Cylmae Mistylore

Solidarn swallowed the last of his ale and stood to leave. Crows Tavern had been nearly home to him over the years. He tipped his head to old-man Crow. They had talked about his leaving, but only a bit. Crow didn't ever get involved. But as Solidarn flung back his black wavy hair, and turned to leave, he heard the old man sigh. He resisted the urge to look back, instead took one last look around. There was his brewing barrel, the secret door to his guild, Tumpy standing near the wall complaining to himself as usual, the table were he and Mae had tipped a glass of honey mead on the day he had proposed. He smiled weakly to himself. Oh how she had teased him for his seriousness.

There seemed to be a rusty dagger in his throat. He coughed to clear it. It had been a good life. He and his beloved Mae had spent their lives together in Qeynos. He had married her in the temple. She had birthed his daughter Cyl. They had hunted in civil defense. Now he was leaving Qeynos forever -- leaving it all behind -- without her -- alone.

"Dead," he said. He heard Crows daughter blow her nose. Tumpy grumbled into his ale. Crow cleared his throat and turned to study the bottles on the wall. Solidarn stared at the floor, at his feet, at the worn wooden planks. When he looked up, he gave the end of his mustache his customary curl and turned to leave. He ran his hand up through his hair and stopped. How he longed to touch her hair again -- just once more. He touched his fingertips to his lips then looked up at the ceiling to stop the tears. There would be no tears. It had been a good life. They had been very happy despite his past reputation. Mae had changed that. He had become honorable. He chuckled a little at the thought, then nearly cried. There would be no tears, he told himself again. But what now? He had dedicated his life to his family. What now? They were dead, his lovely Mae and their daughter Cyl. Murdered by the god-forsaken orcs. Why hadn't he forbidden her to go to visit her folks in Halas?

"Damn orcs!" he mumbled to no one as he walked through the door of Crows for the last time. He swung the door wide and flung it aside as if tossing away the life he once knew.

"Damn Barbarians," he grumbled in the direction of a passing monk who had just missed being hit by the door. "Damn Barbarians anyway!"

"Aye," the young monk agreed. "They should all be driven back to Halas!"

Solidarn lashed out. Lightening fast fists hit the monk who dodged quickly as monks tend to do. None the less Solidarn managed to knock the surprised man to the ground. "What the…" was all the monk got to say before Solidarn grabbed him by the arm and leg and tossed him unceremoniously into the pond in front of Crows.

"And hang every damn rogue in your guild while they're at it," the irate monk said as he swam to the other side. He was young, but old enough to know that fighting this rogue would only slow him down, compound the wounds he had gained in the battle field and would probably gain him no satisfaction should he be lucky enough to win. "Geesh and it started out to be such a good day," he grumbled pulling himself out on the other side. "I hope some Barbarian wench takes a liking to your ugly face, man. May you be cursed with her love for an eternity!" With that, shaking the water from his body, the monk turned and made his way to his guild.

Solidarn nodded, his hands shaking. "Would that it could be dear monk. Aye, would that it could be."

Solidarn left that day, his existence in Qeynos firmly pushed to the back of his mind. His life turned into a quest for death. He had no fear as he wondered the wilds of Norrath. For four long years, he fought the deadliest foes, joined the most dangerous battles, and gained himself the respect of citizens all over Norrath. He was known for his fearlessness in battle, his near lust for death, and his uncanny ability to stay alive even when most of his party lay helplessly wounded and dying around him. By the time he made his way to Freeport, he was in his 50^th cycle, sick with a deadly fever from the swamps of Innothule and tired, very tired.

