A Farmer's Lot in Life
Chapter Six: Couple’s Therapy
They’d had a long fight afterwards, with Rosco stonewalling Jessi most of the way home to her pleas and cries and frantic explanations. Finally, out of desperation, she’d grabbed his arm and he’d – he’d punched her.
The moment was in frightening slow motion. The rage on Rosco’s face, the widening of Jessi’s eyes as she saw that… and the fist coming at her. Then time sped up again and Jessi was one the ground, holding her face.
“Oh… Oh god.. Jessi!”
Rosco’s face was washed with suddenly stricken guilt as he dropped to his knees next to her. But Jessi was caught up in that look he’d given her. It’s been so.. monstrous so hateful… her husband… had hit her.
“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, tears falling freely.
“Jessi I’m sorry. I love you I didn’t mean-“
Rosco wrapped his arms around her tightly. But suddenly his wife, his treasure, started to pound and claw like an animal. His eyes widened but he was in control now and he only tried to tighten his hold and pin her hands more. She drew blood, even gave him a good kick but he held her until finally she ran out of energy and collapsed in his arms, sobbing.
His heart sank. How could he understand what she’d been going through out here, all alone? Who knew what she’d had to do to keep the family together and alive. How could he have been so caught up in his own woes to forget his wife’s?
Slowly he stroked her hair until the weeping simmered down. “I love you.” He whispered. “We’ll make it alright. You’ll see. I promise you, I’ll make it all right if you’ll let me.”
So many stories gloss over the awkward silences, the strange jabs at humor in a time like this. Instead the author leaps into a happily-ever-after kiss or love making session. But that isn’t how life really works.
Instead, after a good hour of talking, Rosco suggested it was getting close to dawn and they should probably head home. So, they did. They dusted themselves off, gave each other a final kiss, then walked the rest of the way hand-in-hand.
Later, they would both blame themselves for their selfishness.
As dawn rose, the couple made their way sleepily into their home and settled under the covers for a few hours rest.
It would be those precious hours before they realized that no bouncing little girl had barged into their room demanding breakfast and no little baby boy had screamed for a diaper change that entire time.
It would be almost noon by the time Jessi and Rosco discovered their children…. were missing.
The Quiet of Night
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Lampir
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Re: The Quiet of Night
Kaltyra GreyFang: Orc Druid of Grumbar
James White: Prelate of the Radiant Heart, Owner of N.T.E & White Rose Imports
Morric: Evil is...
James White: Prelate of the Radiant Heart, Owner of N.T.E & White Rose Imports
Morric: Evil is...
- Deathgrowl
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Re: The Quiet of Night
Dry Tears, Dead Wife
He had to tell the children today. Hannah had probably already figured it out, as she had noticed her dad crying himself to sleep every night. She had gone over to his room last night and embraced him in a rather fruitless effort to comfort him. In the morning he told them both. Hannah knew, but hearing it being said completely broke her heart.
Liam didn't quite understand at first, but when he had seen Hannah burst into an endless flood of tears, he realized he would never see mum again. Never again would mum play hide and seek in the fields with him and his big sister while dad was sitting on the edge of the field, watching them and laughing. Now they all would cry themselves to sleep.
Miss Evey Winter had come by later that night with a game bird she had caught and to comfort him. Such a lovely and kind young lass, Jorge had thought. She was a good archer, from what he had heard from the other farmers who had attended the archery practice lessons by that elf. He had wanted to go as well,but who'd look after the children? Maybe he could ask the neighbours wife next time. They were an old, kind couple and had no children of their own. They'd always been like grandparents to Hannah and Liam.
Malarites came to them. Jorge didn't see it at first, but when they spoke – he thought they had been bandits. Same stlarned lot, he thought. Damn them. Damn them for taking her away. He'd not let them take anything else from him. Not while he was still breathing.
Such a dazzling song. In his anger, he had tried to attack the half elf with his knife. With a grace Jorge had never seen before, the half elf had easily dodged his assault and started to... sing? The next thing Jorge realized, was that he was being held to the ground by the elf. A surprisingly strong one, at that.
