Firiona Vie Everquest

(OOC Foreword: This is Thomen's backstory, told as a recollection. There will be chapters added as I write them, now that I've permission from some of the other players to write them into the story.)

For once, Thomen's head was not bent over a grimoire, nor did he have a snifter of brandy in his fingertips. This time, it was the snow-filled field outside the window that held his attention, and a mug of tea held gently in both thin hands.

The whorls of snow created by wind sweeping across the field reminded him of the deep chills from the plains of Karana, when winter had kept him contained within the farmhouse.

* * *

There had been nowhere to hide, nowhere to avoid the sneering, disgusted gaze of the head of the household. The snows would coat the fields in an icy white, paralyzing travel along the trade road between Highpass and Qeynos, isolating the farm. By the end of the winter, Thomen's skin would be bruised more black than the bark on the bare trees, deeper blue than even the midnight skies. Only his mother's insistence to keep faith in Karana kept Thomen from attempting to flee.

Born of a union between his mother and an itinerant minstrel from Qeynos, Thomen's thin frame was ill-suited for work upon a farm; but a farm is where he had lived, brought there by the rough-handed worker who now owned the fields. Never had Thomen met with approval by that man, who treated the animals and plants with more care than he showed any other living creature, including Thomen's mother... at least until the first-born of that union finally arrived.

Thomen was twelve when the birth happened one bitter cold night. The baby came squalling into the world, and the fists of the farmer were raised high in drink and spirits as the little boy, chubby and square, was announced to the workers.

That night, after the rest of the folks had drunk themselves into a happy stupor, Thomen was cleaning up some of the more noisome patches of the aftereffects when he felt a heavy boot nudge his side. He looked up into the scowl of the man who sheltered him. The burly farmer leaned down, inches from his face. "I've no use for you now, boy. You shall leave by the time the candle reaches its next mark." One heavy, stubby finger stabbed at the marks inscribed in the side of the fireplace.

Glancing at the flickering tallow, the only remaining light source in the room, Thomen realized he had little time to gather any belongings. He moved to the pallet near the fireplace where had slept for each night of the past ten years. He began to bend to gather the sack that contained all he owned, then stopped.

He slowly stood back upright, and with a defiant glare at the man who had tortured him over the years, snuffed the candle with his fingertips.

A giant roar came from the furious farmer, and he leapt across the room blindly trying to reach the insolent snit of a boy who dared oppose him. He met only the bodies of the sleeping celebrants, as Thomen had swiftly grabbed up his satchel and moved aside. The door swung open easily once the latch was lifted, and Thomen spat his departing words back into the darkened room at the tangle of moaning and cursing bodies.

"Your name does not deserve to be carried beyond this place. I will never speak it again."

* * *

He raised the empty teacup to his lips, and glanced down into its slightly minty yet hollow depths. With a small smirk, he stepped away from the window back to the whistling kettle by the fireplace to ward off the chill within him.

Once his cup was refilled with teas brewed from the slopes of Taelosia, Thomen felt the heat of the tea roll down his throat as he leaned back in his chair. Looking over to the fireplace, he spread his fingers and began to rub the small of his back, and closed his eyes in recollection of another fire, long ago...

* * *

All was dark, but warmth surrounded him. Voices, at first unintelligble whispers, became louder and louder until they became words of speech.

"...was frozen near solid up in North Karana. If my horse hadn't shied suddenly, I would never have guessed the child was there, half-buried as he was in the snows."

"Good luck for him that you had to make that run up to Highpass, hmm?"

"Indeed it was... the message was urgent, but perhaps Erollisi had another reason for me to be on the road in that blizzard."

Thomen tried to move, but found himself unable to lift a digit despite his will. Then he attempted to speak, but all that issued from his throat was a soft groan.

"Hsst... soft, now, child... all will be well. You've been unconscious for a couple of days now. We've got your eyes covered with a cloth against the light so you would rest easy. Here, swallow..."

A soft hand cupped the back of his head and lifted it as a cup was placed against his lower lip. He suckled at the trickle of liquid that flowed into his mouth, then a paroxysm of coughing wracked his body.