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The half elf made her way to the gate, tired, hungry, normal. Her mind was a blank, a tome of empty pages. Nothing existed past that moment. Nothing happened before. That was what she did. She hunted. She killed orcs. She took home loot, and ate. Each day was the same as the day before. Only her partners changed. But the memory of who she had fought with before was non existent. Her partner for this day was a shaman -- a big barbarian shaman. The half elf was young, dark haired and slight of build. The barbarian was full grown, blonde and shapely. But the only thing the half elf realized was that the barbarian was tall and they fought well together and it was time to eat. She was bringing the barbarian to her house because the woman was still with her. If the barbarian had not followed, the half elf would have promptly forgotten the woman's existence. There was no yesterday and would be no tomorrow. To the half elf, it was simply time to eat.

"So what do I call you?" the shaman asked. "I mean, girl, what is your name?

"Just don't call me late for dinner," she said. It was what she always said. She didn't have a name. It really didn't bother her. When someone asked, it shook her for a second, but was promptly forgotten. She didn't remember ever having a name. It was time to eat.

A drunk, dressed in black, staggered out of the shadows. The half elf attempted to move out of his way, but he clutched her arm to keep from falling. His rummy gaze went from her face to the barbarian behind her. As the half elf struggled to free herself of the evil smelling, scruffy looking human, he stammered, "Mae -- Cyl -- Mae?"

She finally flung herself free and tossed him to the ground.

"Cyl?" he asked wiggling around to try to get his arms and legs to work and pull him into an upright position. "Cyl? Mae? My god!"

The Barbarian brushed past the half elf and knelt beside the drunk. "This man is more than drunk," she said. "Girl, help me with him."

The half elf stood in a daze. She neither helped nor ran for someone to assist. She just stood staring at the man writhing about on the ground.

"Cyl?" the man asked. "Mae?" His hands grasped the barbarian and pulled her powerfully down to his level. "Mae?"

"Girl, snap out of it. I need some help here, lass," the barbarian said strongly.

"Cyl? Mae?" the half elf said.

The barbarian looked up at her in disgust. "Cylmae?" she asked.

"Aye, Cylmae," the half elf mumbled. " Call me Cylmae."

The Barbarian laughed. "OK, Cylmae, do you know this man?

The drunken rogue rolled back his eyes and fainted. The barbarian let him fall back onto the ground and gently placed her hand on the sides of his face. "He feels a bit feverish, Cylmae. Aye, but maybe more drunk than ill right now I fear. Do you know where he calls home?"

Something moved in the half elf's mind. His mustache. His dark hair. His body lying on the ground. The barbarian kneeling over him. Tears welled in her eyes. "He's -- he's my father," Cylmae stammered as she clutched her tiny fist to the leather on her chest. "He's my dad. That's my dad. You have to do something. You have to help him. You have to make him get up."

"Hmmm," the Barbarian said with a hint of a snicker behind it. "Tiss a man full of wine, Cylmae. Standing up right now might be a bit beyond his will." She looked up at Cylmae's stricken face. "Well, let's take him home then." With one mighty heave, she lifted the rogue and slung him over her shoulder. "Lead on, Cylmae."

The man was indeed sick. The barbarian, Marcylyn, helped Cylmae find a cleric to work on his cure, but Cylmae insisted on helping him and was at the rogues side whenever they weren't out hunting. During his coma state, that lasted fourteen days, Cylmae continued to think of him as her father.

She invited the Barbarian to stay at her house while they hunted orcs, since Marcylyn had no place to stay in Freeport. Cylmae's other partner for the time, a young elven paladin from Kelethin, was staying with relatives. It just made sense for Marcylyn to stay with Cylmae. For the first time in as long as Cylmae could remember, she had company when she wasn't fighting. And Marcylyn was far from just an idle guest. She was a very talented baker and practiced her skill into the wee hours of the morning. She was also a very talented talker, talking endlessly while she baked. And Cylmae started to listen.

A world of life began to open to Cylmae. Her once dead brain began to function again and people began to have names. Marcylyn's nightly stories began to take form and triggered wonders in Cylmae's mind. There were places on Norrath she dreamed to see. There were people she longed to meet. She became Cylmae and the man in the bed was her father. And Marcylyn became a person, not just a barbarian. She was a friend.

