Name: Matildah Loordess
Tribe/Clan/Lineage: The Cue

Format: Draft

……….A tear rolled down Agneshka’s cheek then as she took the last drag from the cigarette. Matilda brushed the tear away. “Many of us are tired to being here. A lot of strangely talented orphan children, majickal  leftovers from terrible wars, unwanted by the ignorant remains of once proud and powerful tribes…or for some of us there are no members of our clans left at all. For others, they’re forgotten by those who simply have no time for them….in the end we are all just reluctant remnants drifting through a temporary home.“

Matilda had indeed grown tired of the The Academy de Majicka many moons past, missing her old life to no end: the circus life. But that life had shattered long ago.

Agneshka laid her head on her friends lap and looked up at her. “I wish for my old homelands, but this is impossible and I finally think I’m beginning to grip that reality. The idea of escaping this place for the House of Viollet almost makes me the most excited I’ve been in years. Yet still, as wonderful as it would be to go there…I…can’t help but miss my old world, my people.”

“I can relate to that.” Matilda stated.

“Tell me of your people, Matilda.” Agneshka smiled. “Somehow, despite being here with you for a few years now I realize I know very little of your past. Tell me your sad story. It may not be as fun as sitting by your door alone in silence, but I promise to help you pass the time a little faster.”

Matilda looked down at her friend. “I haven’t heard your sad story either, except for little blips and pieces here and there. I shall tell mine but you must promise to tell me yours one day.”

“Anything for you.” Agneshka quickly replied.

Matilda smiled a strange smile then. “But I must warn you, my sad story is very sad indeed. Not exactly that which you should listen to if you’re trying to stay in a cheerful mood. Are you sure you want to indulge in such things?”

“I’ve got nothing but time to burn and I’m not ready to go back to my chambers to deal with Mallick and his strange mood.” Agneshka replied. “…And anyway, I think it is good for us to talk about what happened to our tribes. It helps the wounds not sting so bad, somehow. As if the act of recounting the tale is a healing action unto itself.”

“Alright then.” Matilda began, “these wounds still bear their sting after all these years. I’ll give you the short version, since it’s all I have the energy for….I come from the lovely hills of the southern lands, close to the Ocean of Shuh-Hiy-aluude, a place called Marrovahn. My people are known as the Marrovingian Tribes and we are famous circus folk. The most famous of them all, known round the worlds for our majicks, acrobatics, freak shows and all manner of entertainments majickal and mysterious. For a time, we even had a Torshka-orveeno Burlesque Troupe join our fringes.

We traveled all the realms of the Underworld, entertaining all that came to see us with performances and feats to be seen no where else. All was wonderful in my world, for a time. My specialty was Fire Majicks, tarot card reading and acrobatics.

I knew no struggle, I knew no great pain or injustice. I had a large family that included not only my mother, father and two older brothers but also encompassed around two hundred and fifty other circus folk that traveled with us year round. All was well for many years.

Then one night…a band of Dark Mercenaries unleashed their blood thirsty wrath on my family’s entire camp under reasons of a vengeance bounty. Someone out there had paid that merciless band of killers a handsome treasure to wipe out most of the Marrovingian line from oldest elder to smallest babe…in one night.

I’ll never forget that night. It had been warm and balmy and the Marrovingian Carnival d’ la Lumine’ und Dweard (Marrovingian Carnival of Light & Dark) had just enjoyed a packed and joyous house in the town of Morvaine…And the past week that we had been there had been the best so far during our whole two week run. The last night was the best of all, for the final show before pushing off always made us yearn for standing ovations. So we gave em’ what for.

After the crowds had their fill of fried sweet-cakes and Ferris wheels they’d make their way to the main tent for the finally show. The finally show was two hours long and its how a smart carnival goer spent their time before going home for the night. A strong beer, a soft pretzel the size of your head and sense of wonder were we required to give you a night you’d never soon forget.

My father strode out electric-charisma and charm, for he was the Ring Master Extraordinaire and he held an entire crowd in his hands. We had a band that played accompaniment music for the show & this added so much drama, since father had composed the scores to follow right along with the mood and theme of the performances. So you just have to imagine this tall dark man, looking like some exotic middle eastern prince, with wild theme music roaring up behind him as he appeared center stage via majick and fog. Oh, everything was flawless that night beneath the full moon and stars. Everything. Our timing was spot on! My aunt Sophia was a dancer and she and the other chorus girls raised the roof with a stunning intro…And my mother was a trapeze artist and her entire troupe were so graceful and practically heart-stopping as they lept from one high swing to the next…and the Torshka-Orveeno Burlesque Troupe drove everyone wild. Our strange menagerie of exotic pets then amazed and delighted with their tricks and we majicians dazzled the crowd of small town folk with our slow fireworks bursting like fire-y hallucinations just above their heads. We even had clowns,” she laughed then, gaze far away, ”It all made for breathtaking fun..The crown stood on their feet for eight minutes giving us an ovation that was almost too much to bear.

“So much had gone brilliantly that night. We all celebrated with a great feast and lots of drinking and partying. I had my first kiss that night: an elven boy named Jack. The festivities ended later on at about four in the morning.

I lay my head down to sleep and dream sweet dreams.

I pulled up my feathered quilt and snuggled deep into my fur covered mattress

I shut my eyes….

…..An hour later my Uncle Nicodemus came running through the camp screaming, “The Mercenaries of Bah-Gahal are upon us! The Mercenaries of BahGahal are upon us!! They scream of vengeance for crimes we have not committed!!”

