asked. "Minstrel, bard, and renowned warrior?"

"Aye," said Lachyn, warily. "That'd be myself. What might I do for you, sir?"

The man turned to glare down at Tabby in the chair at Lachyn's feet. She glared back at him for a moment with a ferocious scowl, then ducked her head and rose to let him sit.

"Play me a song, minstrel," commanded the man.

Lachyn frowned, thought, and began to play, a low, sad tune, the sort that went with tragic ballads and tales of lost battles and lost love. He sang of two warrior poets, two brave storytellers, and the tragedy of battle that split them apart.

His story.

As he sang, something kept distracting him, so his words were uncharacteristically halting and uncertain. There was something strange about this man, but he couldn't place it, and it frustrated him to no end.

Finally the song was over, and he set down his lute, frowning.

"You're not as good as they say," said the man coolly. "I expected more."

"Well, you can't expect much when you're intimmanating the boy," Tabby retorted in Lachyn's defense.

"Where did you get that medallion?"

The man stopped before he could reply to Tabby and turned back to Lachyn. "I'm sorry?"

"That medallion you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

"It's a charm. Been in my family for generations--much longer that you've been a live, I daresay."

"I don't think it has," Lachyn said, and he stood up. "I think that medallion is my sister's."

"What?" The man was incredulous. "Don't be ridiculous!"

Lachyn drew his sword. "Or perhaps you'd like to witness my fighting prowess as well?"

The man, too, drew a long double-handed sword. "If you wish to challenge me, so be it."

Their blades met with a clang, and Lachyn hoped he wasn't wrong about this.

OoC: Hope this one was better. Thanks again for your concrit.

A Spider Wraith ducked into a shadow. One person rushed by on the empty road in front of her hiding spot. After the person dashed out of view, the girl returned to the street. As clouds blew in over the town, everyone began to hurry. She pulled herself in and out of small places as one person or another passed her by. Her life as a non-human flashed before her eyes. She had been ducking out of view for a long time.

As raindrops began to tap her on the head, Miss Spider started to walk the street without reservation. If the haze of the rain could obscure her features, she could walk down a road like a normal being. All the same, her destination was nowhere. Ideally, she would have been searching for someone to feed on, but could not bring herself to. People were too kind to each other in that town for her to want to do such a thing.

The rain picked up quickly. The slick in her hair was washed out only seconds after the storm began to pour hard. As wet as her hair looked with the slick still in, it did not make much of a difference. She walked slowly down the street, enjoying the fact that the people around her running were not running away from her. It was comforting.

After walking through the downpour for longer than she would have liked, she happened upon a building with a wide awning. Besides a little bit of spray, it came out enough for her to not get any wetter. Aside from that, there was also a soulful, sad, tune coming from inside. The Spider Wraith put her ear to the wall, and listened intently. It was not every day she was treated so such a thing.

As the song came to an end, she gave the singer a short round of applause. Although the song was lightly obscured by the sound of the rain, she liked what she heard. She leaned the rest of her body against the wall, and her breath slowed just slightly. She wanted to hear another one before she left to find a dry place to string her web for the night.

What she heard as she waited for the next song was not music. Someone in the building had just started a fight. A swordfight, to boot. At that point, she was faced with a tough choice. She could do the natural thing by waiting, absconding with the loser’s body, and satiating her hunger. Or, she could do the right thing, and try to stop the fight before it got too out of hand.

As always, she defied her carnivorous nature.

OoC: I honestly can’t tell if you’re serious, or just being humble. You don’t need me, or anyone else, to show you the ropes. You’re already in a high class. All it takes to get by is the ability to write well. Your style of writing is breathtaking. So much so, in fact, I was having reservations about whether I could make my post as good as yours. I didn't even come close. If you keep up whatever it is you’re doing, anyone around here would be honored to RP with you.

OoC: Wow. That's high praise. o.o Thank you! ^^ That just made my day for a week, I think.
Anyways, onwards to the battle!
BiC:

Lachyn slipped under the man's blade and swung at his feet. In a quarter of a second, the blade was there to block him. Lachyn sidestepped, darted in, ducked and stabbed, leaped, slashed, but the man blocked him at every turn.

"Stop!" screamed the bartender's wife, running towards them but unwilling to come close. Lachyn barely spared her a glance.

"I'll not have weapons drawn in my tavern or my inn!" shouted the bartender, but he, too, was unwilling to take any further measures to stop the fight.

