|
Boston
Nov 21, 2005 16:47:34 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 21, 2005 16:47:34 GMT -5
Several days of traveling later found Christine "home" in Boston. She hated traveling there - simply hated it. It made her twitchy and she knew she was not going to be pleasant company when she returned to Red Fountain. But she knew she had to make the trip, and putting it off was not going to work. It was, as Grandfather Lo Tao Zhao put it, inevitable.
There - the whole reason for this trip. The pawnbroker's shop. Silently she hoped that the pawnbroker still had the two pieces her stepfather (or whatever) had sold him all those years ago. She silently slipped inside, and began to look around.
-
Three hours later, after much haggling, pleading and down right begging, Christine left the shop, several hundred dollars lighter, but happy.
She had what she came for. The Shield of Saturn - the golden shield Grandpa Solarius gave Peter - and the Flute of Healing Sleep from the Temple of the Muses - the golden flute Grandfather Lo Tao Zhao gave Peter. Both treasured pieces in her family's history - and two of the key pieces needed to help Sky.
The Shield, formed from mystic dust of Saturn's rings, was designed to deflect any dark magic spell. The Flute, when played, put the fiercest dragons to sleep. Hopefully, that would include Breog. Hopefully. She only hoped they didn't have to fight Worms or Dragons or Ogres. Hell, she didn't think they could take on the Sand Merks. The boys weren't ready. She didn't want to think of what the outcome would be if they had to fight those creatures.
Although... she did find it worrisome that the crown her mother had sold the pawnbroker was missing. Surely that didn't mean... But she had seen Breog... They all had. This was not boding well.
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 22, 2005 20:50:16 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 22, 2005 20:50:16 GMT -5
She walked to the station and hopped on the first train. She needed to get into contact with someone. Hopefully, he knew what was going on. If not... well, it'd be nice to see her stepfather. Or whatever. At best it was parental unit undefined. She shook her head. Lovely, at this rate she was going to headache herself to death. Which was looking very appealing given the current state of affairs over at Red Fountain. Moof.
She settled down on the first available seat and closed her eyes, silently willing away the images that were plaguing her. She shuddered as she could still hear the chattering of the sand merks - faint, but it was still there. Her eyes opened wide as something appeared in her mind's eye that frightened her.
She settled back down and waited for the next station. She had many miles to go before she slept.
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 23, 2005 13:34:40 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 23, 2005 13:34:40 GMT -5
She got off at the next station, and hurried through the crowds. Almost "home", almost. He should be home - today wasn't a lecture day at the local university where he taught. And she almost won the last game. Curse his being Gorbash. Danielle was just as good as the dragon. Of course, his dragon breath did melt that ice cave. Oh, bother.
-
"Dad?" she called as she entered the house. "You in?" She sighed when he didn't answer. Probably was up to his ears in book work or worse, grading his students' papers. Ew. She headed first for the kitchen to grab an apple, then made her way down to her stepfather's study and poked her head in. He was asleep at his desk, the red pen poised to mark some answer wrong.
She gave a small grin and walked into the study. "Dad? C'mon, time to get up. I have tons of questions for you."
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 23, 2005 20:33:30 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 23, 2005 20:33:30 GMT -5
shake, shake, rattle"Ah, damn," Christine swore. "Got stuck in that ice cave again. When am I going to learn," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "And of course, Gorbash is going to roll eleven and use his fire breath to melt the ice." She sighed. "Okay, so.. How do dragons fly? Refresh my memory, Dad." : Peter sighed. "I've explained it to you a hundred times, Melli," he said, affectionately shortening his daughter's middle name, making it her pet name. "But once more, to refresh your memory. Dragons store hydrogen, not fire, in their stomach, but when the gas is expelled and comes into contact with the Thor's thimble on the roof of the dragon's mouth, it ignites, causing the fire. In order to keep an ample supply of the gas, they have to regularly consume a rich mineral, think limestone." Christine made a small face. Somehow she didn't think Sky would be too happy to know that he had to add limestone to his diet in order to be of much use. : "Something wrong, pet?" "No, nothing, Dad. Continue." : "Where was I, oh, yes. Now, as to flight. Now, not only is the hydrogen used to make it's fire, it's used to provide lift. Think something along the lines of a blimp. Now, do you know how to bring a dragon down?" Christine thought a moment. "It has to release some of the gas, which comes out as fire? And that would make the wings nothing more then something to steer the body with..?" : Peter nodded before a look of concern appeared on his face. "Christine Melisande Strongheart, you didn't merge someone with a dragon, did you?" "Accidentally. Think your quest, only my time frame." : Peter swore in several languages. "And here I thought that I'd never have to see another dragon. Okay," he sighed. "I'll be Smrgol and teach this young dragon." OOC: yes, that is his actual theory, and yes, Peter Dickenson is a real person. Don't ask. Somehow they took his persona and dropped him into animated movie. Don't give me that look. I'm not making any of this up.
