[This article was originally presented in the October 31, 1996 Issue of the Dragon Fire Chronicles, entitled "Music" by Lorelei Nilsfulcentruali.]
Power and energy come in forms that are infinitely diverse, and all life is equipped to drain every last ounce,
vampirically, from the source, no matter how strange or nebulous its shape. For Hullian Bulloofern, a typical young
Secian, this was especially true of music. She knew that music held great power, even if she never rationalized it
that clearly.
She was a healer, as are many of her race, and she spent
many hours wandering the Spur, healing those who had been
hurt in the pursuit of money or gems. They too, were after
power, though they did not have Hullian's gift for finding it
in any scrap of melody. Whether it be from the giant, bellow-pumped
organ near the altar in the temple of Taath, or in the wind
through a copse of trees, Hullian could find the music, and
through it, her power. She would often rest from the
ardourous profession of bringing health to the injured by
sitting in the Bard's hall, listening raptly. The bards loved
her, for she would clap happily for any song, no matter how
incompetently it was produced. The apprentices cherished her
especially, for her enthusiastic approval lifted their
spirits when they grew discouraged with their progress, or
lack thereof.
Her patients noticed that she would hum to herself when
treating a particularly tough, or deep, wound. Her pleasant
contralto, by no means spectacular, but still harmonious,
never quite ceased in its' tuneless meandering. When she
seemed depressed, or especially tired, her friends would
often drag her to a performance, hoping to raise her spirits.
Most telling of all, the pendant she received from Taath was
in the shape of a flute.
Energy flowed into Hullian and out of her fingertips into
her patients. Within mere months, she had gained such favor
with her god that even the power to bring dead adventurers to
life was granted her. For weeks this kept her busy to, and
beyond, the point of exhaustion. This endless cycle of
healing and resurrection eventually calmed down as people
began to learn to be more safe. The calls gradually lessened,
and Hullian spent most of her time in the center of the Spur,
casting healing spells.
One day, however, a call came from deep within the Mansion
in the Noble district. It was a telepathic cry for help,
laden with grief and panic. Hullian would have ignored such a
call, for the house northwest of the Gilded Lion Inn was
filled with all manner of unclean creatures. But the one in
trouble was a dragon, and she had to go.
As she traveled quickly, her tiny wings carrying her as
fast as she could make them, she tried not to dwell on what
she might find there. Taath was the god of Death, but some
creatures defied death in evil and twisted ways, living past
their rightful time, feeding on the energy of the living to
exist. The concept of these creatures frightened Hullian, for
she used her energy to preserve life, not distort and destroy
it.
The house barely impinged on her consciousness as she
rushed up the stairs to where the fallen dragon lay. She
prayed to Taath loudly, and in moments, the noble beast was
alive once again. She cast several healing spells, and
concentrated, focusing on healing its' wounds. So engrossed
in her work, she didn't notice the spirit that had floated
out of the wall behind her. It raised its' claws, preparing
to strike to diminutive healer down.
The dragon leaped to its' feet with a roar, and began to
claw viscously at the attacker. Berserk with rage, it sought
only to protect the little one. Intent on saving both of
them, it didn't notice that Hullian was standing still,
listening carefully to the sounds of the drafty, creaking
house. As it clawed the undead life from the spirit, Hullian
slipped quietly through a hidden doorway.
She didn't see anything. Her lack of perception was no
longer based on fear. She was listening to a melody, and her
other senses had shut off, so that her ears might concentrate
fully. The song was one of power, and life, and she could not
resist its' call. It made her entire skin thrum with energy,
and she knew if she learned that song, power would be hers.
Eagerly, her feet flew across the floorboards, hurtling her
towards the source of the sound.
As she turned the corner, she realized her myopic devotion
to music had deceived her. The power of the song was
irresistible, but it was not hers to posses. It came from one
who used music to defy the fabric of the world. It came from
one who hated the music, even as she used it, not one who
loved it, as Hullian did. In her arrogance, she thought that
she was the only one who could draw power from music. Now she
would learn from that mistake. With a sigh of resignation,
full of regret, Hullian closed her eyes and waited for the
banshee to embrace her.