The Smiling Man
- Feb 14, 2006
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The winter gales flowed about his person as Jack began to strum and alternate the pitch, activating the different chords and notes with complete and utter precision.
Great crystals of ice and quartz emerged from the snowy ground about him as he reached the crescendo, and from the crystals came other musicians - perfect, icy copies of him, all strumming and plying the bow upon the string in time with him, as the quartz figures moved in the old dance, as they had many ages ago, when such music had once been heard.
His coat began to frost from the cold, yet he did not feel the sting of winter's grasp. He felt only the music as he wove it, from memory, upon the violin. It's enchanting and haunting tones continued to warp to dark forest into the cacophony of violin strings.
Hair, white as newly-fallen snow, ruffled in the breeze, and yet that did not stop his dexterous fingers as he gave the song it's final, mournful breath.
At the final note, the ice musicians and quartz dancers dispersed in snowflakes, leaving Master Frost alone in the chilling loom of the moon's light.
Shira Whisperwind (ψίθυρος άνεμος, Greek for Whisperwind)
“The Listener of Sorrows” “Winters Love” “Seeker of Secrets” “Music of the Woods” “Tears of Mist”
Unknown, they say the Whisperwind Woods have been there for 3000 years.
Standing at the size she prefers, 5’ 6”, she can change sizes as she wishes. She lives within the trees, which is her essence. Usually Snow Covered Winter Oaks. With skin as beautiful as snow itself, hair white as winter, ice as blue as cold water. She wears a Gold Pendent, and carries a violin. She wears a blue sleeve dress, with snow flakes in the shapes of flowers, in patches all over the dress. She wears nothing to cover her feet, and she floats around the woods on a small cloud, that appears as foggy mist playing the violent, with a silent cry.
Very quiet and lonely. She stays to herself, and protects herself by protecting the woods that is, herself. Every so often she will watch a couple in coats walking through the woods, in which she will play a romantic tone on her violin for them.
The winter woods known as Whisperwind have been a winter wonderland for as long as the villagers of a nearby town “Winters Cloak” can remember. With endless winter year round, spring to never come, with echoes of crying coming from deep in the forest woods.
Stories of the past, once spoke of spring, long ago, a Deity of the woods, and a young boy. If the Stories are true, there could have been spring. But as the legend goes, when the boy left, never to return, the woods have stayed in the same state waiting for his return, and a song that can be heard every night waiting for him to listen.
Story of Legend:
Running through the woods, running, far, away, scared from his past, scared from his chasers, a boy with pure white hair, no older then the age of 13, a prankster. This time he had done it, he set the barn on fire, let out the horse’s, and stole many girls’ undergarments, but nothing would prepare him for what would happen next.
“It was an accident” He would explain, to the crowds of shouting villagers. You see, he could play the violin that would make most people quite down to listen, but they wouldn’t listen this time around. This time he had really done it, He messed with the gods. The gods, didn’t care of what this mortal, did, had done, or what he was to do. It was the villagers fear of the gods wrath, that made them react they did. The statue of Aphrodite had been destroyed.
He had just been playing his violin in the temple built for Aphrodite, when out of know where the statue began to crack, and suddenly burst into millions of pieces. The villagers blamed him, but never understood the truth.
Running through the woods, running, far, away, scared from his past, scared from his chasers, a boy with pure white hair, no older then the age of 20, a lover. Abandon by his family, abandoned by his friends, abandoned by the town, the boy kept running, further and further into the woods, when suddenly, BAM, he hit a tree, he never saw it coming. As if it came out of nowhere.
It was spring, the snow had just melted, and the sound of birds could be heard flocking in the distance. When he awoke he had no idea where he was, the sound of singing was what had woke him up.
A girl, a very pretty, young, and even looked about his age, a girl. He was lying in a bed made of flowers. Waking up, he looked around when he saw her, he couldn’t believe his eyes, and this girl had been the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. When he got up, she got scared and vanished into mid air, leaving flowers landing on the grassy floor.
“Wa.. Wait!” He explained, with no answer in return. “…Thank… you.” He said before walking away, He had no friends, why this one person would help him was a mystery to him, but the bigger mystery was how she disappeared.
Walking away remembering all the things that had happened, made him feel sad, so he did what he always did when an emotion would take over, he played his violin. He found a rock by a lake and sat down, playing.
Playing and playing, the music was amazing so amazing, the Nymph couldn’t help herself, and she walked as if in a trance watching the boy, mesmerized by the sounds coming from the instrument. By the time she knew it, she was right next to him, standing aside by him.
He turned around when he saw the glimpse, and before she could vanish again, he grabbed her hand and asked her to stay. Unsure why, she stayed, and sat next to him, pointing at the violin wanting him to play more, so he did.
After that day, the Nymph and the boy stayed together for a long time. They finally exchanged names, and details about themselves. The boy never told her why he ended up in the forest.
“Shira, what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman” he said trying to be romantic, as she blushed. He then showed her how to play his violent; she showed him how to interact with nature, and amongst other things.
Some year’s pasted by and winter came. She learned how to play this song, his song that he would play all the time, by heart. When finally she wanted to know what happened, the reason he ended there in the woods. She wasn’t taking no for an answer. So he told her.