Then it had all turned around. He felt a strange wind moving quickly past him and ... the sound of light foot steps? Was something running past him unseen? Then the two men just left. He would've thought for sure they were going to kill both him and miss Winter. He got a last good, long look at the two men's faces. When they were gone from sight, miss Winter and him ran to a Flaming Fist officer, describing the men. The officer had just looked at them with a blank expression and yawned.
They went back to the farm after talking with the disinterested soldier. "Tomorrow we have to describe those two men to the other farmers, lass. Warn everyone", he said to Evey before saying goodbye for the night and walking inside. "Bandits and Malarites..." He started crying again. Holding Melinda's wedding ring, he prayed to Chauntea before going to bed. No sleep this night, either.
Laitae Lafreth, became Chosen of Mystra, former Great Reader of Candlekeep
Nëa the Little Shadow
Uranhed Jandinwed, Guide of Candlekeep
Free music:
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Nëa the Little Shadow
Uranhed Jandinwed, Guide of Candlekeep
Free music:
http://soundcloud.com/progressionmusic/sets/luna
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Re: The Quiet of Night
Mikey and Mooey
Time has a way of changing things, whether for better, or worse and there was no exception here. For as the days turned to weeks and Mikey healed nicely, things seemed to return to their normal routines as if the past incident had never happened.They had eaten rather well for a while with the foraging and hunting bringing ample food to the table, but, as fates would have it, it could not last.
Father only hunted once or twice a tenday as was required to bring enough meat to the table without any going to waste, but the foraging became an everyday chore for Mikey and his three sisters.
They were told to never enter the forest further then they could see their way out. Never go alone and -never- be in the forest near dusk or dawn, but only in the bright of day.
Well, children being children eventually became comfortable with the forest and whether during foraging or play, they got to know the edge of the forest very well, so ventured just a little further each time knowing well the way out.
All seemed blissful with songs being sung after super, smiles in the morning, and light hearted moods even during the daily chores. The food was so plentiful in fact momma was starting to get pudgy, which daddy teased her about followed by a laugh and a hug.
Then came the tax collectors, then came desperation. Mikey again listened to his mother cry each morning as he slipped down the ladder to go milk Mooey. There was no food on the table at all the day after the tax collector came and daddy again was becoming short tempered.
Father hunted twice as often and Mikey and his siblings were told to gather more from the forest each day, and if they complained they could find no more, were sent back and told to look harder. Yet it seemed the more they found, the less they ate. Why? Mikey could no longer make sense of it and spent more time each day talking and crying to Mooey who of course listened to every word he spoke.
Then something crazy happened, Mooey tried to block Mikeys path as he tried to return to the house with the full milk bucket. She mooed at him, stared at him, pushed him away from the door. He got mad at her knowing he had many more chores to do and was looking forward to foraging as the siblings had learned to supplement their meals by eating what they could in the forest, but she would not budge, so coaxed her gently back to her stall, and for the first time ever ... tied her to the fence.
Mooey protested loudly and mooed from the barn through their entire breakfast. At first it seemed funny and brought a few jokes and laughter, but, soon became annoying. Mikey was actually more then glad when time came to go forage so he could distance himself from the insistent mooing.
Well as would be expected, their daily foraging near the road had taken its toll and their buckets were no where near full so they looked at each other and as a group headed deeper into the forest, knowing that they would only be sent back if they tried to return home with what they had.
They eventually found a small clearing and all four of them at once began dancing and skipping around as they discovered wild berries in such quantity there was no way it could ever run out. The first thing they did was fill their bellies, then their buckets. After running and chasing each other throughout the clearing till their energies were all but gone they decided to make their way home.
"Uhm ... where did we enter?" Molly looks around not moving in any one direction.
"Hmmm we came in over here .. I remember it exactly" she says as she begins a slow walk circling around.
"You dummies" Mikey blurts out " We came from over there" he begins walking confidently in one direction slowing as he nears the edge, his confidence evaporating.
Sally simply stands between then all and begins to cry "I want to go home!"
They all turn and look at each other unsure and frown worriedly as they notice the sun is getting ready to set, the shadows of the forest already beginning to grow.
