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Lady's Blessing

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Lady's Blessing

Postby OverLoad » Mon Sep 01, 2014 3:51 am

Hey guys.

So my initial plan with Lady's Blessing was to create a separate build for each chapter, but as it stands I have no access whatsoever to my LEGO collection (I am living away from home at college). Instead of leaving the story as of yet unreleased, I'll include the entire story here. The entire story was completed in January 2014, but I've been away from the world of building recently. I will eventually build the final chapters, but for now they will remain in text form. There will be spoilers in the form of the rest of the story, I suppose.

I.

I had a dream this past night. Or, at least, I think I had a dream. It has been so long since I truly dreamt, since I truly felt the nocturnal ecstasy of my mind’s wandering.
I dreamt of my time spent in my father’s home out in the village of… Actually, I don’t remember the village’s name. It has been a very long time since I lived with my father. I do not quite recall what he looked like, but within my mind’s eye the image was clear as day.
He told me of a horrible event to come, and wept profusely. At this point, I cannot remember if he was weeping with tears of sadness or tears of joy. Regardless, I could not console him, and my frustrations became visible as I thrashed and screamed. I do not remember the event he foretold.
When I awoke with a start, I was once again in my bare, musty chambers. Sunlight pierces through the dusty air and landed on my pallid form. Another day has arrived, and I am certainly expected to be dressed and within my lady’s vicinity before she awoke.
I pull the gray tunic about my torso and belt it tightly. Crawling down from the attic’s hatch, I find myself in the castle proper. Dawn’s first rays are shining dimly through the frosted windows into the hallway, illuminating the stone pathway before me.

II.

My lady’s chambers are down the hall, concealed behind large oaken doors. Every day I wait beyond those doors for my lady to permit entry. She is very much fickle about these things.
The oak doors are also where I bring my lady the young women in order for them to be blessed. Beautiful young girls, all of them. When I informed each of them that my lady wished to bless them, they grew excited and prideful. If they only knew.
The donjon surrounding me is immensely and deathly quiet. All of my lady’s guards were specially chosen, the best of those available, she had told me. But I knew the truth behind the silent guards. I know that they are not silent because they are dutiful. No, it is much simpler than that.
They are silent because they lack tongues. It is evident enough in their pained eyes, the way they search desperately for some way to convey their thoughts. Looking for a way to scream, I imagine.
My lady’s presence is enough to turn worry into tangible fear, though. The only source of human connection for them is either through her or me, and I fear neither is at all satisfactory for a silenced soul.
A few of the guards are sometimes asked to help my lady in her blessings. Those who are chosen appear to carry a greater sense of pain and ache following the event. I do not envy them.
While my lady is quite harsh and strict with them, she is very caring for me. I am allowed to keep my tongue at least. The accommodations could be nicer, but at this point I hardly know anything else.

III.

I waited for quite sometime outside the oaken doors, but my lady bid me to enter with a command that had both discipline and love woven into it.
At the center of the room she stands, as if she had never stood anywhere else. Her hair was braided and neatly kept, her figure a beautiful achievement of her lineage. She was nearly perfect, similar to the southern mythos of Luna, the moon goddess. Her hard countenance softened as her eyes traced my form, and she was clearly eager to give me my orders.
“Come closer, my beloved sweetling!” she says. She often gives me such nicknames. I long to enjoy them, to feel loved by them, but amid all else I feel a sharp pang of condescension. “I am in need of another young girl to receive my blessing, and I’m sure you will be able to find at least one or two suitable for my needs.”
“Of course, my lady.”
I reply. Her command riles a deep hatred within me. I loathe her and her pitiful tones. I despise her wishes and darkest desires. Each command is as if she has driven a dark dagger into my being.
“Thank you, my shy starling. You know how much I appreciate you." She says as she turns away from me.
“Certainly, my lady.” Once more, I cannot drudge up the black emotions I feel for her within the dark abyss of my mind. In fact, I can say that in this moment I almost love her.