There was confidence in the man's face, too much confidence. He underestimated Lachyn's skill. He was skilled himself, it was true, but Lachyn had learned from experience--one that had nearly cost him his life--that the worst mistake a fighter could make was to believe he could not lose.

Lachyn was faster than he looked; he may have been tall, broad-shouldered, and armored, but he was light on his feet. No one would have known it to look had him. No, he would save that trick for later.

The door opened, and a cold breeze blew in, carrying rain, making people flinch away and the fire flicker, but no one looked to see who'd come in. They were intent on the battle going on between the minstrel and the stranger.

Lachyn looked, briefly, out of habit alone. He took in a pale-faced young woman, dressed all in black, with bright, yellow-green eyes. Then he returned his attentions to the fight.

"I think you should both stop now," she called across the room. Lachyn would have rolled his eyes if he could risk the half-second he'd be distracted from the fight. The man did roll his eyes, and that was when Lachyn acted. He was behind the man, and struck out at his calves, then leaped up onto a table and swung at his chest. The man roared and spun, then spun again, and looked down to see the cut that Lachyn had made--barely even a scratch, but deep enough to bleed--diagonal across his chest from his right shoulder to his left side.

"First blood," said Lachyn with a savage pleasure. "Do we end this now, or continue until you're disarmed?"

"End it now," said the woman from behind him.

"Silence, you stupid girl!" shouted Lachyn's opponent, and Lachyn didn't miss the opportunity. He swung at the man's hand. The man screamed with pain, and the sword went clattering to the ground. Lachyn paused and stared at the man's arm, bleeding heavily from the wrist.

The man's hand twitched, the fingers curling as if still grasping the sword, before it went limp.
Suddenly, something white covered Lachyn's hands and arms, binding him securely. The man, too, was bound, the bleeding stump of his wrist bandaged with the stuff.

The young woman walked right between them. "Now," she said, adressing both of them. "Are we quite through? Or will I have to wrap you up like flies in a spider's web?"

OoC: I hope I did an okay job with your character...

OoC: My most sincere apologies, my friend. I have been stricken with insomnia for the past two days. Not sleeping is quite draining on the Cjs. I thought that I should at least post something before the week broke. It’s not much, but I wanted to stop before I misused your character more than I already have. Looks like you’re going to be the talented one in this RP.

BiC: Miss Spider had intervened too late. One of the two men fighting had already been grievously injured. The man’s hand had been severed from his wrist. He kneeled on the floor, glaring dolefully down at the spot where his appendage used to be. It was precisely something like that, that she had come between them to try and prevent. She had intervened too late.

“Who is responsible for this, hm?” she demanded, pulling the man with both of his hands still attached from the table, “who started this?”

“What in the world are you?” he asked, not at all unexpectedly after seeing her up close, “And what have you wrapped me in?”

“What I am is not important. This man needs to see a healer, and whoever started this needs to be locked up immediately.”

At that point, the man with both hands made an effort to try and break free of her webbing. He flexed his arms, but her threads continued to bind him tightly. He did not try to run away, however, so he did not seem to be trying to escape. “No one’s going anywhere until I get my sister’s medallion,” he said, ignoring his own failure to break free.

“Is that what started this?” the Spider Wraith replied, ready to bind the man further if he tried to flee the scene, “He has something that belongs to your sister? What exactly?”

“That medallion around his neck,” he answered, seeming more hostile with every word, “It’s an artifact I know my sister carries with her.” Despite what he was arguing, she was beginning to imagine that he was the one to blame. He spoke so harshly.

Backing away from him, she knelt at the side of the man with one hand. “Sir,” she began, calmly trying to address the man while he was clearly in shock “you need to seek medical attention, but I can not just let you leave if you are guilty of starting a fight with this man. Is what he says true?”

“It’s true whether he says so or not,” the man with both of his hands still attached interrupted.

“He cut off my hand,” the up till then quiet person whispered. His next lines were significantly louder. “He cut off my hand!”

OoC: Are you kidding? You did a great job with Lachyn. I've been incredibly impressed with how well the people in both my RPs have done—I'm a bit nervous using other people's characters, because I'm afraid it will seem awkward and unnatural, but you're great at it.
BiC:

Lachyn rolled his eyes. “I think that's been established, thanks,” he said, annoyed.

“Hush!” said the girl, a little sharply.

“He attacked--” the man said, clearly getting over his shock.

“You stole--”

“I didn't--”

“Quiet!”

Lachyn looked up at the young woman, almost alarmed. Her eyes were disconcerting, two under each lid, elliptical and flat. He looked away quickly.

