Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Interlopers

Turqual looked upon her children with distain. The four, juveniles and therefore possessed with a penchant for mischief, stirred restlessly in the loft of their home that overlooked her receptionary. Their irritating whines, their incessant requests, their perpetual boredom; it was all too much for her… to Hades with them all.

Her disposition toward them comes from a deep rooted almost racial hatred for the half-breeds that they were and the dusky tone of their color. In Turqual’s earlier travels she happened across a charismatic creature with a serpents tongue and sorcerous talent who wooed her into his embrace and into his loft and what seems like decades later, she was burdened- no cursed with four stupid half-breeds. But stupid was not right, because for the four juveniles had their father’s magical talents- but that was in their blood; nevertheless they were an irritant to her and such estimations of the four were always curt and summary. It was her life long dream to produce a healthy line of beautiful daughters- as many as her shapely body could bear, like her and her sisters, not a male among them. Turqual was the oldest of four daughters, each a splendor to behold- the stories of their beauty were the tales of bards far and wide.

It would seem that Ka had different plans. So when news of the interlopers came to her just now and threatened their life-course, her land she toiled and protected for so long, Turqual had an idea; set the juveniles upon them. Yes. Surely the interlopers from the north would not expect the offensive and be either driven off or eliminated. They will serve as an example to others with similar aspirations. Such an idea made her sensual lips thin and widen in a smile. Or mayhap the interlopers, (or where they barbarians?) bring death to her children? Turqual tittered with the exciting possibilities. Or if they could be weakened, they would not be a challenge for her, should she choose to confront them directly or suffer the inherent dangers the countryside Turqual called her own.

“Children! To Me!” Turqual called out. Each clamoring over each other at their mother’s call, to be the first in her radiant presence. “There are men trespassing north of here,” pointing a long, blue-colored nailed finger the direction of which she speaks; “these interlopers are not welcome. Discourage their explorations and return to me.” She looks at them each in turn, “Earn my favor, my children.”

Without a word of protest the four left in the same fashion, clamoring and fighting their way out of the loft and north toward the interlopers. As Turqual watched them disappear to she wondered with interest who among them would return; two or three? None? Surely not all four. A sigh escaped her pouting lips and she turned once again to her adviser who brought her the news of the interlopers; Anatoly, a vampire wizard-king; a remnant from Netheril surely, and his ghost-familiar, Crarr. 

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