Then it happens. They turn all at one time as they hear a low growling to their left. They take a few steps back as they see the wolf ... no two wolves ... no three ... four?
It seemed all three sister turned to him at one time and screamed "What do we do now?!"
"What do we do? what do we do? what do we do?" echoes through his mind as he tries to think, think of anything. "oh Mooey I wish you were here, we need you Mooey" his sisters tilt their heads at such an absurd notion then they jump as he begins screaming out orders. "Milly, grab Sally, keep her safe and behind us! Molly grab two buckets dump them half out so you can swing them, one in each hand!" He jumps in beside her doing the same with his two buckets and glances back making sure Milly and Sally were behind them. "Molly, keep no more then two paces between us"
Sally simply screamed unable to move in her terror as Milly held her tight. The wolves approached slowly, oh so slowly. Mikey eying a few stones set his bucket down and hurled them towards the wolves, but aside from a couple of sharp yelps as the stones found their targets, they were not dissuaded from their goal .. their prize ... their meal.
One wolf suddenly lunged forward attempting to run between Molly and Mikey, they both swung their buckets, one connecting to the nose and one to the shoulders, illiciting yowling and yelps of pain as it jumps back falling to the rear of the pack.
Then another surges forward trying to go around Mikey, he swings both buckets one at a time like a paddle wheel in a roaring river, both connecting and repeating their blows as he continues his windmill motion. the wolf staggers under the blows, screaming in a protest of pain and returning the the pack.
The remaining two jump forward, one to either side, Molly and Mikey begin their volley of swinging buckets driving them off, but it separates them as they both step away from each other and the first wolf once again surges forward right between them, pouncing on Sally and Milly who are bowled over and separated from each others grasp, leaving the fourth wolf to follow the first and leap towards Sally.
"No!!" they all scream in unison when suddenly they notice a no longer faint "MOOOOOO"
"Mooey!" Mikey cries out then notices that father is right behind and drawing his bow.
The wolf has in the meantime grabbed Sally and begun making its way back to the forest, the other three making sure they are not pursued. Father lets his arrow fly ... an eternity of time follows as they all wait to see if it will hit its mark.
There is a yelp and the wolf lets go of its prize continuing its run towards the forest.
They all hug as father gathers them up in his arms in a fit of free flowing tears. Then they all turn hurriedly to where Mooey stands, nudging at Sally. They all circle around as father kneels next to her checking her over, she is breathing, they can all see that, the wolf only had time to grab her not kill her, but there is blood, so much blood.
Father scoops up Sally and turns to the others then "Stay with Mooey, let her guide you home" is all he says as he runs off at a pace few can match. Mikey, Milly and Molly all reach around Mooey and hug her tight, then fall in line as they are lead home ...
Last edited by paw on Fri Jul 20, 2012 3:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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gimchi
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Re: The Quiet of Night
The Eyes of Children
The Huntlord: 2
The trail was a new one. He squatted down to examine it more closely, and ran his hand lightly over the exposed soil. Not enough creatures had trodden it's path for it to become well worn, and in places the smaller plants were springing back upright after being recently crushed.
Maybe five or six? One way only and not too far ahead.
There were no animal tracks that he could see, only the occasional clear print of a boot or shoe. The prints were not heavy or broad enough to belong to Orcs, and there was none of their normal litter dropped along the trail. Neither were there the usual wider places where individuals had halted to relieve themselves, and forced the ones behind them to step around as they jostled past.
Elves rarely left any tracks at all, unless moving in large numbers to one of their numerous celebrations, or when marching to war, so he dismissed them immediately. It was definitely humans that had passed through here.
Jarnag stood and followed the narrow trail with ease as it weaved in and out around the trees, skirted dense bush or rocky outcrops, and avoided all the steep slopes and higher hills - avoided anything that was tough going. His upper lip curled with mild contempt at the meandering path.
Lazy and amateurish. A blind man could follow this.