By the time Solidarn started to come out of his stupor, Cylmae had decided she would become a paladin. Prompted by Marcylyn's tales of talented sword play by a paladin she had known, Cylmae had gone to the Hall of Truth with the young elven paladin and had spent a lot of time with him studying under the paladin master. At first it was just a way to learn better how to use the blade and build her skill, but it soon turned to a desire to learn the paladin lore as well. All she needed was a sponsor to back her. Someone to vouch for her in the Hall of Truth, someone to say who she was.

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The rogue woke up. He was alone. The room was dark, smelled of illness. He sat up and looked around in confusion. "Where the hell am I?" he asked the walls. They were blue. He didn't remember any blue walls in the hotel. "Freeport," he mumbled, remembering the corrupt guards. "Sir Lucan." That was why he had come to Freeport, to kill Sir Lucan. He moved to get up, felt faint, dropped back down and waited. "What the hell?" he asked. "Crap what a drunk." He remembered the bar. He had been drinking with a partner from the fight in the planes. Slowly he brought himself back up to a sitting position, then stood weakly to his feet. He was naked. With a little looking around he managed to find his clothes, but not his weapons.

In the kitchen he found an abundance of tasty food, no weapons. The house was small, but clean and comfortable. Didn't matter. He couldn’t find his weapons and he had a date with a very nasty, very powerful, evil man.

Cylmae and Marcylyn had just returned from an exhausting hunt when they met the very disgruntled man in the doorway.

"What the hell is going on and where is my blade?" he demanded angrily.

"You were very -- ill -- father," Cylmae said as she brushed past him. "Your stuff is in your trunk where it always is."

Solidarn was about to argue the point, but his eyes fell on the barbarian and all thoughts escaped him. He stood with his mouth hung open like an initiate ranger facing his first angry bear. And like the ranger, he backed away from her, allowing her to pass by untouched.

"Cylmae and I cleaned out the camp today, Sir. You would be proud," the shaman said as she made her way past him.

"Cyl -- Mae? he asked. He was confused. Long forgotten emotions stormed through his veins and nearly caused tears to flood his eyes.

"Aye," she said. "I sponsored your daughter into the Paladin Guild yesterday. She is officially a member of the Hall of Truth. I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty, sir. I needed only mention the name Solidarn."

"Solidarn?" Cylmae asked.

Marcylyn nodded toward the man standing in the door way with his mouth still open in shock.

"Oh father", Cylmae said calmly then squealed happily. "Oh, I'm going to be a paladin! Thank you, Marcylyn. Thank you. Oh father, I'm a Paladin! I'll fight for justice! I'll study under the master. I need to go there. "

"Father," he mumbled as Cylmae darted out the door. "Marcylyn," he said turning to the barbarian questioningly. "Did I -- do something stupid while I was drunk?"

Marcylyn laughed and nodded. "I'm sure you did, Sir."

"Are we…" He waved his hand between them. "Are we a thing? You and me?" Something inside pleaded that it be so. The feeling was strange, but he wanted it. Oh how he wanted it.

Marcylyn roared with laughter as only a barbarian can laugh. She threw her beautiful head back and laughed for quite some time. Solidarn stood in wonder and then laughed with her. It had been an eternity since he had heard such beautiful laughter -- longer than an eternity he thought, an endless existence since he had heard laugher at all. It felt so good that he laughed in shire joy with one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. He vowed in that instant that it would not end. Oh no, this would not end.

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Because he didn't want to lose Marcylyn's laugher, he went along with Cylmae's subterfuge. He didn't care. After all, he was a rogue and good at such things, better than Cylmae who definitely wasn't. He picked up on her confusion and used it almost as shamelessly as a dark elf turning an innocent to evil. He knew it wasn't right, wasn't even fair, but that knowledge didn't stop him. And Cylmae's need assisted him. He was her father and within a short time, Marcylyn was her mother. And Solidarn would have it no other way.

