Blood, Tears & Dancing - Dante's Story

Roleplaying can be a great source for stories. But whether your stories come from roleplaying or whether you wrote them separate of anything else, this is the forum to post your stories. These stories can be funny, dramatic, epic in scale, of very small scope, or really anything you can think of. Note that this forum is for posting stories only. Discussions on stories and even just simple compliments should be posted in the Out Of Character forum or by sending a private message to the author.

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Dante
Traveler
Posts: 1
Joined: Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:13 am

Blood, Tears & Dancing - Dante's Story

Postby Dante » Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:35 am

These are the words of my life, forgive the familiar speech, and erratic thoughts. I am I suspect, somewhat mad at times. This is how I became what I am today. I was born of violence, and into the dark world of the Ilythiiri (Drow or Dark Elves to Humans and most other light world inhabitants). My mother was foraging cave mushrooms when was attacked and raped by cruelly malicious grave robbers who were searching for lost Dwarven tombs. She escaped them only to find her way into a bitter cold winter night, surviving the elements only by chance, or Divine Intervention. She stumbling upon a barn with a dry and somewhat warm hay filled loft. There she stayed, sneaking food and water until she was discovered the night I was delivered into the night. She could not stifle the scream of pain during the delivery her newborn son. That cry saved us though; it woke the farmer who discovered her in the loft, passed out from pain, blood loss and the hardship of hiding like a criminal for the past months. Fortunately, the farmer, was a gentle and deeply pious man, who had lost his own wife during the birth of his then daughter Bridgette only a few weeks earlier.
We lived peacefully in isolation until once again tragic violence took the lives of both my mother and father. My sweet innocent sister had been taken to be sold as a slave.

I suppose, it was a cruel joke for them but I was not killed, but brutally beaten and nailed to the timbers at a crossroads with a sign reading "half breed" hanging around my neck. I was only 11 years old. Some power, maybe Dancer took pity on me, as after 2 agonizing days a passing pilgrim agonizingly extracted the iron holding my near lifeless small body to the sign post taking me down, from that perch of pain. That traveller tended my wounds and cared for me for 3 days, praying each morning and night for my recovery and to save my “bastard” soul. Later I guessed that his religion made him care for me, but his prejudice couldn’t be completely suppressed by it, looking back it was a powerful lesson I carry to this day. I regained consciousness late the 3rd evening, but was too exhausted to speak. I had so much to say, so many questions to ask. I was so young then, just a boy. The man, I never learned his name, fixed some sweet tasting tea, which was hot and soothing, the pain dulled and I slipped into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, I awoke aching and alone, but warm. The man had departed in the night leaving me wrapped in a woollen blanket, with a little cool water, an apple and a chunk of bread. I don’t think he could be around a bastard like me any more, and his conscience had been secured knowing I might live.

Slowly I crept my way back the ½ league or so to the farmstead where I was born and my peaceful life ended. I think I cried non-stop the days it took to dig graves and bury the ravaged bodies of my mother and father, his name had been Monte. I apologize, I never mentioned my parents by name before. My mothers name was Danika, and in her death, she looked so small, lighter than me I think or so it seemed. Horribly beautiful as I recall, my mother but not. I have never cried since, maybe I can’t, I don’t know. I spent the next 10 years, training, well some would call it bashing defenceless trees, with an old mace my human father had always left hanging over the fireplace. I learned years later that he had been a bit of a zealot in his younger years and had “collected” tithes from church parishioners. Fortunately for my mother and I he had found actual faith and only kept the mace as defense against possible robbers, for all the good it did in the end. I trapped and hunted game with snares and deadfall traps, and foraged for fruits nuts and berries to survive. I would have raised livestock and planted gardens, but the need to keep the farm looking abandoned out weighed my need for comfort. In the heat of the day, and during the cold dark nights when I was too exhausted from work to sleep, I recalled the stories my mother had told me.

I mostly remembered the stories of the beautiful dancing maiden, who she commonly referred to as The Lady of The Dance, or sometimes just Dancer, she would sing the stories, slowly dancing around in time to honour her Goddess, and who she said loved me, even though I didn’t really understand at the time what she meant, or what it meant to have the attention of a Goddess. Of course, I know now that Dancer was in truth the Goddess Eilistraee but she will always be Dancer to me. So, to honour my mother, father, the pilgrim and for my own sanity, I began to pray twice daily to Dancer, which I continue to this day. These activities kept me physically and mentally strong, but my true calling and power came to fulfillment shortly after my 21st summer. The night of the Hunters Moon I began my customary prayers, swaying back and forth standing in front of my small hearth, praying as I always did, for Eilistraee to help me find my sister and avenge the atrocities done to my family.

Dancers Song
The sun goes down
I feel your rhythm
Pounding like a drum
Boom Boom Ba Boom

Dance with me,
Dance with me.
Lady of the Dance,
Dance with me.

Feel my heart
It beats in time
In the dark of night
You touch my soul

Dance with me
Dance with me
Lady of the dance
Dance with me

The shadows call
So to does the light
Lead our dance
Show me the way

Dance with me,
Dance with me……

I became aware sometime later, the moon was so bright that night, red like the snow around a fresh killed stag. I was swaying back and forth still, the fire had burned to embers and she was in my arms, wasn’t she? Clouds momentarily blacked out moon, I blinked and she was gone. I am sure she was there with me, I can still smell the moon flowers and feel her silken hair on my fingers, her heat on my chest. I still dance for her, but now my dance is one of blood and pain for those who warrant having vengeance brought upon their souls. I hope she still loves me like my mother said, I don’t know, I have never seen Eilistraee again, although she still lends me her power when it’s required. I used to pray for her to come to me again, but I ended those boyish dreams long ago. I know she will be there when the need is greatest and that has to be good enough. I have faith.

I left my home the next morning to search for Bridgette and seek vengeance on her captors. She was my best friend, playmate & constant companion. I loved her, still love her. I spent every minute and every copper in my search, I know in my heart she is alive, I only fear surviving her ordeal will have destroyed her soul. I pray when I find her I can also save her.
Now 5 years later I travel the known world taking jobs where he can, searching constantly for the people who took his sister, and hopefully free her from captivity. At 26, here I am, still searching, doing what I do best, find people. I just can’t find the one person I need to find the most.

Dante Bloodborne
"Vharc zhal tlu ussen'me"

Irennan
Resident
Posts: 551
Joined: Thu Nov 24, 2011 5:13 pm
Location: Italy

Re: Blood, Tears & Dancing - Dante's Story

Postby Irennan » Thu Jan 05, 2017 6:03 pm

I really liked this, thanks for sharing. Gritty and sad, but it makes for a cool character.


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