Drown

Old tales speak of a lady who lives in the lake. They say she appears beneath brilliant moonlight, picking at a crooked silver lyre and serending the shoreline with a harmonious ballad. Beauty glows in her every detail: lustrous hair which pours down her back like a waterfall cascades down a mountainside, emerald green eyes that cast an enchanting gaze, and a stunning smile that could bring even gods to their knees. To gaze upon her and hear her song is to fall in love, or so the story goes. Yet she never leaves the water. For this is not a tale of a virtuous spirit who inspires heroes and counsels the righteous. It is a tragic legend of untamed desire and unfaltering vengeance.

In days gone by, when Gods were many and monsters few, a young bard played at court for her lords and ladies. Her music warmed the hearts of countless Towerborn. On the streets, laymen and labourers would gather by windows to hear her symphonies, and the guards sent to disperse them would often join the crowd, equally entranced by her song. Within the keeps and towers where the young bard played, servants would forget their duties and fall under her musical spell. Their masters scarcely punished this indolence - they were just as enthralled. Wherever she played, only praise found its way to her ears.

Some people, however, can never see beauty go unsullied. In our tale, that unsavoury honour goes to a Towerborn nobleman who was anything but noble. Legend whispers that this particular man, if one can even call him a man, already had a certain reputation. Many aristocrats consider the word "no" part of a foreign tongue which they do not speak, but this deplorable beast seemed to deny its very existence. We must be grateful he never demanded the sun for, if he had, we would never have day. When his despicable tastes fell to the sweet maiden who strung the lyre, his covetous nature could not help but yearn for her hand. At once, he arranged an unfortunate end for his current wife, of whom he had grown quite weary after several long weeks, so that he may instead be wed to the charming belle.

From that moment, the bard's fate was sealed. She had to say yes. Nobody said no to this noxious animal. He had gotten far with only the persuasive power of the consequences for denying his desires. As such, they say the world fell silent when she declined his proposal.

In a state of shock, the contemptible monster left in silence. Yet he took the rejection as well as ice takes to fire. A sick plot was hatched in his twisted mind. The fair bard travelled north soon, leaving Myrengol to delight a council of nobles elsewhere. Unfortunately, she would never arrive. Her carriage was accosted on the Riverroad by the Towerborn and his entourage and the driver was commanded to stop. With ravenous fervour, he clambered aboard and seized the bard by her wrist. He laid his intentions bare, commanding her to marry him or never sing again. As he uttered this most detestable ultimatum, he produced a small dagger from beneath his garments and held it to her throat. Although some would surrender to his vile threats, the brave bard would not. Furiously, she struck him upon the head with her lyre and fled out the opposite door.

Moonlight glistened on Lake Orenna as the musician stumbled from the carriage. Its silver waters the only route not blocked by the villain's immoral retinue who at once began to close in like a pack of dogs. Clutching her beloved instrument close, she ran towards the shoreline. She would not be captured and forced to love such an awful thing as him. Heavy footsteps approached, accompanied by a chorus of commands to stop. The bard had no choice. Boldly, she waded into the frigid water and began to swim. In her panicked mind, there was no thought given to surviving the lake, only surviving the creature that chased her.

She was not the only one to plunge into Lake Orenna that night. Incensed by his quarry's escape, the hunter pursued. Through the moonlit waters, the two swam long and hard, but eventually the bard was caught. With a crazed look in his eyes, he snatched her by the neck and pushed her face below the surface. She struggled and kicked to try and break free but it was no use - his years of avarice had given him a vice-like grip. After a few seconds of drowning, he pulled her up and demanded she be his wife. Gallantly, she refused yet again. The story goes that this torture continued through the night, with the detestable scoundrel's wicked posse watching on idly by the water's edge. As daylight broke, the exhausted woman refused once more, before the cruel wretch held her under for the final time. She drowned surrounded by the sun's golden rays. Scorned and enraged, he staggered ashore, demanding that nobody must know of his crime.

The bard's driver too was slain, and four local farmers were framed and hanged for murder. It seemed that his grievous sin would go unpunished. That was until curious whispers began to spread of a woman in the lake who sang like an angel. An angler claimed she had delighted his ears with a whimsical tune and had asked for shelter within his shack. Others came forth to support the fisherman's story, alleging that they too had seen a gorgeous belle playing a lyre beside his home. Unnerved by the bard's apparent reappearence, the nobleman rushed to the location of these sightings. He must silence her before the truth was revealed.

He had fallen for her trap. In the dead of night, he arrived by the lake's edge in search of the angler's hut, only to hear a familiar song. Enchanting words filled his ears and beguiled his senses. As he turned, he saw her, as beautiful as ever, floating on the water. Sheepishly, as one might be when seeing their victim return from the dead, he produced a dagger. She could never expose his sins. He waded into the lake. Several strides stood between the killer and the bard when retribution reared its head. The blade fell from his hand and he stood transfixed. Her music had always been enthralling but this was an entirely new feeling. He felt his body lurch forward, deeper into the lake. It was no longer his to control.

A desperate scream left his mouth until he involuntarily thrust his own hand into his throat. Gagging and spluttering, his legs marched on. Before long, the condemned villain stood before the bard with only his head and shoulders above the cool waters. Pathetically, he pleaded for mercy, like so many others had pleaded to him. She would extend the same clemency to him that he had shown to her. His own hands grabbed his head and pushed his face beneath the surface. Just as air drew short, he was allowed to burst into the air once more. This respite was brief. As he had done to her, she would do to him. Hours passed of this most deserved punishment until the sun began to rise. It was time for him to drown. The hand that he once so desperately desired now gripped his hair as it plunged him underwater for a final time.

The legends say that he was not the only one she drowned. One by one, his wicked minions were lured to Lake Orenna and drowned beneath pale moonlight. In the wake of these executions, the Lady of Lake Orenna became somewhat of a folk hero to all who had been preyed upon by the cruel and voracious. But she was not an agent of justice. Her hatred and lust for revenge ran impossibly deep. She would not be sated until every last drop of the reprehensible Towerborn's blood dissipated in her lake. Next she came for his children. Then for their children, and then for theirs. The lustful creature had fathered many, and so she would never catch them all. But she would never stop trying.

So to any folk who near Lake Orenna, heed these words. If you hear a lady's song, flee. Even the most righteous of us may have an ignoble ancestor and invoke her senseless wrath.