He saw to it that his family's life was as protected and perfect as it could be. It took him some time to decide if it was a good idea, but in the end, Solidarn managed to get Cylmae involved in Marcylyn's guild -- one open to all classes and races. It was a good guild with a lot of friendly people. Most didn't know him and his past, but there were a couple who did know him from his early days. They were the kind that didn't talk about such things and that was fine with him. He knew that they would keep him informed of anything that happened that might threaten his family, because they knew him and his devotion, and they would love to see him run a threat to the ground and destroy it.

It was such an old friend, a dark elf, who came to see him a short time before his comfortable family life suddenly changed.

"She's with him a lot," the beautiful dark elf said in her incredibly soft voice. She used that voice only when she was serious and not angry. Solidarn knew her well. She had been a barbarian in a former life -- before the dark side had enticed her into the enchantress role. She had been beautiful then, she was bewitching now.

"And you think he was Abael?" he said in wonder.

The dark elf nodded solemnly. "I'm sure of it."

"Damn," he mumbled and walked over to stand by the window. "He's back then."

"But changed," she reminded him. "I still don't care to much for him."

Solidarn laughed. "You never cared too much for me either if I remember correctly."

"Rogues," she said and sipped her wine. The shadows hid a perceptible grin on her narrow elven face.

"And this from a dark elf?" he teased.

She laughed. It was an evil laugh, not the reckless burst of hilarity it used to be. For just a second he was reminded of the great change their lives had gone through, but it didn't hurt anymore. This was the same woman Mae been close to in Halas, but one his present wife didn't even know. And that was just fine with him.

"Things are so different now," he said as he made is way back to her side and sat down.

"Cylmae," the dark elf whispered. "She will go with him you know."

"You're sure he's leaving?"

"He's leaving," she assured him.

"Do you know when?"

"Have you ever known him to move slowly and well planned -- make a long thought out decision?"

"Crap."

The dark elf adjusted her enchantress robes and turned into the barbarian she used to be.

He smiled up at her. "Someone coming?"

As if in response to his question, Cylmae burst in the door with an armload of spider silks.

"We did spiders today. It was so exciting, Father." She hesitated and smiled at the barbarian. "Hello."

"I'll be leaving now," the barbarian said softly.

Solidarn noticed how the dark elf's voice caught Cylmae's attention. She actually stopped adjusting her pile of loot to look over at her.

No barbarian he'd ever met talked quite as precise and evil sounding. The illusion was a good one, but the underlying dark elf demeanor was still present. His old friend would never be the fun loving barbarian she used to be. But, of course, had she remained a barbarian shaman, he would not have known about Abael. She had given up the carefree life for one of intense intelligence, and it was that intelligence that could see through the conversion Abael had taken. From a rogue to a bard -- near as dramatic as shaman to enchantress. "Thank you", he whispered.

After a slow, much too courtly bow, and a very slight evil wink, the beautiful barbarian made her exit.

"Who was that?" Cylmae asked after the door shut. He noticed her slight shiver.

"An old friend," Solidarn said with a sigh. "You were hunting with Larkas again?"

She giggled, her mind obviously turned away from the strange barbarian who just left.. "Oh yes. We make such a good team."

He took a sip of his wine and said as calmly as he could, "You like him, don't you?"

"He's very charming."

He loved the smile that spread across her face, none the less it left a cold rock in the bottom of his stomach. "But you like all the other guys out there too, right?"

"Of course. They are all very very nice."

"Just as nice as Larkas, right?"

"Well…" She giggled a little. "He is very sexy daddy."

"Not what a father likes to hear," he mumbled. Marcylyn's blunt barbarian ways coming from the mouth of his only daughter sent a chill down his arms. Abael would love it.

Cylmae giggled and hugged him. "Ah but it's OK, Daddy. They are all pretty sexy."

