Crimson Moon Report 32

Crimson Moon Report #32 - March 3, 2011
Summary: Erim begins to realize that Pip will not improve.
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Official post by Naionna on 3/3/11
The plate of food was getting cold. He'd sat there for over an hour now, fork in hand, poised expectantly over his plate. Yet he had not taken a single bite. The mark of the tines in the mashers showed that he'd toyed with the idea a time or two. The disturbed vegetables were mixing with the sauce of the grilled boar that made up the majority of his dinner. But he had no interest. His interest was squarely on the moon outside, glaring malevolently through his window.
Oh how he loathed that moon. He loathed the hue of its glare; its blood like gaze that seemed to bathe all that it touched in fear and violence. He was helpless in his rage against it. He had done all that he knew how to do. He had given all that he had to give. He had prayed; he had pleaded; he had paid. And yet it still hung low in the night sky, taunting him with its presence. How foolish he had been.
When the Priest had written to him of the blessing that could be placed upon Piperel, he was overjoyed. The Church of Koar! Surely, if the Church would send such a Priest to his child's aid, it was going to work. His donations were but a gesture of good faith, the Priest had told him. Not necessary but of course, a gesture of good faith was always helpful in matters such as this. The more sacrifices one makes in the name of good faith, the more powerful the blessing!
When she'd returned home from the ceremony, he'd been sure it was a miracle. She had asked to eat! It had been so long since she'd expressed hunger on her own that it was overwhelming to hear it from her lips. And yet she had not eaten. She had slipped into exhaustion on the journey to the house and even though it was not far to walk, she was too tired to spend energy eating. And so she'd laid upon her bed, though it had offered no comfort it seemed. The same cries, the same torment, the same agony had afflicted her throughout the night as the flickering crimson gaze of the damnable moon touched her face. He'd wanted to rage at the night. He'd wanted to rage at the Gods, truth be told. He wanted to rage at it all.
He tried to tell himself that it was just a matter of time. The priest had said after all that it would take time. It would slowly be drawn from her body, as it was dug in deep like a tick that had found its home. It would take patience to dislodge its claws from poor Pip. And he had to be strong. When the Priest came by the next afternoon, he had said the same thing to Erim as before "It will take time but have faith in Lord Koar, Erim. You have done the right thing coming to the church." And with a faint pat of his pudgy hand, he was gone from the house, leaving Erim once more to his pacing.
The day is not so bad, as Piperel gains some relief from the terror of night when the sun is lord of the skies. The sound of the water and the cries of the gulls those were her favorite things. Even still, she just did not seem.. the same. The crimson leaves her eyes in the day, and it helps with the tension he feels when he looks upon her. But the evidence is still there of her torment. He often wonders if she will make it from this alive. He sometimes wonders if it is worth it to live in this way. Yet she is still so strong. There is amazing will in that small child. He tells himself that is why she has been chosen for this task because she can take it. Because she will make it through the end and recover. It is what he hopes, at least.
The lamp outside of his home gutters briefly, and startled by the noise and sudden change in the light, Erim jerks from his thoughts and drops the fork to his plate with a clatter. Cringing, he glances towards the back of the home and listens, sighing as he hears the familiar rattling wheeze and tormented groans escaping Pip's room.
A tap at the door. The lamp has gone completely out and there is naught but crimson-hued darkness outside of the door as he peers through the window.
Another tap.
"Erim." commands the quiet voice, much like it were a demand, rather than a greeting.
Prickles of tension raise upon the nape of his neck and his skin trembles upon his bones, but he brushes it aside and gathers his courage. Slowly, the door creaks open and the darkness is given leave to enter his home. And it does it seems to drift in shadows behind the hooded figure as it glides into his home with ease in its step not a care in the world judging from its movement. A slight nod is given in thanks.
The nearby candle threatens to gutter and the wax hisses angrily as it drips.
"Y..yes, M'lord?" His voice trembles and he curses himself, sure that this is important and that he needs to remain calm and sure of himself in front of such a being, whatever it is.
Amber eyes peer outward from beneath the cowled hood of its cloak, and the figure gestures to the table as if asking to seat itself.
"Oh of course!" stutters Erim, moving to shut the door behind his guest. A quick and sharp glance cuts him short and he pauses, glancing at the door and back at his guest. A shake of the figure's head is all that he needs in response and he leaves it open, watching the crimson moon's cast upon everything it touches in the open doorway. He shivers.
Sitting gingerly on the edge of his seat, Erim faces the figure and attempts not to look too closely at its visage, shadowed as it is from the deep cowl. The figure speaks once more, its voice gravelly and thick, "Do you see now, Erim?"
Confused, Erim gives the figure a cautious glance and then back towards his daughter's room without thought. His brow furrowed, he suddenly realizes what the figure has come to tell him. Slowly, his eyes meet the figure's and a chill passes over his spine. He nods quietly, though his teeth worry at his lower lip, almost causing a trickle of blood to escape.
"She has a role, Erim. It will not end until it is supposed to." The figure continues, nodding to Erim with understanding. "She will be done when it is time. You cannot change it. You cannot stop it."
Erim's eyes well up with tears, his face turning to the side as he clutches his fist against his lap, his teeth gritted. "Will she die?" he manages to ask, though his voice is cracked with emotion.
Silence is the response. Only the sound of the wind blowing and the sizzle of the flickering candle can be heard.
Erim stands with frustration, his anger mounting as he fights against what is being told to him. "I said will she die?!" he demands, caution thrown to the wind as he turns to face the figure fully.
"Papa!" comes the cry, the distraught sound ripping through the house, quickly followed by a curdling scream.
Quickly, he turns from the figure, all thoughts of it gone as he rushes to the bedroom and throws open the door. There, her body taut and contorted into a deep wracking position, his child twists and turns in her torment, the sweat pouring from her afflicted body. Moving to her quickly, he pulls her into his arms, trying to sooth her back down into the bed with comforting touch and whispers. A cool rag is applied to her head and as she slowly begins to relax her exhausted muscles, he places her back into her bed and steps out into the hallway.
"This has to stop!" he cries out loudly, his voice carrying down the hallway to the kitchen area where he had been seated.
Silence was the response.
Quickly, he made his way down the hall, his eyes squinting to adjust to the darkness flooding the front of the house as the candle had gone out completely now. Only the crimson moon provides illumination in the small area as the door clacks back and forth faintly from the wind.
Nothing. Nothing and noone. The figure had gone, and only the moon, and Pips terror, remains.
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