“I clearly can't rely on you two to agree on an answer,” she said, disgusted. “Who saw what happened?”

“It was him,” Tabby said vehemently, pointing at the stranger.

“It wasn't!” protested Gergon. “It was young Master Lachyn pulled out his sword!”

“He was actively and willingly provoking--”

“I didn't--”

“The Medallion,” said Lachyn, suddenly inspired. “Let me see it.”

“I will not let you steal my medallion--”

“Steal it? It was stolen from me, if it's what I think it is, and if it is, then it should be destroyed!”

“Destroyed? Why should I let you destroy--”

Lachyn clenched his teeth and turned to plead with the young woman with her terrifying eyes. “Please, just—make him let me hold it. For only a minute, I swear, I just want to look at it!”

She frowned between the two of them.

“Let him see the pendant,” said Tabby. “That's what started the fight in the first place, let's see if it was all worth it.”

The young woman turned to the stranger with the Medallion. “Could I have it, just for a moment? If it makes you feel better, I can secure him to the table...”

More than a little reluctantly, the man handed over the Medallion. Lachyn didn't quite see what happened, but in a blur of white, he found his feet bound with sticky threads, and the girl used his sword to cut his hands free so he could take the Medallion.

He reached out to close his fingers around it. It was maybe as big as a large coin, heavy and cold in his hand. The iron shone just slightly in the light, and the symbols etched on its surface were far too familiar for comfort.

“I knew it,” he said furiously. “This is my sister's Medallion! I don't care that you stole it, you can keep it as far as I'm concerned. What I want to know is what happened to my sister?”

“I've never seen your sister in my life! That's a charm handed down in my family to increase fighting prowess! I'm a mercenary!”

There was a clunk as the Medallion fell to the floor. “What?” asked Lachyn, stunned.

“It's a talisman based on a famous medallion--”

“Based on a what?”

“A legend. It was buried before your time, I think, you won't have heard of it. Whoever possesses it was said to be the master of battle...are you alright?”

Despite the threads securing him to the floor, Lachyn couldn't stand. He reached back to use the table as support. His legs were weak under him and his arms were shaking violently; he knew without the need for a mirror that he'd gone pale, and his mouth had gone dry.

“What do you know about it?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“More than most. I've researched it...”

“Someone call a healer,” Lachyn called, his voice scratching in his throat like sand. “Hurry! He needs his strength.” To the man, he said, “I want to know all of it.”

“Why?”

“It's not a legend,” Lachyn whispered. “It's real.” He swallowed, and stared at the mock-up on the floor. “And my sister has it.”

The man with one hand sat quietly as he heard Lachyn say this. There was no mistaking that the music man was being serious. Considering the implications of his statement, he had every right to be so. “Well, if that’s the truth,” the man began, rising up from his kneeling position, “then it is essential that you get this information. The true medallion… Ah…” With that, the man returned to his knees. He swooned as if his head was going light. “Repulsive cur,” he grumbled, grabbing his wrist and holding it tightly. He stayed in that position for a few seconds longer before collapsing.

“Oh no. Sir!” Miss Spider exclaimed, nearly diving on the man, “Sir, can you hear me? Please, say something.” During the course of their conversation, the man with one hand had been turning paler and paler. Finally, he passed out from the blood loss. Though his wrist had been bandaged, it had still been dripping red beads at a steady pace. In the heat of the moment, no one had noticed. The Spider Wraith felt a backlash of guilt once again. If only for a moment.

“No, no!” the music man called out, “What about the medallion? My sister is in trouble!”

“We need to get him to a healer!” Miss Spider continued, addressing everyone that could hear her, “Where is the closest one?”

“The only doctor around is just down the street,” one woman replied, “but he might not be in at this hour. The blue colored door is his office, and the building just to the left is his house.”

“Thank you.”

With that, the Spider Wraith rebound the music man’s arms, and freed his legs. A little shakily, the dropped medallion and the severed hand were picked up, and tucked into her skirt. She spun one last thread, leaving it still attached to herself. After attaching the free end to his binds, she prepared to do something that might get her into trouble. “Everyone,” she said, lifting the unconscious man up onto her back, “This man is too big for me to carry, so I’m going to have to do something you might find troubling. Please, don’t be afraid. This is just part of who I am.”

