Rewind (Caramon)

Carefully, quietly Caramon slithered up the hill on his belly. Slightly cresting the hill he inched eastward around his side of the hillock summit to eventually place himself behind a small rock that would allow him better cover from which to observe the faere festivities going on down slope of his vantage point and in the narrow box vale below. Beside him lay a staff, made of dogwood and topped by a large turquoise crystal it was his by right of being a Priest of Morrigan and spiritual guide to his Wold tribe. Strapped to his chest he carried twin sabers tempered of meteoric iron from a source know only to the males of his bloodline, his by training as a warrior and eldest male of the clan mac Bochra. The man himself was a most awesome weapon, his by birthright. For he would soon come to learn that he could survive even the most fatal of wounds with but faint glimpses of the light awaiting at the end journey.

Caramon knew the staff and sabers would be of no use. He neither wanted to enchant nor outright kill the creature he hunted this day. In his mind’s eye he ran and reran his stratagem. He knew that if he was to get close enough to the throng of creatures below he would over hear the name of a female faere. When that creature went to the flats to bathe before returning to her realm he could utter her name while making eye contact and bind that faere to him, for a duration of his choosing. The strength that would be bestowed to his tribe by communion with one of the immortal faerun was near orgasmic for the celibate man.

The specifics of his plan had not been so easily deduced and that was what Caramon was entertaining at the moment. The midnite had just passed so he knew he had several hours still to work his plan. He was captivated by the beauty and grace exhibited by the vast variety of creatures only glimpsed in this plane, yet common place for the faerun realm. The sounds and colors were enough to ‘glamour’ untrained men; fortunately his training for the priesthood dispelled most of the majic. Reaching to the small of his back he fingered the small, enchanted net he carried, to insure it was held fast. This he would use only as a last resort to ensnare whatever he could should his main objective prove too illusive. Satisfied that his physical preparations were adequate he bent himself to the task of finding a route down the hillock and over into the northern end of the box vale where the faere’s had gathered this night.

The faere were not know to have the keenest hearing in the faerun realm, probably due to their constant loud merrymaking. The downfall of most mortals was the fact that they knew not that the faere had vision that could detect the slightest movement not made by the natural trees and plant life they typically surrounded themselves with. Most hunters moved through the brush as a means of attack, Caramon knew that to get close enough to overhear a name he would need to move with the brush. Be the brush.

Slowly sliding back down the hill, perpendicular to its rise in elevation he eventually reached the base. Still laying flat, his cheek against the dewy grass he circled the hill maintain a northwest tack. After what seemed like hours of painstakingly quiet slithering, much in the same way he envisioned the serpents of legend would travel, the hill receded to his left and the terrain before him opened into the north-south running box vale he had espied from his earlier perch.
He now made his way into a copse of alder, his belly still affixed to mother earth, as if making love to her bounty. Glancing up occasionally he wound his way through the ever increasing density of the brush that was the sacred token of his bloodline. Stopping briefly to take his bearing Caramon thought of the subtle majics that were his to control. Knowing full well that any use would immediately alert all the faere to his presence and in turn damn his quest for another twelve moon. Peering toward the edge of the alder copse Caramon could still make out the cavorting of the faere, their music exerting a strong glamour on his senses due to his proximity. Focusing his mind he continued on parallel to the clearing trying to get to the densest part of the copse, thereby putting him within a couple arm lengths from the reveling faere.

No sooner had he achieved his intended position, that the name Thorne Goblinfly was carried to him by a slight whisper of wind. Carefully tucking the name away in his sub-consciousness Caramon began the arduous task of slithering away to the nearest flat, knowing full well this particular one was closest and most frequented by the faere of Arcaibh dolmen.

When he entered the flat, Caramon took up station behind a large boulder adjacent to the entrance path. Faere’s came and went by rote and he knew if he blocked the path the faere would be momentarily confused as to how to leave. Just as he as drifting off the faint jingle made by the wings rubbing together as a faere walked drifted to his ears. Waiting a few moments more Caramon eased his body onto the path and approached the batheing fairy. As she came into view Caramon was awestruck by the faere’s delicate beauty, her back was to him and she had not heard his approach. Waiting for her to turn towards him Caramon watched as the delicate creature continued to bathe herself in the salty surface water of the flat, the ‘tinkling’ of her wings constant. Turning, oblivious to her plight she beheld the human.

“Hello, Thorne Goglinfly.” Caramon said, as she looked up into his blue eyes, each larger then her own head.

“And hello to you, Caramon.” She replied continuing with her bathe.

Drawing his feet beneath him Caramon crossed his legs as if watching faere’s bathe was an everyday occurrence for him.

“It seems you have done a superb job of catching me unawares and snaring my services.”

“I will not hurt you ‘fair one’. I only require your glamour.”

“It is yours to command what would you have of me?” she asked dressing and lighting atop Caramon’s left shoulder.

Slowly he held out to her a ‘cold iron’ anklet attached by way of a delicate moonbeam to and ear band. As she snapped the anklet shut around her ankle, he felt the telltale pinch of the ear band snapping into place as well. By using the small drop of blood caused by the tines piercing his cartilage Caramon completed the ‘binding’ glamour when he placed an atom’s width mark on her forehead.

“You know the spell well shaman,” she stated slightly moved by the delicateness with which Caramon enthralled her.

“My word is my bond, my bond my life. My word is that I will never harm you purposefully; the bond is the moonbeam that binds us. If I go against my word, my life is yours for the taking. So swear I beneath the eyes of Morigann my benefactress.”

“You swear fealty to me though you own my fealty by right. How can this be?” she asked puzzled by the actions of her human captor.

“We are equals, you and I. I just needed something to maintain your attention.” he replied flicking the almost transparent moonbeam with his finger. Gingerly standing so as not to topple his rider, Caramon began the several days long trek that would again bring him within sight of his beloved village, Skara Brae.