Bio

Joscelin de Cassiel’s Dance of Death

Joscelin de Cassiel has been good at one thing nearly all his life, killing his enemy. Raised amongst a people who constantly at war, he was born to be a warrior. At a young age he had mastered the use of most weapons and defeated many more experienced warriors in battle. His body and weapon became one and a graceful dance of bloodshed led him through many a battle.

From the time he was 15 he had stood with men twice his age and battled orcs, goblins, giants, and human enemies. After six years of nearly constant battle he started to grow weary. Many of those who fought by his side assumed he would eventually be their captain and lead them to many more glorious victories, but this was not in Joscelin’s heart.

One evening he returned to the military camp after a particularly vicious battle. He could not even have told you who the enemy was that day, for they all seemed to blur together anymore. After going through the camp, seeing to the needs of the men who had returned with him, he returned to his own tent.

As he closed the flap to his tent he heard a song-like voice, “I saw you fight today. I would not have thought that watching a man kill could demonstrate such grace.”

He looked up to see a beautiful woman with fiery-red hair lounging upon his cot. She wore white vestments that were cut in such a way to reveal much of her lithe body. She glided off the side of the cot and came to her feet, each movement beautiful and seductive. She stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. “May I minister to your needs and heal your wounds?” she said in such a way that assumed there would be no resistance. Joscelin stared at her, stunned for just a moment. Then he shook his head, “um…. Of course.”

He had been met in his tent before. There were often women who would offer themselves to prominent warriors. Local girls who hoped that he could offer them something more than a peasant’s life if they pleased him. Aristocratic women who wanted to be close to something dangerous, if only this once. Captives who had been sent as a reward from a commanding officer for a job well done. But this woman was different. VERY different.

She led him to a cushion and had him sit down. Her command over him was such that she could have easily sat him upon the burning brazier and he would not have resisted. She sang quietly as her hands removed his armor first, then his under-garments. As her fingers passed over wounds that he had received that day, they were soothed and seemed to disappear in mere moments. Then her song seemed to enter his mind. His turmoil was quieted as she rubbed the muscles of his body. He was at peace for the first time in many, many years. He fell into a trance of joy.

Then suddenly the face of a man that he had run through that day came to him and his eyes snapped open. She knelt at his feet, working the tension out of his calves. “No!” he fell down before her and dropped his head to the floor. “I do not know by what magic you have healed me, but I am not worthy to be served by one such as yourself. You are good and beautiful and full of compassion. I am a man who destroys and kills.” And for the first time since he was a boy, he wept.

Then he felt he hands brush his hair as she pulled his head upon her lap. “Foolish man, who are you to say who is worthy and who is not?” she said with a hint of amusement her voice. “Sune chooses whom she will, and I am here to minister her grace to you.” She continued to sing to him, naked, broken, and clinging to her, until his tears were spent. Then she lifted him and washed him. The water scented like flowers in the meadow.

After she washed him she led him to his cot. She removed her vestments and lay with him. It was a night he would never forget. She brought him to culmination three times that night. The pleasure was beyond anything he had ever known before. He could see her hair reflect the brightly burning coals of the brazier and the way they looked intermingled with his own darker auburn hair. He wished the night would never end.

As she braided his hair with a piece of bright red silk she spoke to him in soothing tones. “You have a gift that is as beautiful as a dance and as terrible as a lightning storm,” she whispered. “Allow yourself to be guided to its use and you will find a peace that will stay with you forever. Sune calls for us to love each other and to do that which is beautiful. “Your beauty,” she said as her hand brushed his face,”can be used to protect those that would love.”
“Your gift,” as she stroked his arm,” can be used to save that which is beautiful.”

“Find your place to use it,” she whispered as she laid her head upon his chest. In moments he was in a deep, peaceful sleep such as he had not known in years.

When he awoke men were stirring in the camp. He realized he was alone and wondered how long he had slept. He reached back to find the red silk still braided in his auburn hair. Quickly he rose and dressed. He needed to find this priestess before she left. He needed to follow her and find his place.

He ran out of the tent to discover that the camp was starting to break down. Apparently the battle had ended. The enemy had quit the field. He asked around the camp to find where the clerics would be found and was told the clerics were at the western edge of the camp.

He rushed to the edge of the camp and found two tents both with the Sun Symbol of Pelor hanging above them both. “Where are the clerics of Sune?” he asked. They all looked confused for a moment and then amused that someone would seek a Suneite on a battlefield. “There are none here but followers of Pelor. Are you injured?”

“No,” he said, still looking around for any sign of the woman he had met the night before,” I was tended by a priestess of Sune last night. I wanted to ask her some questions.” At this the men laughed,” you must have had a dream young warrior. There are no women in this camp at all, let alone a priestess of Sune. Perhaps you should return home and find a nice woman to marry.” The cleric of Pelor patted his shoulder and winked and then returned to packing up his belongings.

Joscelin searched all over the camp, but no one had seen any women at all, especially not one who would meet the description of the woman in his tent. After scouring every inch of the camp he retuned to his own tent and packed his belongings.

He searched for weeks until he finally came to a Temple of Sune. He entered the place and spoke to a beautiful raven-haired woman who was the high-priestess of the temple. He told her his story and she counseled him. “I believe that you have been chosen by Sune to do something that is rare in our faith. Stay with us and let us teach you things that you can add to your talents and become the Warrior of Beauty that she has called you to be.”

He stayed, learning from the texts and the teachings of the clergy. As time progressed he was given many tasks by the church which were suited to his abilities. He grew to love them, but never so much as he loved the fiery-haired beauty that had entered his tent that night. Perhaps someday he would find her again in his duties to the church. But until then he would offer himself to love and protect those who loved.