Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Sneak Preview, Sneak Preview!! On iTunes: Nothing. Roomie is watching TV Yes, that's right, a sneak preview. Check it out, check it out, check it out, check it out, check it out! Meanwhile, I'm coughing up stuff and it's not that cute. But last night, I played intramural kickball with my sister's dorm (we are the "Queens of Crunk") and we lost, but it was a lot of fun. We actually held these girls really well, and this game was a vast improvement over the last one. I watched last time, but I hadn't played, so it was nice to actually be on the field. I played third base most of the time, and I got a couple runs, so it's all good. Then, my sister calls me today and is like, "So the guys want us to play on the co-ed kickball team Wednesday. Everybody keeps saying we're ballers." So there you have it, folks. I am a baller. Now, onto that preview: Julian DeVarshe was something of a collector. It would be more appropriate, actually, to say that he was the son of a collector. Either way, he made a decent living off of traveling the land, searching for and taking up various magical artifacts. In reality, however, he didn’t really need the money – his family was very wealthy, as were most Ancients, and his father had long been in the magical services business. A sort of magical mercenary, he sold his services to those who needed it most, whether it was in the form of protection, enchanted objects, wards or hexes, or whatever. Julian had mostly followed in his footsteps, though he wasn’t as picky as his father was when it came to whom he would help. Whereas his father had been one to help only for the greater good, some of the things that Julian was paid for where not exactly great acts of nobility and justice. That was why when he and his dragon approached the old stonewall slowly, the dragon lowering himself to the ground with strong, fluid strokes of his wings, Leile wrapped her fingers around the worn leather hilt of her dagger. The gesture was more for comfort than actual need; she didn’t need a blade in order to kill a man. The ancient wall that rose up behind her was one of legend. It housed perhaps the single greatest ward ever created, so it was no wonder that those in the talisman business should come to see it. The greater mystery, however, was what the ward guarded against: a curse. A little ways down the hill on which the wall stood there was a mediocre sized village known as Melkin that had been, for as long as anybody knew, cursed. Then some dozen decades ago a spectacularly powerful mage had managed to erect a powerful ward on one of the ruined bits of wall surrounding Melkin in the hopes that if would offset the curse. It had worked, but not completely. Leile was here to work out the spells inscribed in the old wall, in between running away from her responsibilities and her increasing need to grow up. In fact, she’d made it her personal mission to unravel the secrets of the legendary wall and somehow apply what she’d learn to the very curse the wards had been set against. She doubted very much that Mr. DeVarshe had arrived with the same intent. Her fingers still brushing against her dagger soothingly, she watched the notorious Ancient climb off his dragon in a most languid fashion and noted with some interest that he did not carry a weapon on his person. His eyes drifted over her casually before focusing on the wall behind her. When he was a dozen or so feet away he stopped, but he said nothing. Instead, the first one to move was actually the dragon behind him, who stopped bristling at Leile and settled back onto his haunches rather abruptly. Leile was reminded of her dragon folklore – it was said that dragonriders shared a special bond with their dragons, and vice-versa. They could communicate without batting an eye, and had an unnatural sense of the other at all times. Such skills were particularly useful in battle, as dragonriders were often exceptional warriors as well. She had the feeling that a great deal was being said then without her knowing. And then Julian spoke. “Isis is under the impression that your aura reeks of old magic.” She smiled thinly. “Really?” Her fingers did not falter from their silent dance on her hilt. There was a slight pause before he returned the smile with a sly, upwards quirk of his lips. “He also thinks you are very pretty.” Behind him, the dragon Isis snorted and rolled his eyes. Leile glanced from the Ancient to the dragon, her little smile fixed. “Does he?” “Dragons do not lie,” he said. “But humans do,” she countered easily, and her smile thinned once again. He crossed his arms, as if preparing himself for a difficult puzzle, and asked, “What is your name?” “Leile.” Her attention, however, had turned to the dragon once again. Isis had stood, sensing something with his enhanced senses long before either of them even could. Almost immediately she began to search the area for another magical presence. The sudden sinking feeling that washed over her when she recognized the presence almost drowned out Julian’s own introduction, but not completely. Grimly, she replied, “I know who you are,” before turning her eyes towards the sky.

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