NEWS    Current / Submit    Archive    HELP    Walkthrough    Cheats    Editing    COMMUNITY    Forums    Fan Fiction    Fan Art    Links    FILES    Game Demo    Patch    Editing Tools    Community maps    Movies    Music    Submit    UNDYING    Game Info    Features    Requirements    Screenshots    Characters    Enemies    NPCs    Weapons    Spells    Inventory    Macintosh    Playstation2    FAQ    JERICHO    Game Info    SITE    Site Info    Contact Email Oneiros: 12 - death The following is based on the game Clive Barker's Undying, ©. 2001 Electronic Arts Inc. [1] Oneiros: 12 - Death Preface: This story takes place midivalish, sometime after or during the crusades but well before the height of the renaissance. Trade is becoming more prevalent, along with the new middle class, and Europe is slowly coming out of the dark ages. The story takes place over a span of around two decades, so each chapter title is prefaced by the main character's age at the time. Author's note: This is the first real story I've written. It has actual plot and things. I have notes. It's also the longest I've ever written by a factor of three(and I'm only a third of the way done as of right now... probably less). So if it's boring, if the writing sucks, if it's just plain bad... please don't hurt me. And if you decide to give up before chapter three, give me the benefit of the doubt. It starts slow out of necessity. Questions or comments, contact me as Another Aurelia on AIM. Oneiros Part one - formative years Chapter two - twelve - death Opening the back door and stepping out into the cool morning air, Sylvie breathed a sigh of relief. She closed the door quietly and walked quickly north, away from the house, half expecting Celina to call her back. The rain had stopped during the night, and the all grass was still wet, though the sun promised a hot day. She reached the fringe of the wood and pressed on, not stopping until the house was hidden from view. Closing her eyes and breathing slowly, she leaned against a tree, relaxing. After a short time, the opened her eyes and, at a more sedate pace, continued on into the woods. She could have gone to town like she used to - this was her free time after all - but she rarely did that anymore. The other children seemed off to her, petty and uncaring, crude and mindlessly cruel. she began o avoid them once she found that she didn't want their company, despite the fact that they seemed to want each other's. Similarly, she didn't want to stay at the house. Celina wasn't at all like the town children, but she grated on Sylvie's nerves. Lately, just hearing Celina more about the house was enough to set her on edge. She had turned to the woods to avoid people. The forest was too rocky and uneven to clear for farming and game was sparse enough that hunters looked elsewhere, so the chances of her meeting anyone were minimal. She felt better when she was alone; not happy, perhaps, but more herself. She could relax, not having to suppress her ire, and think without someone making a racket and interrupting her. She had left the village far behind now, and the only sounds were her footsteps, the drip of water from the trees, and occasionally a bird calling in the distance. Steam rose from the occasional patches of sunlight on the forest floor. She descended a short slope into a long, low depression running east and west. The undergrowth was thicker there, and she walked slowly east, moving carefully to avoid brushing her skirts against the wet bushes and ferns. She eventually climbed north out of the depression. On a slight rise not far from it was a stand of berry bushes growing from an ancient tree stump. The surrounding trees kept much of the sunlight from reaching them, but some of the berries were nearly ripe. She ate them, starting with the darkest, until they became noticeably sour. The stump's hill was at the top of a long, low slope with occasional outcroppings of rock, at the bottom of which was a large stream-fed slough. Sylvie headed north and west from the stump towards the stream's mouth, threading through the undergrowth with practiced ease. A sudden shrill cacophony erupted nearly beneath her feet. Startled, she jumped backwards into the branches of a slim tree, which rained water on her. The source of the outburst was a small bird which had been disturbed by her passage, its' right wing and leg obviously broken as it thrashed on the ground, scattering twigs and leaves in a desperate attempt to escape. Trying to ignore the cold droplets running down the back of her neck, Sylvie bent and gingerly picked it up, careful of wing and leg. She cupped the bird in her hands, holding it gently until its' struggling and cries ceased. It huddled in her hand, terrified and motionless except for its' quick breathing. As Celina has taught her, she extruded a wide but sparse flow of mana through the bird's form, and 'felt' that of it which came out the other side. Both wind and leg were broken badly, splinters of bone piercing the long, smooth shaped of muscle and tendon, and the fragile, latticelike ribcage war partially crushed and full of the heave, thick feel of internal bleeding. The bird must have been hurt in the storm last night and it was dying, neither medicine or magic able to save it. Better to end it quickly, then, Sylvie thought, looking around for a way to do so. A pair of rocks ought to do, to crush its' skull, and there was an outcropping not far away. She headed towards it, moving carefully so as not to jar the bird's broken body too much. A thought struck her, and she paused. She remembered wondering, back when Celina had first taught her how to bolster something's life force, if the exchange could go both ways. Singe trying would obviously hurt whatever it was done to, and Celina was insistent that magic must never be used for harm, Sylvie hadn't brought it up at the time. She looked at the bird considering, and decided to try. She knew from experience that it was possible to, with sufficient concentration and control, touch a subject with the flow of mana-turned-life-force that was used to bolster something's own life-force. Seeing what else could be done would be the best way to start. After several minutes of experimentation, she found that with some effort it was possibly to actually move the flow inside the bird without letting the life-force merge with the bird's own. The bird's was pushed out of the are where the flow was, but it merely make the life-force in the rest of its' body more dense. If she could remove the bird's life force entirely, perhaps it would be more amenable