Pressed tightly onto his head was the the hollowed out skull of a full-grown jungle leopard, with the entire hide - teeth, claws and fur still attached. It's soft pelt hung down his back and swayed gently from side to side with every step he took. His chest was bare but crisscrossed with a dozen leather straps holding an assortment of daggers and one or two small pouches. Below the waist he wore soft leather leggings so stained with old sweat and blood that they were now almost black. His feet were enclosed in new deerskin moccasins, and he followed the trail at speed, and in near perfect silence.
He followed for an hour or so, stopping occasionally to check the freshness of the tracks. He was getting close now. He slowed to a walk and continued forward until the scent of fresh tree sap and resin came to him on the wind. The sound of faint voices reached him at almost the same time, and he slid quietly from the trail and circled to the east.
From behind the trunk of an old Maple tree he looked into a small clearing hacked out from the pristine forest. The sight of the bleeding stumps set a momentary pulse beating in his temple; but the wound to the forest was small, nothing like the huge areas stolen by the farmlands of great cities, and it would recover quickly once left alone. It was the burly man standing in front of the makeshift timber altar that really sent his anger rising, but he looked away and quickly assessed the small group of people kneeling on the forest floor.
Seven of them. Five men and two women. One of the men a potential problem, but the rest just mice.
He turned his attention back to the makeshift priest, and as he listened he allowed his anger to build.
Renegade Malarites in my territory!
The burly man lifted up a rabbit, held it over the large clay bowl that rested on the crudely built altar, and eventually finished his rambling prayer.
"It's Thom here again. We done got yer this fine coney .. err .. Great Malar yer Lordship, and we was hopin' yer would do right by us in turn. We need better luck with our huntin' and more game to put on our tables. Yer would be wantin' it's blood now I suspects."
As the man slit its throat and let the rabbit's blood flow into the clay bowl, a voice thundered out from the trees to the right of the clearing.
"ENOUGH!'
Jarnag strode into the open space and made directly for the would-be priest. He raised his foot and kicked one of the women out of his way. To the left of him, the man he had noted before as a potential threat lunged for a pitchfork lying on the ground. Jarnag took an extra quick pace, raised his foot again and stamped down on the pitchfork just behind the sharp metal tines. The wooden shaft snapped with a clean crack! Jarnag had already whipped a long-bladed fighting dagger from one of his many sheathes, and he plunged it into the man's neck. In, and back out with a quick twist. The man was dead before his face hit the ground.
Thom dropped the rabbit with a squawk, snatched up his woodsman's ax, and raised it up high for a killing blow. He was far too slow. Jarnag had left the first man behind and closed the gap. He stepped in close to Thom and caught the shaft of the axe just above the other man's hands, and his muscles bunched like iron as he halted the downward swing. The dagger in his right hand drove deep into the man's belly, and he twisted this too, then angled it and pushed up hard under Thom's ribcage.
Thom's mouth dropped open and he gurgled something incomprehensible. Jarnag held him upright on the dagger beneath his ribs, and tossed the ax away with his other hand. He grasped the back of the man's head and turned them both until they faced the little gathering, the pair of them as closely pressed together as lovers at a country dance. Nobody else had moved. Shock had frozen them all into place.
"False priest," he growled in a voice thick with bloodlust and rage. His face was twisted into a snarl that matched the one on his leopard skin headdress, and he shook Thom's head from side to side like a rag doll.
"I am Jarnag Karnagar, Ordained Huntlord of Malar. You will all obey me, and speak to Malar through me, or follow this incompetent to the grave. Choose now!
Some recovered their voices and began to respond.
"I will follow." "Gods did you see what he did!" "I .. I should obey."
"SILENCE!" he roared, the bloodlust still distorting his face.
"REPEAT AFTER ME .... I PLACE MY LIFE IN YOUR HANDS HUNTLORD .. SO THAT I MAY BETTER RECEIVE THE BLESSINGS OF MALAR!"
There was silence for a moment, then their voices rose in a ragged chorus and repeated his words.
The Huntlord: 2
The trail was a new one. He squatted down to examine it more closely, and ran his hand lightly over the exposed soil. Not enough creatures had trodden it's path for it to become well worn, and in places the smaller plants were springing back upright after being recently crushed.
Maybe five or six? One way only and not too far ahead.