Closing her eyes, she turned to her less human form. The man’s body rested easily on her flattened back. Just as she expected, the entire room gasped and stepped back at the revelation. She even felt her thread being tugged. “You fear me, I know,” she said aloud, “but this man needs help. If you’ll excuse us.” With all alacrity, the three people rushed out into the storm. They hurried to where the doctor was.

Lachyn's head was spinning. His emotions were in turmoil. Fear and disgust at the girl's transformation writhed in his stomach, where guilt had settled like a heavy stone, making him feel sick. He had cut a man's hand off. Cut his hand off!

But there was also a curiosity, an overpowering need to know, to understand. It was vital—to his quest to find Kellith, and to not being drawn in by the Medallion's power, that he knew about the legends and lies surrounding it, stories and spells as tangled and sticky as a spider's web...

And then there was a fascination, morbid as it might be, with the spider, which was really the girl...or was it that the girl was really a spider? He had been alarmed at first by her change, but he wasn't afraid of spiders, after all.

The rain was flooding the gutters, and it splashed as he stumbled along after the scurrying silhouette ahead of him. Water dripped down his nose and sloshed into his boots.

So the Medallion was a legend. And the man's charm had only been a replica...

“Is this it?” asked the spider, or girl, or whatever.

He squinted at the door. “It looks like in better light it might be blue.”

He watched the spider transform back into the young woman with the slicked-down hair and creepy, yellow-green eyes. She knocked on the door. She was about to knock again when it opened and a woman looked out. “We're closed! Come back tomorrow and he'll see you!”

“It's urgent!” said the girl. “This man has lost a hand and is losing blood at a terrible rate. He needs care!”

The woman opened the door a little more and looked at the unconscious man, then at Lachyn, then finally at the spider-girl.

“Come in,” she said, and stood back to let them into the hall.

OoC: Ugh, short. D: I have to get back into it a bit. Next post it'll be better. ;P

OoC: My most sincere apologies for the wait. Thank you for being so accommodating. Let's see if we can't get into that old swing.

BiC: Biting her tongue with worry, the Spider Wraith carried the man with one hand through the doorway, keeping the man responsible in toe. As she stepped out of the rain, she fumbled with his weight. A weak gasp slipped past her lips when she felt him almost slide from her shoulders. Chewing on her lower lip, she reaffirmed her hold. Dropping the man she was partly responsible for mutilating was not acceptable.

As they entered the hall, the person who had let them in -an aide, conveniently- rushed off into another room, most likely to fetch whatever kind of medicine man attended the facility. Miss Spider wasted no time setting the man down on the closest bed she could get to. Gently as she could, she laid the man down on top of the white sheets marked with pink splotches.

Just as the storm blew the door shut behind them, the aide returned along with a firm-chined young man. He was a doctor. Not a shaman, not a mage, but an old fashioned doctor. “Please,” the white skinned girl began as they approached, “This man needs help. He got his hand cut off in a sword fight, and he’s been bleeding badly.” Remembering she had it, she pulled the hand out and showed it to him.

“Get that dead flesh out of my ward,” the doctor replied, signaling the aide to start examining the man, “It’s going to cause infections.”

“I beg of you,” Miss Spider pleaded, “Try to reattach it. It’s my fault he lost it in the first place. I owe him that hand.”

“Fine, throw it on him. But get out of the way. Nurse? Let‘s get him out of the bed hall.”

With that, the doctor grabbed the sheets by the man’s feet while the nurse grabbed the sheets by his head. Like that, they picked him up and carried him toward the room that the doctor had come from. Presumably, this room was going to be cleaner than the one they were already in. The pair carried him past the doorway, closing a curtain behind them.

After watching them disappear into the next room, the Spider Wraith did nothing but stand there, holding her hands to her chest. Her body felt heavy with worry, that humid fog that tightened around one’s chest. She could think of nothing else besides seeing the man walking back out, as good as new. For each moment the curtain remained stationary, the worry tightened just a little bit more.

And she stood, staring, until she felt something tug at her thread. She spun around to see the man who had done the severing take a seat on one of the nearby beds. A sudden wave of anger wrinkled her brow. She resisted the urge to shout at the man. A scolding would do nothing to help the man in the other room get his hand back. An argument would only cause trouble for everyone.

Miss Spider stepped over to him, dabbing her face dry with her bandanna. Her hair still dripped more onto her, but she hardly minded. Reaching back, she felt the thread that connected them. They did not need it any longer. With a quick pinch, it fell out of her back.

After using the thread to further bind the man, she took a seat on the bed opposite his. Very clearly, he would not want to sit next to her.