After a moment, she gasped and disappeared, it was now certain to him, no one would ever listen, and all he would ever be known as was cursed. He got up, and ran leaving everything behind.
Running through the woods, running, far, away, scared from his past, scared from his chasers, a girl with pure white hair, no older then the age of ???, a memory never forgotten. When finally understanding what had happened the Nymph had gone back, but it had been too late, he was gone. She looked throughout the woods, but never to find the boy who became a man, who learned to love, and learned to live. Her love, her… First love. Gone forever, left only with the violent, a song, and the memory. Her heart began to weep, for what she knew that he knew not, the reason why the statue had burdened him that day.
For it wasn’t a curse, but a gift, from the goddess Aphrodite herself, as the goddess of love, she sent him to find Shira, to give her that one true love, but misunderstood, the boy never learned of the reasons. So Shira waits for him to return, waiting, wanting.
Running through the woods, running, far, away, wanting the past, searching for the future, a girl with pure white hair, no older then the age of ???. A gift not a curse, keeps her waiting for him to return to her one day.
The frozen Woods
The Violin Player
The Suit sat in his black marble chair, holding a luxurious looking wine glass filled with the very substance the glass was crafted to carry. Rotating the glass softly in his peach colored palm, the man watched the red liquid ebb and flow through the slick, shoulder-length midnight black hair covering his crimson, piercing eyes. He wore a very lavish, form fitting black suit, adorned with very thin white stripes. The dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the crisp white collared shirt underneath as a black tie showed signs of unraveling just above it. He had no idea had to actually tie one of those things, neither was he in the mood to do so. He knew they were coming. Hunting him. Turning in his chair to stand, still holding the glass, he took a few steps forward, allowing his shoeless socks to gracefully glide across the kitchen floor before coming to a halt. The kitchen, of course, was marvelous and could not have been more white than a field of snow. Multiple pots and pans, suspended just over the stove, and kitchen knives all arranged in the proper holder, sorted by height and width of blade. The grand kitchen, appearing to be a canvas that was soon to be painted red with blood with the brush of death through strokes of violence. His tall frame looked straight ahead of him, through his large glass window that was covered with a white curtain. The room was dark, but he knew it wouldn't be that way for very long. The red couch that sat just before the fireplace would soon be gone. Because he knew they were coming for him, and they were very, very close. He could see them now. Soldiers, iron-clad in protective black, glossy armor, with helmets to match save the eye visor: which was a golden color. Behind it all the intricate workings of how best effectively analyze and kill your opponent. Beams of light began to peer from behind the windows. Flashlights. He began to hear the shuffling of feet and the faint clanking of the armor he knew so well. He could almost picture the long intricate, yet simple assault rifles the soldiers were carrying. Imagined all the barrels pointed directly at him. His tall frame stood erect as The Suit braced himself as best as he could. He shook the glass once more, and let the object slip through his hands as his door burst open, falling out of its place in the doorway. As the glass fell, it shattered upon impact with the ground as The Suit's eyes glowed a light, mossy green. They were going to hunt him. Execute him without question.
But he wouldn't die so easily.
The red chair began to glow green as The Suit waved a hand pushing it in front of the window as it absorbed several bullets. The iron-clad soldier who had burst into the front door of his house quickly shifted into his room where they were met with a bombardment of glowing green knives pulled from the holder in the kitchen, being propelled as such a force that they punctured the armor and shattered the eye visor, impaling multiple heads. The chair had absorbed as many bullets as it could before eventually crumbling to the floor as the first bullets penetrated The Suit's torso, exiting at his back. The Suit staggered, as he extended his hand to the fire place. A green fire began to take root as he waved his hand and bathed his living room in glowing green flames. More bullets entered and exited his body from behind him. The Suit clenched his jaw in immesurable paid as a glowing green pan floated and expanded, giving him time to turn and prepare himself for more assassins. He knew they were going to arrive. He knew this was going to happen. He knew the wine was spiked with poison. And so were these bullets.
But he wouldn't die so easily.
As the dented pan lowered and fell to the floor, cracking the sensitive tiles of the floor, The Suit stepped forward from a puddle of blood, his white socks trailing red footprints on the kitchen floor. He looked with contempt to his opponents as a wave of glowing green bullets showered his enemies as blood, pieces of armor, and screams filled the kitchen room. The Suit staggered. Limped. His vision blurred and his breathing became heavy and weezy. More soldiers began to file in from the back, and The Suit could see everything. See the cannon aimed straight at his lavish home. Was this really all he knew now? Was this all he was going to know as his last seconds of life ebbed away? As tainted and fleeting as the wine he was carrying little over five minutes ago?
But he wouldn't die so easily.
The cannon fired the rocket as The Suit extended both of his slender arms. His white shirt underneath now riddled with holes and jagged lines of blood. His hands were caked in the red substance as it dripped onto the once clean floor below him. The explosion illuminated the room as the house contorted and became bathed in an orange and yellow light that faded to the familiar glowing green color. An influx of energy had condensed the house and the man inside it in a field of otherworldly power. The energy was released as a wave of green energy exploded from the field in the radius around the house, sending every piece of the house flying at dangerous speeds. The radius the explosion covered was obliterated, and reduced to ashes.
He wouldn't die so easily.