EQ2 FURNITURE



Total items rewarded from Somborn Spirits: 2
Altars
Danak's Altar of Cazic Thule
This item can be placed on the floor in your house.

TREASURED
NO-TRADE

Quest reward from [63] Somborn Spirits (Deity), started by Danak Dhorentath in Butcherblock Mountains.

Discovered on 14 Nov 2006 at 18:57:58 PST.
Books
The Tragedy of Ysa
This item can be placed on the floor in any house type.

NO-TRADE  NO-VALUE

Quest reward from [63] Somborn Spirits (Deity), started by Danak Dhorentath in Butcherblock Mountains.

Discovered on 14 Nov 2006 at 18:51:18 PST.
The Tragedy of Ysa
by Anonymous
 The good lass Ysa Dondrael, daughter of John and Pila, disappeared seventeen years ago on a humid, moonless night. John and Pila were good people, and to lose a daughter as such broke the town's heart. Though none believed it, they were reassured constantly of her safe return.
 One month had gone by when Ysa returned. Her clothes were drenched, her hair a muss, and yet her lips wore a dagger of a smile. Despite that smile, her return was celebrated. Our time was spent rejoicing, not questioning. That night we thanked whatever forces we thought had saved the lovely young girl and were content to leave it at that.
 As the days passed, however, curiosity got the best of us. We were too timid to approach the girl herself. Her parents became the target of our queries: "Where was she?" "What happened to her?" And most of all, "Why the smile"?
 That piercing smile. It cut across her face as a rend in a sheet hung to dry. Her dark, straight hair hung low, leaving little skin visible save that around her mouth; it completely covered her eyes. And always, always she wore that smile. In a room it followed you as might painted eyes.
 Neither John nor Pila had any answers to give. They could not get her to speak, and dared not push her too far. It lingered in the town, unconscious, but we respected the family and kept our distance; would that we hadn't.
 It was a loud morning--two months at the least after Ysa's return--when Falkner roused his neighbors with his cries. He was a bloody mess, we thought he was sure to die before we learned none of the blood was his own. Though he was too affected to speak, he led us 'round the back of his house so we could see for ourselves.
 His goats lay slaughtered. The meat often as not stripped from their bones. Their limbs separated from their bodies, scattered about FaIkner's yard. And there was a bloody mess of a trail leading toward the Deep Down gulch.
 It was then that I noticed the Dondraels were not present. I can't say I am the only one that noticed, It seemed a silly thing to notice at such a time, but I noticed regardless. I was overcome with unease and retired to my home. It was there, while sipping tea, that I saw John Dondrael steal from his house.
 He crept forward, glancing over his shoulder. The twined package under his arm pulled at my curiosity. When he disappeared into the graveyard I took a moment to calm my thoughts. This was nothing, surely. Before my mind could make any accusations I left the house, intent on stimulating myself otherwise. I busied myself calming the fiasco at Falkner's.
That night I could not sleep. My ears amplified the sounds of the night as if they were not present before. The soft step of a night animal became the crunch of feet on ground toward the graveyard. The wind became whispered voices, conspirators. And the creaking and groaning of old houses became the growling of beasts, ready to devour. My mind would not let go of John in the graveyard. Before I knew what I was doing I found myself walking across the town and through the graveyard gates, shovel in hand. The moon was bright overhead, in a night or two it would be full. It gave me light enough to find the recently disturbed earth that I sought. I began to dig.
 I found John's package and hefted it from the ground. I placed it upon a headstone and undid the twine knots. Before I got it open I twisted my face in reaction to the scent of goat urine. Once open, however, I was faced with what appeared to be a dark, folded piece of cloth.
 Blood. My hand was coated in blood now, I shouldn't have reached inside. I pulled back at the feel of it, knocking the package off of the headstone. The cloth freed itself from the package, enough of itself for me to recognize the frills of the white--now red--gown Ysa oft wore. Despite my fear, I was ready to pick up the item when I heard the soft steps of someone in the distance.
I turned to the town. There stood Ysa. Her naked body shone in the moonlight. Though I did not move, and did not breathe, she faced me. I could not see her eyes, the open grin stared me in the face. My heart raced, the wind picked up, Ysa turned and disappeared between two buildings. I do not know how long I stood there. I was afraid to move or make any noise. I wanted to place John's package back within the confines of the earth, but there was no way I could hide the blood that spilled across the headstone and soaked into the ground. I was tired, and afraid, I left the scene and ran home. I slept, though I know not how I managed it.
I awoke to commotion. My hands were clean of blood, I did not recall cleaning them, but I was glad of it. I exited my house and joined the throng that had gathered outside Ysa's house. I didn't need to ask questions, others were doing enough of that. I only listened. "I didn't see her but Alba did, and Tyra says she did too." "Oh, that poor boy." "Like a ravenous wolf, they say." Pila Dondrael stood guard between her door and the angry crowd, but the look on her face gave away her lack of conviction. When they pushed her aside she did not struggle. Four pitchfork-wielding citizens entered first. Those that followed quickly stopped and backed from the house.
 Silence spread through the crowd, and one by one people found their way to the door to look in. There John Dondrael sat, his head heavy on his clenched hands, his body shaking as if in a sobbing heave, yet his face was vacant On the floor Ysa lay. Her neck brightly blemished with John's guilt, her face discolored, her smile straightened. We left. No words were given, no explanation asked. Justice, it seemed to us, was done, yet at what cost to John?
Time passed. My mind cannot recall how much, exactly. John wore a cold, expressionless face then just as Ysa had worn her terrible smile. Pila too seemed unable to function. Her father, a tradesman from far away, came to retrieve her one day. John did not see her off. And then, one day, John, too, was gone. The children say he scared them from Wayunder Lake that day, he and his heavy sack going in never to emerge. The adults would rather not speak of it.