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I Want My Tears Back


RocketLord

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Lament

 

"I am force, not wisdom. Darkness, not light" replied Lament, trying to make...light (Ahem) of his ignorance. And the last thing he wanted was Grendel's mother gaining in confidence. 

 

"But I believe I can...control...the infinite emptiness inside me, for now. Although the elder Gods know you have not made it easy!" he said, accusingly, with pointed finger. 

 

"Speak now, and make it quick and pertinent! 'Lest my will crack before the infinite horror and power that even now crawls inside me to feed on you!"

 

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GM

 

Try as he might, Lament's actions was causing a surge in confidence for the Grendel's Mother. Perhaps it was good that she was too exhausted to act on it? Still, she let out a shrill laugh. 

 

"Yes, I do believe that you know nothing." She paused, catching her breath. It seemed like just speaking was starting to be taxing to her. "The Elf King has no love for you mortals. He would as soon steal a maiden that strikes his fancy, as he would pluck a flower from a field. He is a king of lusts and wants. All is his domain, and he can do what he want. Think, mortal. What do you think returning his tears will do?"

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Lament

 

"You are a fool to think me a fool!" replied Lament, full of bluster again. The Mothers resurgance of confidence mirrored his own. By his measure, she had a short memory. 

 

"I know the Elf King has no love for mortals. I know he would steal a flower and pluck a maiden!" he added, wondering quite how that juxtaposition of phrases had happened and decided it worked just as well anyway. 

 

"Stealing his tears has only made him more cruel. For now, he had stolen a score of children who weep day and night just so he can experience the faintest glimmer of his memories. But an echo. Imagine if his furious desire for tears grows stronger still?" he explained. 

 

"You did not forsee the depths of his despair, nor the horror of his designs, no, and not the reach of his vengeance!"

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GM

 

Grendel's Mother grew silent. Perhaps she was pondering if the Artist of Anguish was right? Perhaps wondering if she could strike at him yet again?

 

Then the crow shrieked. Grendel's Mother visibly shrank, looking towards Lament.

 

"Bah! Then take the tears! Take them to your Elf King! See how he will reward you! See just what he will do!" A sly smile crept over her lips. "But I won't tell you which of the tears are his, Master of Nothing! That will be your task to complete! Now GO! Leave my cave!"

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Lament

 

"He probably will reward me with a knife in my back" said Lament. "Although as you now know, it takes more than a knife to stop the Lord of Lamentations!"

 

That said, he had no wish to engage Grendel's mother in further conflict. As much as he might make out that he was the master, it was clearly a tough fight for them both. 

 

He took the three liquids and walked out of the cave. 

 

Backwards. 

 

'Twas as well to be sure she did not try to stab him in the back!

 

Once out, he looked around. The Raven! That be one mystery still obscured! It helped me...it understood me...mayhap I can ask for its aid again?

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GM

 

"BEWARE! Grendel's Mother shouted as Lament left, cackling madly. "Only one holds the tears of the Elf King! Imagine his displeasure, were it not his tears!" A final parting shot. She might have tried to strangle him, or indeed stab him in the back, but not now. She would not win such a conflict, exhausted as she were.

 

He was not followed from the cave. Or at least, he did not think so. Still, as he looked around, he found the raven now perched on a branch of a nearby tree, looking down at him.

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GM

 

Verily, 'twas a fair warning. And a puzzle he would most dearly like to solve before facing the Elf King who, he thought, was not entirely trustworthy. In fact, one could only trust him to be untrustworthy. Luther was hardly an expert on mythology but he knew enough to be suspicious, at best, of fae (at least, according to the stories...but where the stories trustworthy either? for this was the real deal now...)

 

He shook himself free from such speculations. Right now, he had three possible regal tears, and needed to know which from which. And, he had a raven to help. 

 

Not the day he was expecting. 

 

"Lo, Good Raven!" he started. "What manner of bird are you that understands English so well? Are you some victim of curse? Some transmutated being? A prince or princess?" he asked. 

 

"Squark three times if I hit the nail on the head!"

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GM

 

The raven looked down upon Luther. Its eyes were dark and calculating. There were something deep, something ancient in them. Perhaps a greater tale, waiting to be told? Perhaps just a simple bird, who had happened to follow an interesting human?

 

"Mind your tongue."

 

Or perhaps it was a talking raven. 

 

The tone was harsh, and yet, the raven laughed. It was a cawing laughter, much like the sounds would usually make, but the intent was clear.

 

"Address me properly, if you wish for my help. I am Hugin, messenger and spy of Odin himself!"

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Lament

 

Hugin! And...the other one! Thought and Memory! 

 

Lament vaguely recalled the Norse myths. Not really his area of the expertise, he concentrated on all that African, South American, and Carribean mythology for his shows. But he knew Odin, at least. And two ravens, thought and memory. He had no idea who this one was. 

 

"Well then, Hugin, I beg pardon, and bow deeply!" he said, bowing deeply. 

