Starr OMercy
deborahbowie@home.com

And The Baby cries.... A low whimper floats across the darkened lands of plenty and rides on the night air that fall morning. The winds had just began to rustle the vibrant colored leaves parched from the hot summer sun, deprived of water from the rains that never came. The crispness of the morning air was warm and refreshing, yet was chilled by the coldness of the night past and of the morning that stood ahead. And the Baby cries. The vision had transpired, the darkness had fallen and the families had been slain. And Now the Baby cries. In a cold cellar, down under the hollow ground, the little star was lain, left there perhaps for protection from the dark ones, left there to survive the night of horror, for a chance at life, left there to be found. The dark ones were coming, the visions were real, the dreams were now reality, the future was now the past. Hordes of dark ones flooded over the mountains like shadows falling on the quiet village of beautiful people, Human in form, cries of anguish were launched through the darkened forest and sunny meadows. Sounds of crashing magic, bolts of fire and clashing of teeth and swords rang through that night piercing it with horror and impending doom for the people that flourished there. The skies were illuminated with lightning and death was strewn around. Families were slain and babes were taken into the darkness by the evil dark ones, yet one Baby still cries.

The sun awoke to shine in its majesty on a village dead to all, smoke floating up from grassy parched roofs, aflame with fires of magic, rising toward the heavens. Nothing moved, no one lived, no one But the baby crying in the cellar.

The night sounds floated across the valley into the forest home of Shadowstarr. The old cleric that dwelled there had been awakened by the clashes of thunder and had covered her ears from the cries of the villagers screaming in pain. She knew their fate. She had seen visions of this event many times over, in dreams coming to her in the night, In daydreams visiting her as she worked, and now she shook her head in anguish, her gray hair moving softly across her brow. As she arose quickly from her cot, moving the furs that surrounded her, she rustled about the small cottage gathering the kindling she needed to start the blaze in the hearth that would warm her. She was again met with a vision, A vision of a baby girl, A vision of a young child, innocent to the evils of the world, a vision of a young woman, grown strong, with deep love and compassion, a vision of a powerful cleric, wise and unwilling to fall, knowing that they all were the same and now she knew what she must do. The old one gathered cloth and furs, a flask of warm goats milk and wrapped her golden cloak about her and moved through the archway into the night, to start her long journey into the village of the stars, the village of the slain, into the night of tomorrow. She knew she would find the future of many alone there, lying in a dark place, in the village of the beautiful ones. This human baby crying there in the Darkness was the reason for her visions.

Believing in her dreams she moved through the cold forest of fairies and elves, guided by the sparkling light of the stars and carried by the warmth of the winds. She believed by those things unseen, she could see the future in these things, and in this vision she knew she would call the baby Starr, Starr of Mercy, for this was written. Her vision unfolded a story of the fate of this young one, of this baby girl crying in the night, the delicate features, radiant blue eyes of ice and a heart of fire, who with her very presence protected and possessed the warmth of love and compassion.

As the old woman forged through the darkened forest, she was carried by the strengths of all things magical, gifted with the ability to turn darkness into light, to turn cold into fire and to move across rivers and barriers with only a click of the wrist. She Must Hurry now. For the baby cries...

Morning broke over the mountain and the night shadows gave way to morning light. The village lay before her saddened eyes, summoning a tear to gather. For before her she could see as in her visions the distraction that she had feared, and a chill crossed her spine, and her pace hastened. She must hurry now for the dark ones might return, to forage in the morning light for items of value and for those left unslain. Shadowstarr must reach the baby before the dark ones returned for the fate of the valley and of this little one rest in here hands for now, and the future must not be altered because the old one failed.

Moving like a shadow through the torn bodies of the fair skinned blue eyed humans, through the rubble and ash, through the ice and fire of magic cast from fingertips of the dark ones, she listened, she listened for the baby cries.

Then the faint whimper floated from the cellar, from deep within the cold stone and sands of the earth, a coffin to some, a grave to others and a haven from the dark ones. Yet this little ray of light lay there radiating warmth, light and love with her presence. This little baby girl lay there amongst the hay, corn and products of the harvest. Lain amongst the the fruits of labor and among these things that give and sustain life, holding the power to give and sustain life within her little body, and holding the future of many in her delicate , fragile little hands.

The old one knew this when she heard the baby cry.

Reaching the baby by moving the debris away, a warmth rushed through her frail old body and a light radiated from the dark corner in the cellar where the baby lay. The cries turned into song. A song of a future yet to pass, but one foretold. A song of compassion and love yet to be given. A melody of warmth and light and companionship floated from the lips of this babe, and the old one cried. Lifting the little one from the furs of her underground cradle, lifting her toward the light that filtered through the cellar doors, lifting her up toward the sun passing through that passageway, she called unto the heavens and to the stars and to the fairies of the forest. She called to the elves of the meadows to bless this little one, to give her the strength and courage to uphold honor of her peoples. She begged them to give her the wisdom to pursue justice and valor on the battle fields. She called upon the strength of the heavens to guide her as she traveled through the lands, spreading compassion and love and truth to all those she would touch. Shadowstarr begged for the intelligence and wisdom to Teach her the honor of sacrifice and teach her of humility in her travels...The old one pleaded, Give her the ability to stand tall in the face of devastation and the strength to summon the powers of the gods and hold the virtues inside her very body, for this is her future and this is her past.

With this done...the old one wrapped the little one she would call Starr with haste in the cloth and furs, offered her some warm milk from the leather skins. As the baby fed, sparkles like stars glistened in the eyes of that babe and the old one knew that the future of Norrath was foretold in this small babes dreams and she would hold a part of its fate in the palms of her tiny ivory hands.

The journey to the little cottage in the glen was made in haste and upon opening the heavy wooden doors, a feeling of peace flooded the old ones body and peace spread through her heart. The glow of the warm fire radiated as Shadowstarr moved closer, and took her place there in the safety of her haven with her new little treasure..

......Yet the baby cries??

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