"Now, now... calm... I will take the hood from your eyes." The same soft fingers loosed a knot next to his temple, and suddenly the blazing crackle of a fireplace seared as the first light in days entered his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the glittering specks from his vision, then turned to face a pretty half-elven smile.

"I am Liessa, and you are in the Bard hall in Qeynos." Her dark green eyes searched his face, watching for some semblance of sanity.

The herbal tea soaking into his throat slowly, Thomen swallowed then croaked, "T... Thomen. Of ..." He blinked, looking away, then back. "Of Karana."

Thomen looked back at the fire, and Liessa followed his gaze. "Pleased to meet you, Thomen. Would you like to get closer to the fire?"

Thomen nodded, and she helped him to the bench near the flames. He noted as he walked that his trews and shirt were missing, and under the heavy woolen blanket, he was clad in a deep emerald tunic of soft linen. He glanced back at the bed to see his clothes folded neatly atop his satchel, and relaxed slightly as he sat down on the wooden bench.

He turned to face the fire, letting its heat wash over his body, cleansing the deep-seated chill from his joints. "Thank you, Liessa. Thank you for finding me... for helping me."

"You are welcome, Thomen. Once you are more fully recovered, I will want to hear your tale, for it must be exciting to force you to be traipsing along the snowdrifts in midwinter... but not now." Her fingers touched him on the shoulder. "For now, you should rest." Her voice sang soft and low, and Thomen's eyes closed not completely of their own accord.

* * *

Thomen rolled the lute over in his hands, his fingertips brushing the strings softly as he settled it back into its case. He was much better now, but it was because of hours upon hours of practice. Before he closed the case, he ran his fingertips across the pearl-inlaid plains-rose on the darkwood headstock, the gift of his patient hand to an instrument that had served another well years ago.

* * *

"Tell me what you think of your icicle, Liessa."

Liessa broke her gaze from the boy across the conservatory. She sighed and shook her head. "He has the charm... and the magic is certainly there... but his sense of rhythm is simply nonexistent, and although he has a strong grasp of the theory, he has no connection to the art of music."

"Thus he is no bard in search of training." The guildmistress's eyebrow was raised as she carefully gauged Liessa's reactions.

"No, Sollari... He is not." Liessa seemed to deflate slightly. "I thought perhaps Erollisi had sent me a protege, much as I was to you, but it is obvious now that Thomen will never a minstrel make."

"You did say that the boy showed an affinity for magic, however. Let us send him to the Arcane Order, and perhaps they will be able to unlock the talents hidden within the boy." She winced as a string broke on the lute under Thomen's fingers, and watched his thin body fold in on itself in frustration.

"His upbringing did not exactly bestow him with a great deal of self-confidence. Do you think the Order will be right for him, with their strict discipline?"

"I do not know... but I do know that failures are disheartening to the soul, whether they come from a lack of trying or a lack of ability." Sollari smiled. "He certainly does try."

Liessa nodded, then folded her arms in close to her body, steeling herself to go tell the boy of the broken lute the wishes of the guildmistress. "He so very much wishes to belong, Sollari. I wish he could belong here, but I agree... we must give him the chance even if it is not one we can provide." She reached down and picked up her lute, the darkwood warm and velvety to the touch, then moved towards the bench where Thomen sat.


* * *

He closed the leather case, leaning back in the chair. She had sent the instrument to him upon retirement, never having found a true bardic protege.. but instead, a stargazing enchanter with a love for music.

Thomen spun the tip of the tiny dagger against his fingernail, watching Rithragir spar against an animation. Glancing down at the small piece of steel, he reminisced about his first public conjuration.

* * *

"Thomen!"

The word, spoken as a partial epithet, caught his attention more swiftly than a slap to his face. His head swiveled back to face Esdia Moeba, the enchanter trainer for neophytes of the Order of Three. "My pardons, mistress... I was attempting to decipher the component of birdsong that captivates so swiftly."