There were no animal tracks that he could see, only the occasional clear print of a boot or shoe. The prints were not heavy or broad enough to belong to Orcs, and there was none of their normal litter dropped along the trail. Neither were there the usual wider places where individuals had halted to relieve themselves, and forced the ones behind them to step around as they jostled past.
Elves rarely left any tracks at all, unless moving in large numbers to one of their numerous celebrations, or when marching to war, so he dismissed them immediately. It was definitely humans that had passed through here.
Jarnag stood and followed the narrow trail with ease as it weaved in and out around the trees, skirted dense bush or rocky outcrops, and avoided all the steep slopes and higher hills - avoided anything that was tough going. His upper lip curled with mild contempt at the meandering path.
Lazy and amateurish. A blind man could follow this.
Pressed tightly onto his head was the the hollowed out skull of a full-grown jungle leopard, with the entire hide - teeth, claws and fur still attached. It's soft pelt hung down his back and swayed gently from side to side with every step he took. His chest was bare but crisscrossed with a dozen leather straps holding an assortment of daggers and one or two small pouches. Below the waist he wore soft leather leggings so stained with old sweat and blood that they were now almost black. His feet were enclosed in new deerskin moccasins, and he followed the trail at speed, and in near perfect silence.
He followed for an hour or so, stopping occasionally to check the freshness of the tracks. He was getting close now. He slowed to a walk and continued forward until the scent of fresh tree sap and resin came to him on the wind. The sound of faint voices reached him at almost the same time, and he slid quietly from the trail and circled to the east.
From behind the trunk of an old Maple tree he looked into a small clearing hacked out from the pristine forest. The sight of the bleeding stumps set a momentary pulse beating in his temple; but the wound to the forest was small, nothing like the huge areas stolen by the farmlands of great cities, and it would recover quickly once left alone. It was the burly man standing in front of the makeshift timber altar that really sent his anger rising, but he looked away and quickly assessed the small group of people kneeling on the forest floor.
Seven of them. Five men and two women. One of the men a potential problem, but the rest just mice.
He turned his attention back to the makeshift priest, and as he listened he allowed his anger to build.
Renegade Malarites in my territory!
The burly man lifted up a rabbit, held it over the large clay bowl that rested on the crudely built altar, and eventually finished his rambling prayer.
"It's Thom here again. We done got yer this fine coney .. err .. Great Malar yer Lordship, and we was hopin' yer would do right by us in turn. We need better luck with our huntin' and more game to put on our tables. Yer would be wantin' it's blood now I suspects."
As the man slit its throat and let the rabbit's blood flow into the clay bowl, a voice thundered out from the trees to the right of the clearing.
"ENOUGH!'
Jarnag strode into the open space and made directly for the would-be priest. He raised his foot and kicked one of the women out of his way. To the left of him, the man he had noted before as a potential threat lunged for a pitchfork lying on the ground. Jarnag took an extra quick pace, raised his foot again and stamped down on the pitchfork just behind the sharp metal tines. The wooden shaft snapped with a clean crack! Jarnag had already whipped a long-bladed fighting dagger from one of his many sheathes, and he plunged it into the man's neck. In, and back out with a quick twist. The man was dead before his face hit the ground.
Thom dropped the rabbit with a squawk, snatched up his woodsman's ax, and raised it up high for a killing blow. He was far too slow. Jarnag had left the first man behind and closed the gap. He stepped in close to Thom and caught the shaft of the axe just above the other man's hands, and his muscles bunched like iron as he halted the downward swing. The dagger in his right hand drove deep into the man's belly, and he twisted this too, then angled it and pushed up hard under Thom's ribcage.
Thom's mouth dropped open and he gurgled something incomprehensible. Jarnag held him upright on the dagger beneath his ribs, and tossed the ax away with his other hand. He grasped the back of the man's head and turned them both until they faced the little gathering, the pair of them as closely pressed together as lovers at a country dance. Nobody else had moved. Shock had frozen them all into place.
"False priest," he growled in a voice thick with bloodlust and rage. His face was twisted into a snarl that matched the one on his leopard skin headdress, and he shook Thom's head from side to side like a rag doll.