He laughed and held her until she wiggled away to sort through her loot. "You do an old rogue proud, Honey," he said. And he was proud. He vowed internally to see to it that the bard, Larkas, would remember the power of a rogue backstab before he considered any of his renowned tricks with this girl.

She beamed him a smile. "We're going to kill snakes again tonight. Supposed to meet him at the tunnel."

"The tunnel?" he asked. His mind flipped back to a night in Runnyeye when Abael had disappeared down a tunnel with a beautiful half elf. He'd been gone for a long time before they reappeared.

"The tunnel to Ro. He usually sings and heals there. Told me to meet him."

"He heals? Folks pay him?"

"For free, Daddy. He just sings them well. That's what he usually does. Says he's practicing and helping the injured at the same time."

"Larkas heals folks for free?"

She laughed and drew a shiny new blade from her pack to polish its bitter sharp edge.

"That's new," Solidarn said.

"A shaman gave it to me. Said it would help me kill the snakes better."

Solidarn didn't say anything. His mind was on a crafty rogue turned bard.

"It's not magic, just better" She smiled at the new knife. "A dark elf gave me earrings."

He just nodded. They were watching over her.

"And another one gave me a rat ring -- protection against poison."

"Guy?" he asked.

She nodded. "They aren't all bad. I grouped with some a while ago, and Lark and I spent some time with some today."

"Just be careful, they aren't all what they seem to be."

"I'm careful. Besides, I'm never alone."

He stared into his glass. "Have you thought of travel yet?"

"Some. Larkas has been so many places…"

Marcylyn came in and their conversation changed to news about the corrupt guard -- one of her favorite topics.

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That night, after Cylmae left, he told Marcylyn what the dark elf had told him.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to the Seafarer's Roost and get me a drink."

He had already left when Cylmae burst in to exclaim to Marcylyn that she was leaving for Qeynos with Larkas in the morning.

Solidarn stood next to the bar and watched the other people around him. He had been there only a short time before he found his mark. "Larkas?" he said to a blonde with a patch over his eye and a lute in his hand.

"That's what they call me," he said with a nod. He hadn't turned to look at Solidarn.

"I'll buy you a drink for a song."

The bard smiled a little. "No need to bribe me." He turned a little and began to play a happy little tune on his lute.

Solidarn waited for him to finish then motioned to the bartender and raised his glass to Larkas.

Larkas smiled, accepted the drink from the bartender, and held it up in response to Solidarn's toast.

"Hear you've been hunting with the young paladin, Cylmae," Solidarn said as Larkas turned back to rest on the bar.

"You know Cylmae?" he said and turned to face Solidarn again.

"Yeah," Solidarn said and leaned on the bar to watch the bartender.

"She's a bit young," Larkas said with a laugh.

Solidarn nodded. "She'll grow."

"Yeah, well, see ya," Larkas said and started away.

"Wait, Solidarn said quickly. " Abael, wait."

Larkas stopped and turned to face him.

"I mean, Larkas," Solidarn corrected.

Larkas came back, motioned to the bartender and pushed his empty glass at him.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"I have my ways. Cylmae's my daughter."

"Wasn't your daughter's name Cyl?"

"Cyl died with Mae."

Larkas nodded.

"Thought you were dead," Solidarn mumbled.

"Was. Got a res."

"You were gone a long time."

"Takes a bit to change."

"That's what I've heard."

Larkas nodded at his glass. "So how are you doing?"

"I'm OK. It's Cylmae I'm worried about."

Larkas laughed softly. "She's a big girl now, Sol. She can take care of herself."

"She's an innocent. I don't want you to hurt her." He put his hand on Larkas's shoulder and turned him so he could look into his one good eye. "I don't want her hurt."

Solidarn's steely rogue glare didn't faze Larkas anymore than it did the rogue he used to be.