"You were staring out the window during a dialogue regarding the summoning of animations." She motioned about the room, where the three other apprentices stood with sword and shield wavering uncertainly before them. Thomen looked down at the tiny dagger and shield on the table before him, then back up to the teacher. Veehan, a half-elf from Jaggedpine, stood snickering behind a floating shortsword just loudly enough for Thomen to hear it.

"Yes, mistress." Thomen bowed his head, and spoke a stream of quiet syllables. The tiny dagger upon the table suddenly stretched into a broadsword, mimicked by the tiny curved sheet of metal becoming a large kite shield. Veehan's snicker cut off instantly, as he realized Thomen's spell had not been Pendril's Calling, but rather the doubly intricate Calling of Juli.

Thomen bowed to Esdia. "My apologies for letting my attention lapse, mistress. I did not sleep well last night because the words for this spell would not leave my thoughts at ease."

Esdia nodded, and turned back to her lecture notes.

Veehan's eyes narrowed with ire at having been outdone and he whispered, "Be glad we cannot command them to attack, plainsling, or else you would be laying upon the floor even now."

Thomen turned a puzzled brow to the half-elf, but the spiteful gaze had already returned to the teaching podium.

* * *

Watching the staff in Rithragir's hands rise and fall, Thomen shuddered, remembering another crack of wood...

* * *

"I do not know what to do with him, Mespha. He completes the after-tasks I set... and in some cases, exceeds them, as in the case of this morning's conjuration exercise. He is quite obviously the most talented of the students, but his attention span..." Esdia shook her head in frustration. "I have seen flitting willowbirds with more concentration than he shows in class."

Mespha looked up from the grimoire in her hands. "I assume you are speaking of the bard-boy?"

"Indeed, Mespha. For the short time he has been with us, he has shown great strides... he has taken to the craft as if it had always been his. In his effortlessness, though, he is causing more trouble than he knows."

"Jealousy?"

"Most certainly that. Veehan's parents were both members of our Order, and if Thomen were not here, he would be the prize pupil. He feels slighted, and I cannot truly blame him for the amount of work Thomen shows."

"Then I suggest you separate them. Split the class into pairs and take them into the hills to practice their arts against the creatures that dwell there."

"Very well."

The next afternoon, Esdia led the second pair of classmates to the foothills between Qeynos. Thomen glanced at Ailanna, who had been raised in the city, but her calm confident grin answered his question. She was not afraid of this, so he gathered his thoughts for the practical application of the spells he had learned.

Over the course of the next two hours, Thomen and Ailanna took turns pacifying and mesmerizing the creatures that wandered by, their animations making short work of those upon which the blurring of memory failed. Esdia stood, and nodded her approval of their skills. "Very well done. Let us return." She and Ailanna began to walk back towards the city.

Thomen looked around, and cast one more Lull upon a wandering wolf. As he watched it walk past oblivious to his presence, he felt the air thicken as another spell was cast very near by. He jolted to turn and follow Esdia and Ailanna, before his mind suddenly drifted free of his control.

A rock blurred and became the sneering form of Veehan. "So mighty now, are you, Thomen? Mesmerized like a rodent beneath the exterminator's staff. You should fear me, for I can be your worst enemy." He laughed a snickering little laugh. "In fact, let me show you a spell given to me by another guildmaster of the enchanter's craft in Qeynos."

The disconnection of his mind fell, replaced with a quaking fear. Thomen's feet turned and carried him away swiftly to the north, away from the city, away from Esdia... and right into the arms of a kobold, whose furry snout curled into a snarl as a cudgel swung around to send him into unwilling slumber.

* * *

(Thank you for the story poThomen! I guess Thomen would have been a finishing senior apprentice in the Order of Three when Licinia was admitted as a junior....)