to manipulation. Changing the flow, perhaps not so easily as she would have liked for the constant exertion was beginning to drain her, she formed it into a flat sheet not much larger than the bird itself. Slowly, she pushed it through the bird. Its' life-force was pushed back by the sheet, but as soon as part of its' body had emerged from the other side, devoid of life-force, it emitted a piercing cry and struggled to free itself. Startled and frightened, Sylvie gripped it more rightly and tried to force the sheet to more quickly, hoping to end it. The bird's life-force offered strange resistance, and the sheet moves with agonizing slowness as the bird's frantic cries grew louder. Abruptly, the resistance vanished and the bird's life-force came free of its' body. Cut off in mid cry, the bird went limp and Sylvie knew it was dead. She let the corpse fall from her hands and concentrated on the disembodied life force. She couldn't see it, but after working with them for nearly four years she could feel and life force near her if she tried. It was fading rapidly, as they always did after death. Thinking quickly about how it might be absorbed, she relaxed her hold on the sheet, which diffused into a formless blob. As it expanded, the bird's life-force joined with it. Hardly daring to believe such success, Sylvie distended the flow back into her mana pool as Celina had taught her because it returned unused life-force to the giver in the form of mana; waste not, want not.... The flow's return slowed for a moment, the suddenly a gout of mana leapt through the point where it was converted from life-force and into her mana pool. Sylvie opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, and her head throbbed excruciatingly. The world was painfully bright, but at the same time hard to see, distances uncertain as objects seemed to blend together, Flecks of blackness danced across her vision. She tried to draw a breath and convulsed, retching. She forced the nausea down and cautiously drew another. Her skin prickled as she broke into a cold sweat, and she shivered from the chill which seemed to penetrate to her bones. A disorientating falling sensation swept over her, bringing dizziness and a new wave of nausea. Memory of the bird returned slowly, and of what she had done with it. She groaned as she recalled the feeling of the bird's spirit hitting her, like a hammer crushing her skull. She tried not to think about it, but the memory returned between each throb of her headache. She made as if to stand, but the movement caused the disorientation and dizziness to return, and she collapsed to the ground. For a moment she lay there, before trying again. This time she grasped a tree branch for support. Again the disorientation swept over her, but she held on to the branch until it passed. The bird's body lay on the ground where she had dropped it, but she had landed on it when she fell, crushing the body against a fallen branch. Its' wing had been torn at the base, staining the feathers dark with blood, and its' body was contorted into a position that it couldn't have held while alive. It was the source of her discomfort, and she felt a savage joy at its' condition. The feeling frightened her with its' intensity. It was wrong to feel that way about hurting something, even if it was already dead. She suppressed it, but the memory remained of how it felt to be glad of hurting something, and of wanting to do it again. She looked around the woods, trying to get her bearings, but they all looked the same this way, and the movement made her headache worse as well as bringing back the dizziness. The sun rose in the east; if she could find it, she could find her way back. She glanced upwards, and saw the sun through a break in the trees. White-hot pain blossomed behind her eyes and she cried out, shutting them tightly until it faded to a dull ache. Facing south, she opened her eyes slightly and reached out for the branch of the nearest tree, the movement causing prickling chills to race across her skin. She transferred her weight to the new branch and carefully stepped over to it, concentrating on the motion of walking instead of the dizziness. She made her way through the woods with agonizing slowness, moving from tree to tree. By the time she had reached the long depression, water from the undergrowth and trees she had used to support herself had completely soaked her, and her hands were numbing from the chill. Halfway down the slope, her grip on a branch slipped and she fell the rest of the way, tumbling to a halt on her back. She waited for her head to stop spinning and for the nausea to fade. She hurt less, laying still, and the respite from dizziness was an equal relief. And she was so tired, she knew she could fall asleep if she wasn't careful. But staying could be fatal to someone cold, wet and in her weaken condition, no matter whether the day would be hot. Slowly, she stood again. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Laboriously, she climbed up the other side of the depression and continued on until she reached the edge of the woods. The house stood at the center of its' clearing, some thirty paces away. She regarded the expanse despairingly, then stood straight and removed her hand from the branch. She balanced carefully, swaying slightly, then took a careful step, and another and another. The dizziness was no longer quite so intense as it had been, and it didn't affect her badly if she moved slowly and steadily. If she could keep on this way, she might stand a chance of reaching the house. In the garden, little more than halfway to the door, she lost her balance and fell heavily, landing on hands and knees. She couldn't stand without assistance, and crawling in a skirt was difficult at the best of times. She could stop here, though. The sun was well above the trees, and she could feel its' warmth on the back of her neck. With luck, she wouldn't be in danger of anything worse than sunburn. She rolled as gently as she could onto her back, closing her eyes against the sun's brightness, but even as she did so she heard the door open and footsteps approach quickly. "What happened?" Celina called out, "Are you all right?" "I don't know, Sylvie managed, as Celina bent over her, "I'm sick. Don't know what, can't walk very well." Celina lifted her, with some difficulty, and Sylvie lapsed into unconsciousness even before they reached the house. She slept long and deeply, and when she woke wished that she hadn't. This fan-fiction story © Another Aurelia 2003. The story continues in Chapter Three: 19 - Blood Magic...