Author Topic: Dance of Death // Faerie Prance  (Read 1072 times)

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Vasha

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Dance of Death // Faerie Prance
« on: February 25, 2010, 08:34:46 PM »
So this was a story I wrote for a Western Civ project (about romanticism). It's a pretty cool story, and deviates quite a bit from what i usually write, and my usual style, so it was pretty epic to write. not to mention that it's from the point of view of an author, and you would not BELIEVE how fun it is to write from the point of view of an author! it gives me an excuse to use bigger words than i usually do! :P so, without further ado... i give you my story!

Spoiler: Dance of Death // Faerie Prance • show

[center]An appeal to the great muse, Leanan Sidhe, that I may put to words the tale given to me.[/center]

            It started off normally enough, just as if it had been one of my stories. In fact, that’s how it began. I was writing my most recent story—an enchanting tale of a young girl who awes herself with the beauty of nature, and thusly leaves civilization behind her in order to live on her own in the forest. But the trouble is I was stumped, and so I said to myself, “Caelyn, my boy, how are you supposed to write about the beauty of nature if you don’t surround yourself with it every once in a while?”

            So that is what I did. I forced myself away from the cluttered desk that served as my studio, and I walked out into the great wide open, bringing with me naught but a small pad of paper and a pencil. Well, the light blinded me for a moment, as I had been long accustomed to my dark writing room—which was always lit by no more than a small lamp—but my eyes soon adjusted to let me take in the true majesty of the world around me.

            Spring time had begun to cast its lovely hues over the natural world, steeping the grass in a more cheerful sort of green, and the randomly dispersed ponds in a mazarine color (now that their cold, white coverings had been melted off). The clouds dotted the sky rather nicely, more puffy and happy than the overcast appearance that they had just held in the winter months. The forest off in the horizon bordered the scene, but its darker colors produced more of a feeling of harmony than one of confliction. The painting of the Earth is truly wonderful. Whoever up there was responsible for this surely had known what they were doing, for they combined their different colors and techniques far better than any mere mortal artist could—and that was indeed saying a lot.

            Well, standing back and observing colors is all well-and-good, but not my intention. I pushed on further into the field, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells as I walked. Daisies, lilies, and other such wildflowers were scattered aimlessly around the grassy knolls, swaying and sweeping in the soft, sweet breeze, seeming to call out to any weary travelers, singing out for them to carry on. And so I did. I continued on, watching squirrels chasing after each other and rabbits running about playfully. Birds were chirping overhead, calling out their tunes to anyone who would listen.

            But among all of the natural melodies and rhythmic movements were less natural sounds. The faint sounds of musical instruments being played drifted to my ears from somewhere off in the distance. The sounds of trumpets, harps, flutes, (as well as some other instruments I wasn’t able to pick out) and voices mixed together in a giddy jubilee to fill the air.

            I hurried forward, trying to find where the sound was coming from. Mine was the only house in at least half a mile’s radius, but mound after mound  I found no one who could be the source of the noise. I wandered around, looking for the music maker, suddenly forgetting about studying nature and only focusing on my new objective. I continued searching for another minute or so, before finally stumbling upon—almost quite literally—my mark.

            What I found was this: a ring of dirt, encompassing and surround by patches of normal lively grass, atop one of the larger acclivities. Inside the circle were what looked like small children, running and dancing around while playing their various instruments or singing (though it was more like shouting, as they all sang at different times, and their songs had no definite volume, tune, or words). They danced—around and around and around the circle they went—never seeming to get out of breath and never having to stop and think what to play next. The circle was full of frantic chaos, yet somehow it was filled with its own sort of order, and their music was very nice indeed.

            Well, I must say that this did rather amuse me. I could have sat and watched them dance around like that for hours, ergo, when they noticed me and invited me into the ring, I figured it could not hurt to try, at least for a short time. I allowed myself to be pulled in by one of them, and soon found myself imitating their puerile movements.

            I must tell you now, dear reader, that this was actually a rather enjoyable experience, while it lasted, anyways (for later it proved to be a rather grave mistake on my part. Listen to me, though: skipping around the chronology of things! No matter, I shall cross that bridge when I come to it, so to speak). We made merry together, twirling, spinning, dashing, and prancing around the circle as we laughed and played with each other.  We continued on with our terpsichore for (what seemed like at the time) an hour or so, and the I told them that I had to go and get back home, but they cried and complained and whined for me to stay, and so, well, I just couldn’t bear to see their little faces twisted into such morose expressions, and so I agreed to stay for a while longer.