IV.

Hours after that meeting, I exited the castle. I am the only one that my lady permits to leave. The guards are not permitted to, but some certainly tried in the past. My lady dealt with them accordingly.
Late in the evening is the best time to find willing girls for my lady’s blessing. Those who brought their father’s farm goods into the village market left for their homesteads by sunset, and I could always find a willing farm girl.
I see two young women on a cart bound westward from the village of… I am not entirely sure. I cannot recall the name of it. I have had trouble with nomenclature of anything these past few years. I do often wonder why that is.
One of the women is very lithe, fair in face and slender in form. Her eyes dance from one point to the next, ever so gracefully. Her hair was like that of a raven’s feathers, black and foreboding.
She will be perfect for my lady. It is only a matter of convincing her to come along with me. Wearing only my nicest attire that my lady gifted me, the persuasion will not be difficult.
“Good evening, miss.” I say, “May I have a moment to speak with you?”
Curious, but altogether wary, she stops the cart and turns to face me. Her beauty was exquisite, I notice again. Her friend flashes a knowing grin before turning the other way so as not to face us.
“Good evening to you as well.” She says ever so simply. Her voice is melodious and not unlike a bird’s song. Every motion of hers radiates with grace, although she is merely a farm girl.
“My name is William.” My name is not William. I have learned it is better to use pseudonyms in my lady’s work. My real name… well, I’ve long forgotten it. My lady never uses it, and I do not recall it. I suppose it could have been William just as much as anything else. “I am a royal servant of Mistress Morgan, who is in need of a fair handmaiden for help her in daily tasks.” Morgan is not my lady’s name either. I have never heard my lady’s name spoken, nor have I ever needed it.
“Mistress Morgan? I’ve never heard of anybody by that name. Are you pulling the wool over my eyes?” She says, smirking. The farm expression is much different than my lady’s dialect, but I have come to accept that in my searches.
“I would never do such a thing to you, miss. You have yet to tell me your name, but we can discuss that on the way to the keep." That is the hook that gets most of them. My clothing was evidently finely made and I had the general tone of royalty. The mention of a keep only serves to shut the lock. The lies I had told would mean nothing in a moment’s time, and once at the castle they were useless anyways.
“Oh, can we?” she replies with a wink as she hops off the cart. I had evidently won her over, as I had many before. “My name is Lucilia.”
And with that, we are off.

V.

The journey back to the castle from the village is a short one. The keep is within a nearby forest, accessible through only one path. My lady says it is best for her blessings to be given away from the village folk. Something so sacred must stay secret, she would always say. I know better than that.
The small talk between Lucilia and I is uneventful and short lived. I try not to speak too much with women chosen for the blessing. It makes it easier for me to let them wait alone by the doors if I have little and less knowledge about them.
Some mannerisms of Lucilia keep me wanting to speak with her more, though. Her whimsy and flirtatious nature intrigue me beyond all belief. She is nothing like my lady, but certain aspects of her character remind me of my lady. Particularly, I note an aura of mystery about the both of them.
Most of my lady’s life and history is kept secret from me, yet she still exercises and immense grasp on all workings of the castle. She is above me, above the guards, and certainly above the girls she blesses. This is evident from the glimpses we see of her, although they are few and far between for most of the castle’s occupants. I have the holy privilege of visiting her every day at dawn and sunset, more if need be.
Yet from those times alone, I have gathered more than enough to know she is omniscient. The sweet natured nothings she tells me are her way of pitying me, I know it. Yet I revere her, I love her. I loathe her, I despise her. She has ruined me, broken me. I can do nothing but submit to her, her that I know and remember nothing of. Her-
“William? William, are you alright?”
It is Lucilia, her hand on my shoulder and worry in her eyes. Her youthful face looks pallid and ghastly white in the light of the waning sun. I had stopped walking, apparently, and was weeping into my hands. I do not recall ever stopping to cry, nor do I know for how long.
“William, it is getting dark. You wanted to bring me to the keep to meet her, yes? Mistress Morgan?” Lucilia asks. The worry metamorphoses, advancing into dismay.
“Yes, yes. Excuse my behavior. Yes, come along.” I managed to say.

