This is the beginning of my second story with my character Aidanna, in a writing/role-playing group called Valdemar's Intrigue (.com/group/valdemarsintrigue/), in a setting based on the Valdemar novels by Mercedes Lackey. It's a play by post group, so my chapters will in general be each separate post, unless that format disturbs the continuity a bit too much. These chapters have, for the most part, already been set in stone, so cannot be edited, but I do seek constructive criticism on them so I can improve my writing skills. I will include the name of the post and the post number to make it easier to peek in on the online group if you are so inclined.
I will eventually post my original story with Aidanna, but because the timeline in the game was jumped ahead 7 years, it was never finished. I might finish it someday, but ... no promises ...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Mercedes Lackey's characters, and do not gain any monetary profit from my Valdemar fanfic.
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Nightmares of highschool - post #8964
When: 7 or so years since the last post involving Aidanna ;op
Where: Haven
Who: Aidanna (now 18 years old), Kregan (an npc to be filled in as needed, mwah hah hah)
*****
The young woman tosses and turns fitfully in her sleep, as the claws of a nightmare dig deep into her scarred psyche...
Smoke, choking and close, but underlying it the cloying stench of blood...
*- Oh, gods, please, let someone find me -*
A voice, loathsome and dripping with evil...
*- No one will ever find you, sweetling, you belong to me now -*
Pain, all-encompassing, piercing and bone-crushing all at once...
*- Please, oh please, make it stop! -*
A pair of blood-red, glowing eyes, hovering above her...
Mad laughter, echoing and rebounding, growing louder and louder and louder –
*- Gods, just let me die! -*
Heat, growing, slowly at first, then more intense, searing, burning...
The flash of an obsidian blade...
She screams –
- and wakes, coughing and spluttering and shivering, dripping wet. The stench of smoke follows her from sleep, but it brings the delightful odor of wet char with it. She shrieks, hops out of bed, and falls flat on her face, her legs tangled in the burnt remains of her bedding. She slowly sits up with a groan, scrubbing wet from her eyes, pushing her now-sopping hair out of her face, her body still shaking with reaction.
"Wot'n all th' blue bleedin' hells ye tryin' t'do t'me, filly?!? Burn me house down, and me wit' it?!?" The deep rumbling bass voice rolls over her like a rockslide, it's owner towering over her, an empty bucket clutched tightly in his hands. Hands really big enough to be paws. Bear paws.
She stares at his huge hands, uncomprehending, then covers her eyes with her hands, pressing the heels against them, as if to crush out the remnants of nightmare, still shaking. She draws a deep, ragged breath, coughs again, and finally looks up.
"S-sorry... must have been ... a nightmare ..." She frowns, looks about the small bedroom, then struggles to her knees, scrabbling through the clothing strewn about in last night's passion. A small moan signals that she's found what she's looking for. She holds up the item, a tiny fetish made of a rune-covered clay disc, strung on a thin leather cord with multi-colored beads. The clay disc is cracked, all the way through, and as she holds it, one half drops off the cord and hits the hardwood floor, crumbling into even tinier pieces.
"Oh, noooo...." She moans, louder this time, seeing months of work – hard, hard work – destroyed because of a moment of careless passion. She had worked so hard on that charm, so sure, so very sure that it would finally stop the nightmares. And it had! Three whole months of dreamless, uninterrupted sleep! She had been so proud of it; she had planned on showing it off to her new teachers, had even bragged about it to her friends –
*Oh, shit!* Suddenly she is a blur of motion, pulling on her pants and stuffing the broken charm in a random pocket.
"What time is it, Kregan?" Her voice is muffled as she struggles and wriggles into her shirt, tugging it over her head and shoving her arms through it ruthlessly, fiddling with the buttons for a moment before giving an exasperated grunt and throwing her Blues tunic on over it. His silence is enough of a response to give her pause. She stops, and looks at him, really looks this time.
He is still standing where he was when he doused her with the bucket of water, his six-foot-plus, well-muscled frame nearly as still as a statue, clothed only in the pair of breeches he must have hastily thrown on. He has a hard body, well honed and well used, a farmer's body, a mercenary's body. Darkly tanned, and covered with a lattice-work of scars – battle scars – almost as intricate as her own patterns of burn scars overlain with bizarre patterns from the ritualistic torture she endured as a child. His is the body of a protector, a soldier, a guardian. Someone who knows no fear, who's every movement is filled with confidence, grace, and power. There is something different in his stance now....
She looks up to meet his eyes, brown eyes set in a face as hard as his body, eyes that can freeze an opponent in his tracks with deadly malice, or that can melt a young woman's heart. Eyes that have never, ever shown fear, not once in the two years she's known him. Something foreign flickers in his eyes now, as he watches her intently.
She takes a step toward him, her hand raised to touch his chest.
"Kregan...?"
He flinches – flinches! – and shies from her touch, holding the bucket between them like a shield. A last, lonely drop of water trembles on the rim, before plummeting to the floor, mimicking the emotions swirling within her.
She stiffens and withdraws, feeling an old ache renew itself deep inside, and looks down, away. She lets her mussy hair fall as a curtain, hiding the tears that well up in her lavender eyes.
"Fine, whatever." She mumbles, grabbing her boots and belt, hopping-hobbling into them as she heads to the door, first the left foot, then the right. She buckles on her belt, sniffles and hides it with another cough.
"See you later?" She questions, over her shoulder. Still more silence. She hunches her shoulders then, and storms out, not looking back, and not seeing the bear-paw hand reach out to her, tentatively, and draw back again.
With speed born of desperation, and fueled by inner pain, she races through the streets of Haven, making it to the Collegium in record time. She careens into the classroom, hoping to zip into a seat before the teachers arrive, hoping hoping hoping she's not too late, and skids to a halt, momentarily taken aback at the scene of pupils and teachers (and grandmothers?!?) already gathered together. As they all turn to stare at her ungraceful intrusion, she blushes and nervously tucks a lock of her wild, unruly hair behind an ear (it pops back out, rebelliously, sticking out even further), and tugs at her rumpled tunic.
"Um... Hi! Um, I'm Aidanna Shidao, one of your new students? Uh.... sorry I'm late... " She sheepishly takes a seat, hunches down in it to make herself less conspicuous, and casts curious glances at the other students, and the three adults in the room.