 

At least Hugin seemed to have a sense of humour. It was hard to say for sure, through Raven vocal chords (such as they were). 

 

"I beseech your Raveness for help then, and so most humbly. Can you aide me? I wish to know which of these three vessels holds the Elf Kings Tears? And...." he added as an afterthought "...frankly, whether I should give them back to their rightful owner or not...."

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GM

 

The raven laughed its cawing laughter from its perch, only stopping to look down at Luther. There was a sly tone to its voice, a surprisingly melodic tune to what one might have believed to be a harsh and hoarse voice, coming from a bird such as it.

 

"Better, Master of Melancholy. Much better."

 

With a flap of its wings, the raven flew, soaring on the air before landing heavily before Luther. With a wing, it gestured towards the ground between.

 

"Well then, let me see them. Hurry up, I have not all night! Interesting as your tale might be, I have other errands to run before morning! And if you can, tell me how exactly these things look." It pointed to its eyes with a feather. "Different eyes, after all!"

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Lament

 

Should he trust a Raven? Especially one that claimed to be Odin's pet (was that true, or was the Raven possessed of some delusion of grandeur?) He had no way of knowing, but he fancied a bit of flattery might butter the bird up. 

 

"Of course oh mighty Raven of cognitive clandescance" he said, bowing deeply again. 

 

Bowing was an excellent idea, in Lament's estimation. Bowing deeply doubly so. He was very good at bowing. 

 

He lay the three maybe-tears on the ground for the Raven to examine, hoping the Raven did not snatch one away. 

 

"What say you? Does thy wisdom find solution to conundrum?"

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GM

 

Hugin was silent, simply staring down at the three trinkets. A pair of cups, and a vial. Its face was unreadable. It was, after all, a raven, and not a human, and birds were notoriously difficult to read.

 

And yet, Lament could not help but feel that he had somehow annoyed the messenger of Odin that stood before him. If the bird could have raised an eyebrow, it would have done so. Instead, it cawed loudly

 

"Describe them to me! Tell me what they look like to you!" 

 

It was apparently not fond of repeating its command.

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Lament

 

"Why yes, of course, oh mighty Raven. Forgive my foolish foolishness!"

 

What is it, blind?

 

"One, be a vial of glass, full of clear water, should I chose it? Maybe I oughta...."

Next, be a cup of wood with water in, should I chose it? Maybe...I'm athinkin'..."

Last be a goblet, with sweet wine to the brim, should I chose it? Maybe, onna whim...?"

 

It was the best he could do at short notice, but he hoped it was at least mildly entertaining. For effort, at least.

 

 

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GM

 

The raven made the laughing noise again at Lament's description, and the way he thought about which one to choose. Oh, it was clearly enjoying this more than it should.

 

"I see, I see! Well then... I can only do so much! I am but a guide in these tales, and it is always up to the hero to make the final choice!" 

 

It looked around a bit, as if it ws trying to see if anyone was listening to them, then it leaned closer, holding a wing up by its beak, much as one would hold up a hand, before whispering. "Think about the Elf King. Think who he is, what he is! Which of these remind you the most of him, then? And which the least? And would the Grendel's Mother keep his tears in a container that honored the king, or mocked him, hmmm?" 

 

Hugin was clearly not aiming to make this too easy.

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Lament

 

"Well then, let me cogitate on this conundrum!" said Lament, stroking his chin and striking a thoughtful pose. He was better at posing than thinking, although - in fairness - he was extremely good at posing. 

 

"The wine reminds me most of him. Those crazy elves, with their frolicking and partying. On the other hand, 'twould be a fine way to mock him, too, a little insinuation that he is a drunkard. Which he may well be, in fact..."

 

"The cup of wood reminds me least of him. It is a peasant's thing. A fine way to mock him"

 

"The clear glass is beautiful, but simple. I do not know the King well enough to know his tastes. Maybe it is to his palate, maybe not. But I do not think it a good way to mock him"

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GM

 

Hugin cawed loudly, and bowed. "Then it appears that you know it all. I cannot make the choice for you. But maybe the Elf King himself holds the answer!" It flapped its wings, slowly taking to the sky again. "You have the price in your hands, Duke of Despair! Use it! Make your choice! And good luck!"

 

Suddenly, the raven was gone. Whether it had flown away, or simply disappeared, seemed impossible to tell. Lament was left alone, and he would have to make his choice. Or maybe heed the words of the Grendel's Mother, and sacrifice the children?  It was all up to him now.

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Lament

 

Well now, that was a hint. Not an answer. Still...I'll take it!

 

'Twas a cryptic hint too. Lament had the feeling that there was no way to know right now, but perhaps it paved the way to finding an answer. The King might be jostled for a little more information. 

 

Hmmm....

 

No more pondering! To action!

 

Verily, twas time for the seven league boots to once again boot up. And step leagues. Seven leagues, to be precise. 

 

UP UP AND AWAY! he strode, hoping somehow that the boots would guide him back to the King!

