by Joe W

A tale about Toquell Velasquez, set near the end of the “Dragonfire & Deep Water” LARP.

Water trickled between Toquell Velasquez's toes. Another wave crashed in and the noble stepped back to watch with some satisfaction as the tendrils of seawater failed to reach him a second time. As the water began its retreat two rather pressing questions sprung unbidden to Toquell's mind. 'How did I get on this beach and where are my clothes?'

Fifteen minutes later Toquell returned to the beach and sat on a patch of dry sand. He was on an island somewhere in the Southern Seas, and he was alone. Memories had begun to return after around five minutes of pacing the shoreline, and five minutes after that he'd decided that he knew enough to guess at the blanks.

He could remember sailors heaving on a steelsilk cord as he stood beside his brother on the deck of a ship. With a triumphant cry one of the men had lifted a bucket over the rail and ran across to present him with the prize. He'd gestured the man aside and advised Vincenzi to step back in case things went catastrophically awry.

The flame in the WaterFire had reached skywards even to the last, as he upturned the bucket over the bowl. Then there had been a great deal of smoke and confusion. He'd brought the bowl close to his eyes and grinned as he saw the strange fluid-flame of the WaterFire lapping at the brim. He had raised the container to his lips and prepared to become a God.

The sun was setting and a chill wind had set about stealing all warmth from the sand; Toquell looked down at his arm and wondered at the goosebumps rising over its surface. He could feel the stiff evening breeze on his bare skin, yet he didn't feel cold. He felt comfortably warm.

He stared at the empty ocean, willing a sail to appear.

The most immediate result of drinking WaterFire is a searing pain that rips through one's entire body. He had fallen to his knees, the empty bowl dropping from nerveless fingers. It had come as a surprise to learn that pain could render one incapable of screaming; he'd been able to manage a quiet gasp before all air left his lungs. The flame claimed him.

He'd picked himself up to one knee when his former companions hurtled through the clearing smoke. The last vestige of his pain had been cast aside as the thrill of power brought a smile to his scorched lips. Kit crashed painfully to the floor as his chains leapt out to seize her legs. Sirius's worried glance back at his small comrade was cut short as the Silken Chain stole the warrior's vision.

He'd risen to his feet, looking for Vincenzi; what would his brother do now? He'd need some persuading, but surely he could be brought around once more…

He felt his heart burst inside his chest.

The stars had been visible for several hours now. Toquell thought that he had found the Red Tower nestled in amongst a cluster of the other constellations. He'd never paid too much attention to astrology; it had always seemed a rather pointless pursuit.

He sighed. Vincenzi had tried to kill him, he was sure of it, and not just once. He'd found signs of digging along each side of the island; nothing was there now save for a small puddle of sand turned to glass, but somehow he knew that they had buried him in those holes.

Cut to pieces and buried in parts across a remote island, like some terrible creature of legend. Even his brother had decided he was a monster. Toquell Velasquez threw back his head and laughed at the empty ocean before him. When the tears stopped he lay down and slept.

In the morning he made a small sailboat in the waters by his beach; he had things to do in the White City. Sebastian was going to give his clothes back, and after that he'd decide whether to take his vengeance hot or cold.

misc/fiction/castaway.txt · Last modified: 2011/03/31 20:27 by osj01
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