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Ytrewtsu · 08-07-2005, 02:36 AM

This story is one of my favorites - we really do have some very good roleplayers on AU. A heishan elf is a desert elf (just a little fyi)

telnet: au.betterbox.net port 5000
http: au.betterbox.net
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Of Sylvans, Spears and Sonnets
by Sarai
Perched on a chair in the Phoenix Shrine of the White Tower, Sarai tapped the feather of her quill against her cheek and gazed across the room at her companion. Oblivious to Sarai's regard, Miranthe was cleaning her weapons.

The two elves had been friends since Sarai first arrived at the tower. The heishan battle maid, tall, strong and fierce, had been horrified by the sight of the delicate woodland elf who was away from her kingdom for the first time in her life. When she'd found out that Sarai really was as fragile as she looked, she'd taken the younger elf under her wing.

Sarai smiled affectionately at her stern friend. She hadn't been the only one with things to learn. The hundred brush strokes Sarai gave Miranthe's hair every evening when they retired to their lodgings in the city - Miranthe had refused to let Sarai stay anywhere alone - had already begun to take affect. And the melody the heishan hummed while she worked was from a piece of music she was learning to play on Sarai's lap harp. Nevertheless, in her leisure time she still preferred to train and to tend to her weapons and armour.

Sarai glanced down at the sheet of parchment on her writing desk. Most of the words she'd written had since been crossed through. The parchment was a mess. With a despairing sigh, she scrunched it up and tossed it onto the growing pile of crumpled parchment on the next chair.

Now Miranthe did look up. 'You've wasted three of those sheets since I started on my spear,' she said. Sarai no longer had trouble understanding her thick desert accent. 'What are you trying to do?'

'I am trying,' said Sarai with all the dignity she could muster given the increasingly large collection of failures, 'to compose a sonnet.'

Miranthe, the grim-faced battle maid who'd barely even smile when they first met, laughed aloud. 'You aren't very good at it,' she chided. 'You've crossed out even more words than you wrote in the first place.'

Smiling ruefully, Sarai put away quill and ink and closed her writing desk. 'I used to be better,' she said. 'I think it's the subject matter. I've never written a sonnet about a person before.'

'Why write one now?' More interested in her weapon than in sonnets or even people, Miranthe ran one finger over the edge of the spear head and nodded in satisfaction.

'You're supposed to write sonnets about things that mean a lot to you,' Sarai explained. 'Like flowers and autumn leaves and the sunset over the river. And people.'

'Don't tell me you're trying to write a love poem,' said Miranthe.

'A love poem? Indeed not!' Sarai was indignant. 'It's just a sonnet about someone I find fascinating. Here, I'll read some to you.' She reached for one of the crumpled parchments, determined to prove her point.

'Mahrina forbid!' Miranthe exclaimed, then, as Sarai smoothed out the parchment and began, 'Pray stop! I don't want to hear your poems. Read them to your lover.' She fended off the crumpled ball Sarai tossed at her, and began to gather up her weapons. 'I know, I know, you haven't one. I don't know what he's waiting for: you're so obviously besotted.' She dodged a second crumpled parchment with ease, and frowned at Sarai. 'If you've this much energy, we should spend the rest of the evening practising with the glaive.'

Smiling a little, Sarai put aside her writing desk and began to gather up the discarded sheets of parchment. Picking up the first she'd thrown, she balanced it carefully on Miranthe's fair head and said, 'No one is waiting for anything. He is a wonderful friend, just like you... except that he does not find it amusing to beat me with heavy weapons.'

'Just like me?' Miranthe gave an exaggerated shudder. 'Next you'll threaten to write poetry about me.'