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GM

 

Away, Lament went! With a step, he was far away. With another even further. Once more, the Lord of Lamentations strode across islands and sea, towards the Commons, towards the great tree, and towards the Elf King.

 

In but moments, he found himself standing by the great tree once more. Did he dare enter, to prove his worth to the Elf King? To bring back his tears? To save the children, and be the hero of the hour? Or would he turn and run, leaving the children to their fate, and the Elf King's eyes as dry as the desert?

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Lament

 

There really was no choice at all. 

 

Besides, the Void rumbled with hunger. 

 

But how to proceed? Mayhap a little more finesse this time. The void encompassed his skin, crawling through the dermal layers until he once again faded, an echo of his normal form. Not invisible, but like a shadow in the corner of ones eye. Muted to eye and ear. 

 

He thought it a good time to spy on the King. Get to know him a little better first. See if he could find out exactly what made the Elf King tick. And, of course, how much he could trust him. 

 

Softly now, he strode inside!

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GM

 

As the Dealer of Downers made his way into the Elf King's hall, he passed the Elf guards. Neither seemed to notice him, concealed as he now were. Even the sharp senses of they Fey could be fooled by nothing, it seemed!

 

In the hall, the Elf King sat on his throne. A child had been brought before him, a young boy in a bright red t-shirt and jeans. He was dancing, while tears fell from his eyes. A heart breaking sight, to be sure! A retainer stood by the Elf King's side, swiftly filling a golden cup with what appeared to be wine. The king would empty the cup in but one tip, then lower it to be filled yet again. "Faster, boy! Make my tears fall yet again!" the Elf King commanded, and the boy sobbed in his misery.

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Lament

 

Cruel! Cruel! CRUEL!

 

Hmmm, this was the King as he was now, bereft of tears. What was he like before?

 

Lament had the urge to jump in now to save the boy more misery. Ah yes! But he held off for one moment. A wrong move now could well sink the whole ship. He had come here, unseen, to understand the King and thus chose correctly. He had only a half chance of getting it right - at best. 

 

The rich wine? the clear water? The humble cup?

 

Twas not what the King would have chosen, but what Grendel's mother might mock him with. Or perhaps some clever poetry on both facets. He was drinking from a golden cup right now, which...was suggestive that the mother might have chosen quite the opposite; a humble wooden cup. 

 

Bah, he could not contain himself. No more tears of children. 

 

"BEHOLD OH GLORIOUS KING! THE SULTAN OF SORROW DOTH RETURN!" he said boldly, bowing most deeply as was his character. 

 

 

 

 

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GM

 

The King stopped, cup halfway to his lips. His expression was unreadable, like he could not decide if he was glad or appalled at Luther's sudden appearance. He looked at Lament, then at the child for a moment, then made a cutting motion with his hand, prompting a guard to appear and take the child back to the cage.

 

"You return indeed." There was some surprise to his voice. His eyes rested on Lament for but a moment longer. "Well, then? Did you bring that which I sought? Are my tears in your hand?"

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Lament

 

"They are, most glorious King whose glory is most glorifious" said Lament bold as brass. 

 

"Here are three treasures I have from the terrible thief! I thought it only right that she not just return the tears, but that also a steal away two of her most valuable liquids! To repay you for troubles and tribulations and etcetera ectetera!" he said. 

 

Before the king, on side table, he lay the three vessels. 

 

"Your tears be one of these three. I am sure thy Royal wit is sharp enough to determine which. After all, we all love a bit of poetry do we not, dear Elves!" he said, raising his hands and welcoming the crow around the king, trying to whip them up with the joy of the puzzle!

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GM

 

The Elf King stared at Lament, his expression still unreadable, but the annoyance building in his eyes. A slight twitch of his lips. A finger tapping against his cup. He opened his mouth to speak, but already, his subjects had begun to gather around the table, to watch the exchange. It seemed that Lament's gamble and showmanship had paid off, and now the burden of the choice was on the king entirely, rather than on himself.

 

"You have not been permitted to address my people." The King's response was short and sharp. "And yet, my tears are indeed among this collection. A vial of glass, a cup of gold or a cup of wood." There was something behind his eyes, as he looked towards Lament. Something terrible. "I know which container the thief would use. But how am I to know that you have not switched the contents, mortal?"

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Lament

 

"Because I am a man of my word, oh King! Surely you trust me? Have I ever let you down? Of all the tasks you have given me, my success rate is perfect!"

 

He didnt stop to let the King do the maths. 

 

"Now, what purpose would it serve me to switch your tears for something else? Your fine wit, so ably demonstrated, would soon percieve my purpose! you would have my giblets skillered!" he added, not knowing what giblets were or what skilleting was, but figuring it sounded suitably horrific. 

 

"And then my labours would have been for nought!"

 

He spread his hands over the three liquids. 

 

"Now, to my mind, either tis the Goblet in which your gloriousness stored his tears, or the wooden cup, a vessel designed to make mockery of thee! Although your resplendentness could surely never be diminished in his shininess!"

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