"I am Jarnag Karnagar, Ordained Huntlord of Malar. You will all obey me, and speak to Malar through me, or follow this incompetent to the grave. Choose now!
Some recovered their voices and began to respond.
"I will follow." "Gods did you see what he did!" "I .. I should obey."
"SILENCE!" he roared, the bloodlust still distorting his face.
"REPEAT AFTER ME .... I PLACE MY LIFE IN YOUR HANDS HUNTLORD .. SO THAT I MAY BETTER RECEIVE THE BLESSINGS OF MALAR!"
There was silence for a moment, then their voices rose in a ragged chorus and repeated his words.
In another lifetime, one of toil and blood
Blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form...
Blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form...
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Re: The Quiet of Night
Mikey and Mooey
The trek home is a long and quiet one as the three siblings, lead by Mooey, make their way home in the now near dark.As the farm comes into site, they all look to one another with dour faces, the sisters then head to the house, while Mikey sees to Mooey being taken to the barn where he hugs her tight, tears welling up at the thought of the wolves nearly making off with his sister. The blood ... so much blood ... he says a silent prayer to whom ever god might be listening.
As much as he wishes to go to the house to see his sisters smile and hear her laughter as she teases him, the fear inside will not allow him to release his hold around Mooeys neck. After long hours, he eventually sits, then falls asleep in the hay.
The next morning Mooey nudges him awake. He does not argue, but, merely begins his morning ritual of milking Mooey and heading to the house. Only this morning, unlike most, Mooey follows him out of the barn.
Half way to the house two strangers stop him and ask where they can find Alister Morely. Without a thought he merely reaches out a finger to point to the farm next to his own, then watches as the two walk away. "You should have asked them stupid!" he mutters to himself "Who are you? Why do you want to find Mr Morley? Can you heal my sister?"
He looks down and kicks a rock that has stupidly exposed itself to him.
At the door he pauses ... the lights in the kitchen are still all lit. He can hear mutterings between his parents. He opens the door as quietly as a squeaky door can be opened and peers inside.
His parents are hugging each other ... there is no sign of any of his siblings ... "what ... what can that mean?" he catches his breath at the thought that crosses his mind.
As he steps inside with the bucket of milk both of his parents turn to him. They both look tired, their expressions hard to read because of it. He swallows hard as he looks around, tubs of water, rags ... and blood ... are everywhere.
Looking between the two he swallows once again and opens his mouth to ask every kind of question he can think of, but, only one word comes out "Sally ..."
With that one word his heart leaps into his throat as his mothers looks to him tears flowing, his father suddenly jumps to his feet and storms out the door shouting as loud as he can as he slams the door shut " MAAALLLLAAAARRRR ! ! ! !"
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Re: The Quiet of Night
Mikey and Mooey
Even though he does not know why, the hair on the back of Mikey's neck stand on end. "Was daddy calling out to that ... Malar .. for help? ... or as a challenge" he thinks to himself.
He had heard that name mentioned before, even said it himself once, for which he was immediately slapped by momma as if it were a curse word.
And Sally ... where was Sally? Not seeing his sister he once again looks to his mother who now stands motionless, staring at the door where daddy had just run out.
"Momma?" he attempts to almost too quietly gain his mothers attention.
She slowly turns to face him , but says nothing.
"Momma ... where did daddy go? ... why did he yell that dirty word? ... where is Sally? ... " The questions now just flow from him as his emotions begin to well up from inside. Tears he was too scared to let go of stream down his little face as he looks to his mother.
She says nothing simply stepping quickly to him, grasping him in her arms holding him close in a comforting hug. She closes her own eyes tight as she begins to rock to and fro.
"Your sister did not make it" she sobs "Your father has sworn to take his vengence on Malar's followers, for they are the ones responsible for bringing all these ills upon us. He goes now to begin talking with some of our neighbors."
"There were some people looking for Mr Morley this morning." he says somewhat calmly. "I told them where he lived."
She leans back away a little to look at his face. "What people? ... who were they? ... what did they want?"
He merely looks up at her and shrugs to each question asked.