VI.

We arrived at the main gates for the keep in due time. The maw before us was silent until now, with two guards pushing the massive doors, screeching all the while.
I sense an air of apprehension about Lucilia as we draw inward to the keep. Perhaps the wordless stares of the doormen were enough to alert her. Perhaps she is having second thoughts about following a well-dressed stranger to a hidden castle.
“William, can I ask you something?” the words tumbled out of her shaken being, looking for any shred of security. She knows. She knows and looks to me to save her.
“Certainly, my dear Lucilia!” I make it appear genuine. I have to convince her, as I had convinced countless others, that I am not to be feared.
“Are you sure that Mistress Morgan wants me? Maybe I am not good enough for her needs, I am just a farm girl after all.” She turns to leave, but I catch her hand in my own. Her fingers were cold, clammy almost, and shaking violently.
“I am beyond sure.” That was not a lie. My lady would certainly love giving the blessing to Lucilia. The true intentions, however, have yet to be revealed at this point.
I have no doubt that she knows. She knows just as well as I know what my lady will be doing. There is no denying it, yet I cannot give her the gift of my confirmation. That is not what my lady requires I do.
“Lucilia, if you could please, come this way-“
She starts running out of the gate, and beyond. Night has fallen now, and I can just make out the two guardsmen leaving their posts to tumble through the shadows after her. They nearly blend into the night with their black mail, but the twinkling here and there in the moonlight allows for them to be easily spotted.
If she escapes, then all of us, the guards, my lady, myself, will certainly be discovered and subject to dismantling by some violent force. I cannot let this happen.
The next thing I know, I am running along the path, blind in the darkness surrounding me.

VII.

I have been running and looking for quite some time, with no sign of Lucilia. I wonder if the guards have had better luck.
Even if I do catch her, what would I do? I am unarmed, and relatively weak. Hurting her would upset my lady. My lady must hear of this, but I doubt she will be happy. We have never had any of the girls chosen for the blessing escape. I suppose there is a first time for everything.
Over the past few years, the castle has been kept on a strictly need to know basis, with very few visitors. Messages are sent to and fro via owl, as owls cannot speak and tell rumors.
By dawn tomorrow, the keep will certainly be under siege by a number of angry peasants and village folk. I envision it, a throng of villager massing in the dark, their faces being dimly lit by the rising sun. Word travels fast, and I am sure the many who had lost their daughters and sisters over the years have spent their days honing their scythes to come lop my head off.
And hopefully, to come lop my lady’s head off too.
Why would I ever hope for that? I love my lady with all of my heart. She truly loves me, too. She has always taken the effort to care and share compassion for me.
And yet, what do I have to show for it? She has robbed me of my family, of my father whose fate I cannot recall. She has robbed me of my mind, which lacks basic functioning so early in my life.
Worst of all, she has stolen my identity from me. I no longer possess a name, nor my livelihood. I cannot remember where I was born, not the name of the village I had just come from hours earlier. I must hate her, I must think of her as my enemy if I am to ever recover my true self buried beneath years of struggle and dutiful service to my lady, the oppressor of my own being.
But which is it? Do I abhor her, or do I adore her?
I walk into the gates of the keep, still lacking answers.

VIII.

