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| - (( I hesitate to put this out here; that is, have hesitated for quite some time. Ogden's story is something -- different. The responses to his story in live-RP have been as wide and varied as the east from the west; there have been some very disparaging and insulting comments; there have been moments of grace. Ogden has left me with little choice, though. I must tell his story or get out of his way to let him tell it. I only ask your forebearance; Ogden is not what folk think he is; as is very evident in this opening vignette. )) There are some qualities; some incorporate things That have a double life; life aptly made The type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light; evinced in solid and shade. -- Poe, EA; Silence A Sonnet, 1839 What shall we name him? Glanoia asked her husband. With deep introspection, Wonton rubbed his scruffy chin, contemplating his wifes question. Glanoia held their newborn son, still wet with birthing juices and shivering from the trauma of being foisted into the real world. She stroked his brow and cooed at him, marveling at the thing she and her husband had made. Testing the sharpness of his tiny tusks, she smiled in satisfaction; they were razor sharp and a good indication he would be a strong addition to their tribe. Glanoia still lay on the pallet as she had been set by the midwife, still sweating from the effort of childbirth, but gleaming with pride and love under the flickering light of a dozen torches. The interior of the birthing hut was warm and heady with the aroma of childbirth. For exactly fourteen hours she labored with him and now that he was there she couldnt care less about the numeric superstition; he was her son and he was beautiful. Eventually, she would face the tribal council about the preciseness of his birth (fourteen was the most unlucky number in a Trolls life), but until then she would ignore the sign and enjoy her graciously granted motherhood. Wonton watched his wife with their son while he flowed arcane ley through his flesh. They had decided that they would not name him until born to confound any geis that could be laid upon him; for one that has no name thereupon no magic may be wrought. Outside the birthing hut, a storm tarried, shedding lightning to the earth and wrenching thunder across the sky. Though the storm raged with gleaming resonance, there was only a steady rain and little wind. It was as though the fume itself knew what transpired within the birthing hut and measured its fury for respect of those proceedings. Talk amongst the village rumored the baby within birthed under a curse; never in the history of the tribe had a baby been born under such a sign; a moonless night in the wintering season, the fourteenth day under a squall that had rolled in from the sea, letting up only in the hour of the birth. Trolls in the village made signs and hexes, cut flesh and let blood for protection; evil spirits or otherwise, little room remained for power of that sort, however veiled its source. Inside the birthing hut were three persons; even four were found therein. Wonton, Glanoia, and their son were about the business of delivery but the fourth, a most sinister fourth, floated in a torchs flame, observing the new family with a malicious mouth and malignant mind. Diablo hid in the flame, watching the proceedings and already beginning to interleave the Burning Legions profane magic into the babys heart. For a moment the baby became aware of Diablo, though concealed from mortal eyes by the flickering torch. When their eyes met, Diablo spoke into the babys mind, over and over like an echo that never died; it whispered the leash that would keep the baby a minion of the Burning Legion and subject to its sway. In a moment of euphoric bliss, Diablo whispered the leash aloud; sqrt(-4). A small smile crept to Wontons lips as a moment of cleverness suddenly prevailed. Looking around to ensure their relative privacy, he leaned forward and whispered his suggestion into his wifes ear. She smiled in response and whispered in return, Really? You would name our son after the progenitor of your line? You honor him, and through him my family, with such a name. Wonton nodded, None in our line have held that name and it's time one did. Glanoia took her husbands hand in one of hers as he placed his other on the tykes forehead. She arranged him in her lap so he was supported by her legs and placed her hand over his heart. Chanting the naming ritual together, they named their son. A small glow surrounded him for a moment, the world acknowledging its new citizen. Diablo memorized the babys given name; the Legion would be pleased. Wonton lifted his hand to his wifes brow and wiped her sweat from it. I am the luckiest Troll to ever have lived. Glanoia smiled, blushing deeply from his attentions; though his wife and still his lover, she was always a schoolgirl under his gaze. Changing the subject lest she light up the hut with her blush, she asked quietly, And what name shall we give for the world to know him by? Her husband paused again thoughtfully, musing over a name removed enough from his given one that there would be no association. At that moment, his son made a noise akin to a gurgling cough, raising his hands and cooing in his own baby talk. Both husband and wife heard the sounds and gasped with astonishment. Did you hear that? she asked her husband. I did but I dont believe Their son interrupted his father by making the same noise again. The noise sounded like a word to his parents. Smiling at each other, they agreed with their eyes. The midwife and tribe shaman reentered the birthing hut. As the midwife rushed to help Glanoia and shoo Wonton from her bedside, the shaman gruffed, So. Does the whelp have a name? Grinning the grin only a proud father can grin, Wonton nodded at the shaman, Indeed; he has a name. Preparing his totems and shamanistic spells of blessing, the witch doctor made ready to complete the birthing of their son. What name shall we know him by? Glancing once more to his wife, Wonton smiled again when she nodded, glowing under the flickering firelight, radiant in her new motherhood. Returning his attention to the shaman, Wonton spoke his sons public name.
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