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 24, 2005 20:22:37 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 24, 2005 20:22:37 GMT -5
: "So, how young is he?" Peter asked his stepdaughter as they sat down to dinner. Take-out Chinese from a local Chinese resteraunt. Peter wasn't much use in the kitchen - having nearly burnt it down making his stepdaughter a birthday cake when she was ten. "Year or two older then me," Christine said, nibbling on an eggroll. "And he's not that young." : "Ah, a baby," Peter said, shaking his head. "They're getting younger and younger." Christine playfully punched Peter in the arm. "Oh, come off it, Dad. We're not that young. Besides, he's..." : "I know, I know. Your mother and grandfather both informed me. Nice show, Melli." Christine stuck her tongue out at her stepfather. "Oh, come off it, Dad. It could have been worse. He could have gotten merged with a dog or turned into a nutcracker." : "And I'm sure he's thanking heaven that you're not a spellcaster by nature," Peter said dryly, brushing his hair off his forehead. He gave a light groan and pushed his plate away. The pain in his stomach was back - possibly was an ulcer. Christine's eyes softened. "The pain again?" she asked, her tone soft and affectionate. She might not always act it - but she did care deeply for her stepfather. She hated seeing him, or any of her family for that matter, in pain. : Peter gave a brief nod. "I'll be fine." He hated seeing his stepdaughter worry about him. Heaven knew he could take care of himself. A bottle of the pink stuff and he'd be right as rain. Christine reached over and took her stepfather's glass of cider. She gave him a look and sighed. "Kala bolvinamo," she murmured softly. She gave Peter a tired smile as she handed over the newly transformed glass of milk to him. "Milk, Dad. Remember?" : "I keep forgetting," Peter muttered under his breath. He looked over at his stepdaughter and saw the haunted hunted look that was buried close to the surface. He leaned over and brushed a lock of dark hair off her face. Very little magic flowed through her veins, even though her grandfathers were wizards. At best, she could only cast one spell, two if she was lucky - but that other spell, the one she used to save Sky, no-one really cast it very well. The only form of magic that coursed through her veins was the one Melisande used - her gift of sight. "Have you seen?" Christine's gaze went distant. "Ommadon's crown - the one Mama sold to the pawnbroker... It's not there, and he has no record of selling it to anyone. I fear a quest is at hand, Dad." She glanced over to Peter and let out a tired sigh. "Sand merks, worms, ogres, a dark hand reaching out. The omens are not good." : Peter placed a hand on her shoulder. "You will handle them, and you will aid those who must quest." He didn't like the feel of things either. Well, he had to help - he was not going to let the children go into this quest, if there was a quest, without knowing how to do things. "Were there..?" "Aye... A flight of dragons... to protect his crown," Christine whispered. A single tear streaked down her face. "I am afraid."
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 25, 2005 17:26:52 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 25, 2005 17:26:52 GMT -5
OOC: And Sky complained about his muse? ::glances at own muse who's in the ICU:: poor thing is getting overworked trying to get this thing to work : Peter leaned over and wiped the tears that had started to spill after the first made its appearence. "It'll be okay, munchkin," he said, giving her a reassuring hug. He wasn't sure if it would be but he had to cheer her up somehow. "Why don't we get a few things packed and we can head back to that school of yours and get started?" Christine gave her stepfather a weak smile and nod. "Sure..." she said, her voice trailing off. She couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. She rose slowly from the table and headed for her room. "I'm going to lie down for a bit..." : Peter nodded. "All right," he said quietly. "Get some rest. You look exhausted." Peter watched his stepdaughter retreat to her room. 'I'm getting too old for this. And Mela, did you have to give your daughter your gift? Your gift is a dangerous one..'
|
|
|
Boston
Nov 27, 2005 16:38:36 GMT -5
Post by Chris Strongheart on Nov 27, 2005 16:38:36 GMT -5
: Peter got up from the table, grabbing the plates and shoving them into the growing pile that needed to be done in the sink. His attention shifted to the picture on ledge of the window over the sink. It was of his wedding to Melisande. "We tried, didn't we?" he asked quietly of the photo, drawing a finger over his ex-wife's image. "She's a beautiful child, Mela. Looks like you, only with his hair." At some point he had stopped blaming himself and her for the collapse of their marriage. They had come from two different worlds and no matter how much he tried to make things work - they just went up in a puff of smoke. And as much as it hurt - when Melisande decided to get remarried several years after their divorce, he had given her his blessing - for what it was worth. Of course, over the years, he had all but gotten remarried to Melisande when her new husband's curse returned. He had helped raise her daughter - which was a pointed reminder that she wasn't his anymore. He sighed and went upstairs to check on his stepchild. He always worried about her, especially when he found out she had Melisande's gift of sight. She was sound asleep, a small dragon doll tucked under her arm and assorted dragons and fantasy creatures were scattered hither, thither and yon in her room. You could barely turn around without tripping over something fantasy. He sighed and walked into the room proper. He tucked her in tighter, adjusting the covers and gently kissed her forehead. "Good night, little princess," he whispered. He turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door with a silent click. He headed back downstairs and sat down in his favorite chair. He heaved a sigh and thought. Things were going to get dangerous - there was no doubt about that. "I'm getting too old for this quest nonsense. It's best saved for children her age and older. I just hope this prince I'll be teaching is worth the aches and pains I'll be feeling later."
|
|