'As soon as I stop aching,' Sarai promised with her sweetest smile. Miranthe chuckled, and arm in arm, the two elves went to collect their practice weapons.
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telnet: au.betterbox.net port 5000
http: au.betterbox.net

Please stop by and check us out - we love to get new people.
Ytrewtsu

08-07-2005, 02:36 AM	#4
Ytrewtsu Member Join Date: Jun 2002 Posts: 68	This story is one of my favorites - we really do have some very good roleplayers on AU. A heishan elf is a desert elf (just a little fyi) telnet: au.betterbox.net port 5000 http: au.betterbox.net ----------------------------------------------------------------- Of Sylvans, Spears and Sonnets by Sarai Perched on a chair in the Phoenix Shrine of the White Tower, Sarai tapped the feather of her quill against her cheek and gazed across the room at her companion. Oblivious to Sarai's regard, Miranthe was cleaning her weapons. The two elves had been friends since Sarai first arrived at the tower. The heishan battle maid, tall, strong and fierce, had been horrified by the sight of the delicate woodland elf who was away from her kingdom for the first time in her life. When she'd found out that Sarai really was as fragile as she looked, she'd taken the younger elf under her wing. Sarai smiled affectionately at her stern friend. She hadn't been the only one with things to learn. The hundred brush strokes Sarai gave Miranthe's hair every evening when they retired to their lodgings in the city - Miranthe had refused to let Sarai stay anywhere alone - had already begun to take affect. And the melody the heishan hummed while she worked was from a piece of music she was learning to play on Sarai's lap harp. Nevertheless, in her leisure time she still preferred to train and to tend to her weapons and armour. Sarai glanced down at the sheet of parchment on her writing desk. Most of the words she'd written had since been crossed through. The parchment was a mess. With a despairing sigh, she scrunched it up and tossed it onto the growing pile of crumpled parchment on the next chair. Now Miranthe did look up. 'You've wasted three of those sheets since I started on my spear,' she said. Sarai no longer had trouble understanding her thick desert accent. 'What are you trying to do?' 'I am trying,' said Sarai with all the dignity she could muster given the increasingly large collection of failures, 'to compose a sonnet.' Miranthe, the grim-faced battle maid who'd barely even smile when they first met, laughed aloud. 'You aren't very good at it,' she chided. 'You've crossed out even more words than you wrote in the first place.' Smiling ruefully, Sarai put away quill and ink and closed her writing desk. 'I used to be better,' she said. 'I think it's the subject matter. I've never written a sonnet about a person before.' 'Why write one now?' More interested in her weapon than in sonnets or even people, Miranthe ran one finger over the edge of the spear head and nodded in satisfaction. 'You're supposed to write sonnets about things that mean a lot to you,' Sarai explained. 'Like flowers and autumn leaves and the sunset over the river. And people.' 'Don't tell me you're trying to write a love poem,' said Miranthe. 'A love poem? Indeed not!' Sarai was indignant. 'It's just a sonnet about someone I find fascinating. Here, I'll read some to you.' She reached for one of the crumpled parchments, determined to prove her point. 'Mahrina forbid!' Miranthe exclaimed, then, as Sarai smoothed out the parchment and began, 'Pray stop! I don't want to hear your poems. Read them to your lover.' She fended off the crumpled ball Sarai tossed at her, and began to gather up her weapons. 'I know, I know, you haven't one. I don't know what he's waiting for: you're so obviously besotted.' She dodged a second crumpled parchment with ease, and frowned at Sarai. 'If you've this much energy, we should spend the rest of the evening practising with the glaive.' Smiling a little, Sarai put aside her writing desk and began to gather up the discarded sheets of parchment. Picking up the first she'd thrown, she balanced it carefully on Miranthe's fair head and said, 'No one is waiting for anything. He is a wonderful friend, just like you... except that he does not find it amusing to beat me with heavy weapons.' 'Just like me?' Miranthe gave an exaggerated shudder. 'Next you'll threaten to write poetry about me.' 'As soon as I stop aching,' Sarai promised with her sweetest smile. Miranthe chuckled, and arm in arm, the two elves went to collect their practice weapons. ----------------------------------------------------------------- telnet: au.betterbox.net port 5000 http: au.betterbox.net Please stop by and check us out - we love to get new people. Ytrewtsu