There is no time to waste. I know what I must do, although I still dread it all the same. I climb the endless stairs to my lady’s room, my heart nearly bursting through my ribs. I cannot hear my steps; my head is so clouded by the incessant beating trapped within the confines of my own skull.
None of the guards pay me any mind. It is evident in my face, the panicked look, that something is amiss. For all of the knowledge I have, something could have prevented Lucilia’s escape, rending my worry absolutely meaningless. Nonetheless, I must inform my lady.
I can visualize it now, her white complexion curled and mangled in surprise at my intrusion into her chambers. Beneath the shock is an infallible anger, writing and blistering in it’s own blackened hatred.
I will no doubt fall out of favor then. She will know my time is finished, and she would dispose of me accordingly. But I must inform her, if she is to live.
But why? Why should I help her? Her, who took from me all that I had. The hateful, prideful, all-powerful harpy who dared to steal such a thing from me. I have no reason to care about her survival. Just the opposite, I should be a main conspirator in her demise.
No, no. I cannot, even if I so wished it. She is unwavering, and holds a grip on my in such a way that would render any insurrection of mine completely and utterly futile.
Such is the world I live in. Lacking an identity and sworn to uphold my misery. And the executor, cloaked in shadow, of these hateful workings is none other than my lady herself, the eternal tormentor of my soul and whom I surrender willingly to.
Approaching the oak doors once more, I fear what may lie behind them.
Throwing aside my apprehensions, I cast open the doors and fling myself inward.

IX.

My lady was resting in her bed, sleeping, before I entered. Her hair is in tangles, and her breasts are bare as she sits up to face me. Her eyes show horror, and she blushes as she struggles to cover herself.
Never before had I entered into my lady’s chambers uninvited or otherwise unrequited. Similarly, I had never witness my lady in such a casual, unprepared manner before. I can feel the cheeks of my face reddening.
Averting my eyes, I begin, “My lady, I regret to inform you that the woman I had chosen for this night’s blessing has escaped my grasps. I know not if your guards have captured her, but as of this moment she is unable to be found.”
My lady’s eyes swell up with tears, and her face draws itself into a vicious pout. The crying begins, and she curses all manner of my existence. Throwing herself from the bed and drawing a lose nightgown about her, she yells out into the hallways.
“The castle is to be sealed and fortified at once! No one may enter or leave, save for the girl and her captors!”
She runs out into the hall, instructing the first guards she sees. They nod and go on their ways, but I could see there is a change in their eyes. There is a change in mine as well.
The mask is shattered, and I now know that the end is nigh.

X.

Still in her nightgown, my lady returns to her chambers where I sit, brooding. Her face is scarlet, glistening with the remnants of tears. She walks with an anxious gait and draws herself onto the bed.
“I am sorry, my beloved young one.” She says. Her voice, much like her body, is shaky and broken. The illusion has been exposed, she must know. Her long hair fell about her shoulders loosely. She looked less a goddess and more a housewife. “I did not mean to yell so violently at you.”
“It is quite alright… my lady.” I had almost forgotten to address her as my lady, and when I said it, it had felt forced and cumbersome. She is no longer my lady, not truly.
She climbs off the bed and retreats to a backroom study. I do not follow, nor do I make any motion or indication that I even noticed she left.
I know not how long I had waited there, but when I became aware of my surroundings I felt the gnawing urge of responsibility deep within my gut. There is something I must do, but I cannot recall what, or do I even know what it is yet?
She is no longer my mistress. I cannot believe it. All it took was for me to enter uncalled for to see. After years of suffering, years of servitude, all it took was a single day for all of that to come undone.
I should be leaping and bounding with a newfound joy. But still, gnawing away deep inside, is that feeling.
“Little dove, could you come to me?”
I know now, at this moment, what I must do.

XI.