            We continued dancing for what may have been an hour or a half or so more, and then I told them once again that I had to leave. Well, this time they made no noises, and just kept going around, as if I had never said a word. I made up my mind that I would simply leave the children behind and go back to my writing (for I must say I had quite of the outdoors for one day), but when I tried to leave one of them pulled me back into their game. I made some more attempts, all of them ending as futilely as the last, and so I eventually gave in and continued playing with them.

            Finally we stopped (and I do say that I felt like either my legs were about to fall off, or I was going to take a deep breath and feel my lungs shriveled up inside my throat). They thanked me, and I said that I had quite enjoyed my time with them (though that was only partially true, as the later period of their romp found me growing rather impatient). They beamed wider then, and asked me if I would keep playing with them, saying something about saving their faerie forest. I told them that I would love to (though I suppose that was a lie as well), but that I had to get back to my house and my job. Well, that just caused them to giggle, and, before I knew what was happening, they were pulling me into the forest.

            We wandered around in silence for a while, the mass of jade and amber foliage serving as a natural canopy to block my sight of the outside world. My childish captors (apparently calling themselves faeries) had grown strangely quiet, and whenever I ventured a glance at one of them, they shot me a cold glare that made me want to run away as fast as possible. Indeed, I was searching frantically for any means of escape, but (as mentioned before) the trees produced a wall quite impenetrable to my sight.

            As we walked, some of the faeries became restless with excitement (and I daresay I was beginning to become rather restless with anxiety), and began to mumble amongst themselves. I was able to catch a few words, such as ‘Oberon,’ ‘forest,’ ‘save,’ and ‘dust.’ Well I must say that none of these words quite enthused me, but as I had no means of escaping, I just walked quietly and hoped for the best.

            When we finally got to a clearing in the woods, the faeries parted (not before one of them jabbed me in the back to push me forward) and watched as another faerie came up to our group from a tree stump he had apparently been sitting on. My captives stared at us as he introduced himself to me as Oberon, and asked if I had had a pleasant journey here. I told him rather bluntly that I would have called it more of a kidnapping than a pleasant journey, and so he scolded the ones who had brought me here for a minute or so. He then turned back to me and asked if I could help them in their effort to save their home, for some men from the local village had taken up cutting down the trees and destroying the forestry. When I told him that I needed to get back to my house (but that I had the deepest sympathies for him and his people), he seemed slightly taken aback, but smiled at me and said I could go if I wished. I thanked him, but he told me that before I left I had to accept some of their hospitality and join them in a feast.

            I figured it was the least I could do, and so he got his servants to prepare a large meal, that they could show me off properly. They ran to do as they were told, and then Oberon told me that he would provide me with entertainment, so he escorted me (and the entourage we had apparently gained) into his personal tent. He began to recite poetry to me, and different illusions faded through the air to portray the images as he spoke of them. His guests (including me) watched on in amazement as he spun together word after word, phrase after phrase, and stanza after stanza, all the while conjuring images for us to watch. He went through a good amount (ten, I think it was?) of poems, then asked me about myself. When I told him that I was an author, they all vociferated for me to tell them a story, and so I told them the current one I was working on (even finding myself continuing from where I had left off, all the way to the end). They all acclaimed me, and before we knew it the meal had been prepared.

            The faerie servants came out and set their trays down on a fallen tree. They lifted the covers off to reveal the largest variety of food I had ever seen. Various pheasants, seafoods, and other animals cooked to perfection were laid out with a myriad of puddings, vegetables, and side dishes, each filling the air with  its own sweet fragrance. Oberon smiled as he saw me take in the spectacle, and so he offered me to take the first dish-full of food.  I did so, and quickly began to dig in to the delicacies laid before me.

            But suddenly I felt a strange feeling. I looked down and noticed… a pile of dust? I was fading. Fading into dust. Fading into plain, white dust. I looked to Oberon, but he just grinned ruefully at me as a wind came and blew the forming dust away. The faeries watched on, laughing and shouting to themselves as I faded into nothingness.
 
   And now here I am, writing this as my final will and testament. My love, Leanan Sidhe, greeted me after my death and apologized for causing my life to be cut short, but explained that thus was the price for her inspiration. I felt betrayed, but she offered to help me write one last story… the story of my final days on Earth. And so I did. If anyone finds this back in the land of the living, let this be a warning to them: if you join the faerie prance, you shall soon find yourself dancing with death.

[center]Fin[/center]