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I've spent years working on little except Ginger. It's time to tell her story. . .the -whole- story.
A confused and distressed boy-child wanders the streets of Kelay, ending in front of the welcoming aura of the tavern. He circumnavigates the large cow and steps carefully over the pile of refuse and severed limbs, burnt skin and moldy bones. A tall man gestures to the child beckoning him over. The child accedes.
“Boy,” the man begins. “What troubles you?”
“I"m lost and unsure what to do,” the child replies. “I am unsure of my place, unsure or who I am, unsure of who I should be.”
“That is never good, particularly now, given the state of things.”
“The state of things?”
“Why yes, being unsure can get you killed, tortured, and sacrificed to an uncaring deity.” The child darts a quick glance around, searching for the threat.
“What sort of people would do such a thing? I don"t mean to badger you, sir, but I cannot determine your meaning.” The helpful man raises a long index finger, indicating the pile of debris the boy had avoided. A very small, vaguely humanoid figure rises to its feet, dusting off palms on the heavy material of a pant leg.
“Ginger would. Her patrons grow restless. They demand disorder and blood.”
“What is it? A monster conjured by some twisted spellbinder?”
“Worse,” the man whispers. “She is the one thing they haven"t been able to dispel, a pixie spellbinder in her own right, a priestess to futility, and madder than a hatter with rabies.” The side of the child"s mouth quirks in a half-smile.
“I should fear a madwoman? Is that all she is?”
“You haven"t heard the whole story. She once fought a former leader of the Drow to a standstill.”
“So a pixie madwoman with blade skills?”
“You still don"t know the whole story. Her eyes are miniature beholders, and not true eyes at all. The bones that surround her are her wings. The original pixie wings were seared from her back by her many enemies, so she replaced them. That madwoman, as you call her, dug around in a dragon"s boneyard until she found a complete set of wings. The bones tower over all but the giants, and Ginger managed to attach them to her back, permanently.”
“A crazy pixie necromancer with blade skills?”
“Still not the whole story. She"s not a necromancer, but a priestess, like I said. The pixie cannot differentiate between the dead and the living, but both answer when she talks to them.”
“Gimme another guess. A mad pixie with enough power to enforce her delusions.”
“Very close, but not quite. What do you call a madman with enough power to enforce his delusions?
“A pixie archpriestess?” The man waits for the child"s young mind to process the facts, as well as the pattern of the conversation. “I"m missing something, aren"t I? There"s more.” The man grins a mischievous smile.
“There"s always more. Do you wish to hear the whole story?”
“Please. Tell me everything.”
“Okay, but you must swear never to repeat a single word I say."
"All stories begin nearly the same way. Once upon a time, near a mossy stump and. . .
((continued in "Ginger"s Tale: A Happy Family))
|Ginger's Tale: 2 : A Crippling Blow||The Spider's Dare 2: The Spider's Name|
|Siren's Wail: First Mate||The Spider's Dare: Full Poem|
|The Spider's Dare 1: The Spider's Dare||The Perfect Villian|