I jumped out of bed and made my way outside to see my father running to him and grabbing his shoulders, “What is this you speak, Nico? What madness is this? We have done nothing!” Nicodemus looked at my father and then pointed to the north gate of our encampment.

Fire began to rise up and we began to hear screaming. Such terrible screaming. The sounds of woman and children…the sounds of our beloved animals being cut down…The sounds of everything being slaughtered without forethought and mixed within that cacophony were the sounds of those bastards laughing.

“You see the fire! You hear those screams!” Nicodemus yelled. “The scourge of this realm has come for us this night brother.” He then pulled away from us, heading in the direction he had come from.

My mother was suddenly in my father’s arms. He whispered something in her ear and she looked to me, worry in her eyes. My older siblings showed up then: my eldest brother Judah and my next eldest brother Kloud. They both held swords in their hands and both had the most terrible expressions on their faces. They exchanged quick words with mother and father and then ran quickly to join another group of men passing out weapons.

My father then came to me and hugged me close. “I love you and I want you do something very important, Tilda. Something I’ve never asked of you because we are proud people who learn to wield a sword from the time we can walk…But I ask you this because of my love and because I would rather die than see these ruthless mercenary scum have their way with you in any fashion. You are beautiful. Too beautiful and I’ll not let these animals even press their eyes against you. I don’t want any of them to lay one hand on you so I am asking you to run. I’m asking you to hide. I’m going to take you to the outskirt’s pond and i want you to hide beneath that bridge until I, your mother or your siblings come for you. No matter what you hear you must not come out of your hiding spot.”

I tried to protest but he would not hear it. The sounds of screaming and sword clatter were growing louder.

“I’m NO COWARD. I will fight!” I screamed at my father. “I’m a good fighter and I know how to use a sword.”

Father was crying now and I just kept saying those words over and over. Finally he gave me one good slap across the face, pushed a sharp dagger into my hand and began pulling me down the dirt path to the back of our encampment towards the large pond we usually drew water from. I fought him and he resided to picking me up and carrying me. I cried the entire time.

We finally reached the pond and bridge. Standing on it my father dropped me into the warm waters. “No more arguing out of you.” My father said. “This is it, my girl. You hear those sounds. Those are killing sounds, my Matilda. Those are sounds of bones breaking, bellies being cut, throats being slit, women being raped! These are sounds I would have given the world for you to never hear. Such sounds should never have passed into you to stain your memories. But hear the sounds now, sweet heart. I don’t want those things to happen to you!! And believe me when I tell you these are not men that attack us. These are animals who know neither mercy or kindness and they will eat you alive and screaming!! Now do as I SAY! Get beneath this bridge and do not reveal yourself to anyone. Stay in this place, amongst the reeds, cat tails and lilies. Stay until I come back for you! Promise me!”

I would not respond to him.

He yelled at me with everything in him. “PROMISE ME THIS MATILDA!”

Riveted by the sound in his voice I finally responded. “I PROMISE, DADDY! I promise.”

He pushed me beneath the bridge then. I had never heard my father talk like this, you see, and it unhinged me a bit. I tucked the dagger into my bodice and put my fingers into my ears when the sounds became too much….Sometimes those sounds still ring in my ears….

The battle lasted for what seemed like forever. The sun came up and still the sounds of battle filled the air. I stayed in my spot until nightfall fell again and silence filled my world….A terrible silence.

My father never came back to get me. No one came to get me….Because they were all dead. I rose up from the waters and when I surveyed my surroundings I beheld a sight that made me want to….tear out my own eyes.

In all my days, I have never seen such a….portrait of full blown massacre. Such horror….I knelt down to wretch every few paces until there was nothing left in my belly. I….I….I walked away from that place disoriented and exhausted. I walked and walked for what seemed like days. I didn’t eat or drink.

Along my way I passed other small pockets of carnage. At some point I stumbled past a small girl-child on the roadside. She could have been no more than four or five cycles old but her eyes were startling because they seemed the eyes of an old woman.

Three dead bodies lay on the ground a few paces behind her and she was covered in a fine layer of soot and blood spatter. She sat plainly on the ground in her tattered clothing, a dead cat clutched to her chest. I stopped and we simply locked gazes for a long time. Then suddenly she spoke and the voice of a woman came out of her mouth with disturbing clarity. She said “…You will know them by the trail of the dead.”

I was in shock still and this made me wonder if I was even experiencing reality. Things grow hazy at this point. A thick fog rolled in all around me literally and figuratively and I strode into it with a numbness growing all over me.

I finally managed to stumble in front of a merchant caravan of wagons and collapsed in the middle of their path, my head afire with fever. An old witch working the caravan circuit could smell the majick all over me and picked me up off the ground. She bathed me and nursed my wounds. Her name was Persephone Priss she told me and she was a traveling envoy for the Academy de Majicka, bringing three wagons full of the Academy’s wears to market. I didn’t say a word to her. I didn’t speak for ninety nine days. Only through the act of Dream Walking did the old woman finally figure out what had happened to me. She held me in her arms for two hours and wept for she had seen through my eyes what I had seen when I stared into the battlefield, seen the torn remains of everyone and everything i loved. She quickly sent word to the many houses of power in the realms, informing them of the slaughter at Morvaine. A few months later the caravan made its way back into the Ver Auf-ster-va-deem Mountains where the Academy de Majicka sits and I was enrolled within a few days.”