(Well, yes... except that Thomen never finished an official apprenticeship; he was still a student when captured and taken to Gloomingdeep. By the time he made his way back to Qeynos, he'd learned "in the field" to the extent where they effectively signed him to journeyman. The first part of the tales of Gloomingdeep are written, but yet to come; the latter parts are what I needed permission within which to include another player's toon. ;D)

((

I'm thoroughly enjoying this story... not only is it solidly written, but also maintains a certain level of mysticism associated with a unique and sophisticated view of the world of Norrath. With so many tales already up in the air, it's easy to start yours off of the tail-end of another thread. This starts a whole new string of events from the paradigm of a not-so-usual Enchanter whom I now realize I knew nothing about. Looking forward to the next fragment.

--Nas

))

(( *is also camping the thread for more installments*

I've kinda slacked on writing recently, had the urge but didnt know where to start Tried on Dalharen, reintroducing someone of old, but no response so maybe I will introduce him here...))

Thomen closed the door to his room and let the satchel of books fall to the tabletop. He poured a finger's depth of deep-colored brandy from a crystal decanter into one of the cut glasses, and lifted it to his nose. He inhaled the aroma deeply as he settled down into the chair and kicked off his soft boots, then sipped a sliver of liquid from the glass.

Despite the clamor outside... or perhaps, in conjunction with it... his mind was swept away in dreaming memory.

* * *

"Wake up, lad." The harsh whisper sounded near his ear, the Halas accent strong even in the sibilant hiss of breath.

The arrhythmic crash of many hammers and picks against stone resounded throughout the caverns as Thomen's eyes opened into the darkness. A glimmer of light shone through the bars of the cell where he had been thrown, illuminating only barely the sizable man beside him.

Thomen tried to roll away from this stranger, and cried out as the pain in his head overwhelmed him. With the pain came a swift burst of nausea, and what little was left in his stomach soon lay in a puddle nearby.

"Ach, 'tis as I thought. 'ere, lad, sip this." A callused hand lifted a vial to his lips.

A few sips of the healing draught later, Thomen's vision cleared. "Ye be in th'mines o' Gloomingdeep. I be Arias. Saw th'slaver carry ye int' th' cells, an' he wasna being overkind t'yer head. Wi' yer build, ye'd be endin' up as food fer Gnikan soon enough... so let's get ye out o' th'darkness."

Arias swung open the celldoor, and crept down the hallway in the shadows. Thomen attempted to emulate him, but a passing kobold warden caught sight of the pale boy and charged, laughing in a high-pitched hyena-like cackle.

Thomen opened his mouth to yell, but instead of an indeterminate wordless screech, out poured the harsh syllables of arcana. The kobold came stumbling to a halt, confused at the sudden blast of odd sparkling lights before it. Swiftly, a thick arm snaked around the furry head, pulling it back as the other rough hand gripped the muzzle and snapped the head sideways.

"Well done, lad." Arias grabbed the whip and pouch from the dead body, then shoved Thomen quickly down the corridor where the slavemaster had been. Arias flipped through the crude pouch, coming up with a key. "Ah... no more picking th' crude locks.. 'twill ease our escape greatly."

Carefully, the pair made their way through the twisting tunnels, squeezing into the shadows behind support beams as kobolds passed on patrol. Overlooking a yawning pit, they narrowly avoided detection by a goblin who looked up as it swung the pick over its head. A well-thrown rock turned the goblin's grunt of surprise into a shriek of falling back into the mouth of the pit, and the pair quickly hurried on before the sounds drew more attention, ducking around a corner into an unlit tunnel.

Quietly, there came a contralto voice from the darkness. "Well come, Arias. I see you've brought us another recruit?"

Flames blossomed around the hand of a Tier'Dal, and Thomen leapt backwards into the open-clawed hand of an Iksar holding a bow.

"Aye, Xenaida. Th' lad seems t' be a passable enchanter, or I be misguessin' what I saw below." Arias chuckled.

Xenaida's lips pursed. "Could not you bring us a shadowknight, or a wizard?"

"Bah. 'e's already aided us." Arias held up the key. "I'd nae been able t'find one o'these yet."

"Very well. Xal l'phlith d'Innoruuk quanth dos, dalhar." Her dark-skinned fingers flicked down the passageway in dismissal. "Pass."

* * *

(More to come)