The private study is a room which I was previously unfamiliar with. It is small, containing nothing more than a table, a chair, and a few belongings on a shelf. One of them is a decorated dagger on a small stand. It is within reach as I enter.
She turns to me, her eyes glassy once more with tears. I marvel at her weakness, her inferiority. For years, that was I. No longer am I plagued with such emotions. Now she suffers. Perhaps that is punishment enough.
“Would you deliver this to the fellows in the owlery? It must be sent at once.” She whimpers. Her current appearance and behavior left me feeling disgusted. Rage swells up inside of me.
“Were you listening, sweetling?” She is pleading with me at this point. Her hands rattle the envelope as she convulses frantically.
I grab the dagger from its stand, sending a faint ringing in the air. The ringing announced a new era, by heralding the death of the last.
A shriek flies into the night as the blade drags my hand down into her chest, plunging into her mortal flesh. The nightgown stains itself on the open wound, as the last of her life slips from the cut onto the floor. Her blood appears black in this dimly lit room.
All that is left now of my turmoil is a petrified look of horror and disbelief. The end has come after eons of sorrow.
For reasons beyond my understanding, I snatch the message she had written off the desk and bolt out into the hallway.
I hear the guards shuffling in the corridors both above and below me. They undoubtedly heard the futile cry of my perished lady. I cannot stand here, or stay anywhere near here. By dawn the villagers will come to tear down the walls of the keep, and the guards will tear me to shreds sooner than that if I am discovered.
Before I could turn to escape, my eyes met with those of a spearman not too far from me.

XII.

For a fleeting moment both the watchmen and I stood in utter disbelief. I cherished the silence I experienced with that man, as I fear these may be my final moments.
His murky, sullen eyes are drawn to the red stained blade I clasped in my hand. A look of sudden comprehension dawns on his face. He knows what I have done. He despises me for it. I can tell by the way his mouth tightens. He despises me because I took the honor of killing her from him. I stole what he thought was rightfully his. Perhaps it was his.
He lunges with the spear pointed right at my ribcage. I roll to the side, tumbling against the wall. I hear the clinking of his coat of armor, and I feel the rush of bloodlust course through my limbs. Do I fight, or run while I still have the chance?
That chance was swept away from me as I pondered. He spun himself around and was once more running to pierce me.
I feel a pang of fear, followed by a sharp stabbing pain. I wince, and suddenly hear a gurgling sound. The guard is pinned on my dagger through the stomach, while his spear is caught in my calf. His blood trickles onto the floor, illuminated by a small candle.
Hurling him off of my, I began to crawl. I cannot do much more, nor do I think I ever will. I am destined to die here.

XIII.

Somehow, I have made it outside. I do not remember how. The night is cool and quiet, save for the sound of my dragging, limping, steps. I have managed to figure out how to hobble, but not quite walk, my way out into the forest.
I know not where I am going; just that I am never returning back whence I came. Not to the keep, nor the village. I would rather die amidst the trees than ever face the villagers. At least the woodland provides a calm death.
Propping myself on a tree, I figure it is time to read the message, to look for any indication or information would comfort me in these final hours. I open the letter, wrinkled from being shoved into my pocket. It reads:

“Dear beloved brother,
I am afraid to write you under such dark matters. The village people stir with a fury unseen in many years, Yorwood Keep is holding up for now, but I fear the people of Yorwood proper will descend upon me at dawn. I would like to apologize in advance for the casualties I must cause, but it is necessary for my survival.
Much Love,
-Hilda”


Lady Hilda. After all these years, spent in Yorwood apparently, I was in the service of Lady Hilda. Yet I never knew, and it is of little use to me now. The village name means nothing either. What I need is some sort of clue as to my identity.
I cannot die until I know. But how will I ever know? There must be more to this letter. That witch must have named me, her loyal abiding whelp, somewhere in this.
Somewhere, somewhere. The words fade. I try to think, with all my might. The words and thoughts become enveloped in an impenetrable gray fog, choking out anything left of my consciousness. My hopes, my dreams, and what remains of my identity are falling away, forever to be lost in the mists of time.
The forest around me is melting and I know now that soon I will cease to be entirely.
Farewell.
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OverLoad
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Re: Lady's Blessing

Postby josdu » Sun Sep 21, 2014 1:55 am

Just saw this and nice story! Kinda weird ending though.
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Let [them] see your good works, and glorify your father which is in heaven.
Matthew 5:16
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