Larkas chuckled and held his glass up between them. "To the lovely Cylmae! May she never be touched by harm."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He turned and rested on the bar again. Solidarn did the same.

They stood there in silence for a while side by side as they had so many times before.

"Heard you got your nose pointed at Qeynos again," Solidarn finally mumbled.

"Tired of this damn desert," Larkas said with a nod.

"Soon?"

"Morning."

"You taking my kid?"

"Asked her. If she shows, I'll take her."

"Tomorrow?"

Larkas nodded.

"Don't you leave her stranded some place. She's too naïve! She doesn't know what is out there."

Larkas chuckled.

"Damn it Ab… -- Larkas -- I'm dead serious. Love'um and leave'um just doesn't cut it here."

"OK, I'll level with you." Larkas turned to face Solidarn, a serious look on his handsome face. "I like your daughter. She's going to be a good paladin some day. I can teach her. You know I had no intentions of staying, but she's given me new life. I want to show her -- take her places she's never been. She's eager to learn and I want to teach her. And you know darn well that I can do that better than most."

Solidarn sighed remembering that before he turned rogue, Larkas had at one time been a paladin, too. "You're not stable, Larkas. You'll leave her. You know that as well as I do. You still dream of finding your father."

"We talked about it - kind of -- she knows."

"She knows about the dreams?" Solidarn was aware that his voice was reflecting his surprise. But he also knew that his old friend never admitted the dreams of his father to anyone. The only reason he knew at all was because of a drunken nightmare in the wilds of the Karanas one night after a rather miserable day -- a very long time ago.

"She knows I'll leave. We don't talk about the past. She doesn't want to anymore than I do."

"I think I need to tell you something about that," Solidarn started, but Larkas held his hand up.

"No," he said. "Stop right there. We don't talk about the past. I don't want to know. Bad enough I know she's your kid. Don’t need to know any more than that."

"She's not really my daughter, Ab."

"Larkas, please. I'm not Abael."

"Sorry."

"That part of my life is over. Thought you said Cylmae was your kid. Your very words if I remember correctly.

"Well, I adopted her -- or you could say she adopted me."

Larkas laughed. "Was wondering how drunk you had to get to chase down an elven skirt. You always liked the big girls, barbarian type. I was the one with elven lust."

Solidarn had to smile. They had been quite a team, he and Abael. "Ah I miss those days sometimes," he said. "We were so darn cocky and free. Norrath was our playground. Nothing could hurt us."

Larkas sighed heavily.

Solidarn sobered. "I don't want her to hurt, Larkas."

"I don't either. Let me put it this way old friend. I'm going to teach her as much as I can as long as she'll let me. I'll be there as her lancemate. We'll grow together and I give you my solemn word, I won't leave until I know she can handle it without me."

"And if the dreams overcome you before that?"

"I'll bring her back to you. But they won't. I'm having too much fun. He's dead anyway. We both know that. I just get weird dreams and start hoping again."

Solidarn sighed.

"She'll be OK, Sol. I need her to be good so she can save my worthless hide." He laughed a little. "So I'll make sure she knows how. You can bet on it. She'll come back to you a knight to reckon with."

"And you?" Solidarn asked.

"I'll have fun."

Solidarn smiled at his old friend and held out his glass. "To your health, pleasant dreams and teaching ability."

"And may Bristlebane dance to your song," Larkas said as he raised his glass.

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The next morning Solidarn followed Cylmae to the tunnel and watched her leave with Larkas. Solidarn was very adept at his skill and was sure even Larkas was not aware of his presents -- at least he had not shown that he was. There was no kiss. Thank god, he thought. But Larkas had stood very close to Cylmae while they talked of the path they would take. At least Larkas knew the way well.

"May Bristlebane dance to YOUR song Larkas," Solidarn said with a tear in his eye. "And may Mithaniel Marr watch your every step least it get too far from his daughter. Or to close to mine," he added with a heavy sigh.