Alone You Breathe

You were never one for waiting; still I always thought you'd wait for me.
His pacing was making too much noise against the old faded floorboards of the inn room in the Willow Wood, and he looked over towards the bed where the red-haired Ayr’Dal lay still wrapped up in a gentle slumber. With as little noise as possible so as not to wake her, he finished dressing, donning his white cloth gi and armwraps before slowly slipping out of the door. He sighed at himself, remembering the promise he’d made to her the night before.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Willoe…” he’d said to her before sleep had taken them.

Here he was the next morning, his mind and heart caught in a maelstrom of feelings he had no possible way to contain. Rhana had been gone barely a day and a half now, and already he’d felt he had betrayed her.

He’d known Willoewind since the Age of Turmoil, and their meeting the previous night couldn’t have been pure chance. Tarack had felt more alone than he’d felt in many years, as had Willoewind. They felt they both had nobody else left to turn to in their lives, and had found each other to hold.

Why then, did Tarack not feel comforted?

As he walked through the Willow Wood he reflected on the events that had brought him to the point he was at. Rhana had left of her own will, even if he thought it a foolish choice of destination, he’d felt in some place of his mind that he had to let her realize that for herself. His memories of Freeport were far different than the reality of what the city had become, but it was still safer than most places on Norrath, especially with her brother there to look after her.

That’s what he told himself, regardless of whether he believed it or not.

And have you from your dreams awakened, and from where you are what do you see?
Days had passed, each one slipping into the next within a blur of primal energy; at first she had tried to maintain a semblance of what life had been before coming into the forest, but now she had almost forgotten her customary habits. Rather than awakening in the morning to a bath and breakfast, she would rise and pull on the tattering bits of leather rather than the newer white, green and gold clothing she once loved. Even the leather-bound tome with its strangely written Ayr’Dal entries was forgotten, left sitting on its makeshift table.

Running through the woods, sometimes hidden, sometimes visible, she would wander through Nektulos Forest. At first she had been searching for the places he had mentioned in his stories, but slowly such things slipped away from her as the darker energies of the wood overcame her.

Hopelessness and sorrow had left her vulnerable, her mind open to the energies within the forest; no longer caring, she let them drag her down into the dark world of primal Hatred. The exact focus of her Hatred was indistinct, shifting from the things she found within the forest to herself constantly.

In many ways, it felt good to release herself from everything, to allow something else control her rather than the emotions she had become so used to ruling her mind and spirit. As everything she knew slipped away into faded and indistinct memory, she almost felt a sort of peace within the discordant chaos of her mind.

Today, she follows the river Northward, to the great falls at the head of the rushing water. Slipping past voracious bleeders and mist grinnin alike, the Ayr’Dal woman makes her way up the mountainside, at first not taking in the world around her.

Slowly, she begins to break through the mists that cloud her mind, taking notice of her eerie surroundings. When she reaches the summit and the great pond there, she kneels beside the mostly still waters of the shore and takes a good look at herself.

Panicking, she raises a hand to her face, pushing back the wild tangles of bright red hair, an understanding of how far she has fallen in such a short time washing over her like rain…


Which of us is now in exile? Which in need of amnesty?
Thoughts still flew around in the dark elf’s mind, of his past and present, of what his future would hold now, or what they might have if he’d done things differently. His walk through the Elddar Grove, normally so serene and calming did nothing to bring his mind into any kind of ordered state.

He was so deep in thought that his mind barely recognized the sound of an object displacing the air behind him and as it struck him squarely in the back he stopped in his tracks, turning around to see a large stale bun of bread rolling slowly away from him. As he looked up down the path he’d been walking he saw a small clump of bushes rustling, hearing the laughter of likely some of the Feir’dal children he’d seen playing near the Willow Wood gate earlier.

Sighing to himself, he turned and continued up the path without a word, remembering how angry Rhana would become whenever anybody brought up the question of his right to be in this city. Often times, she would make fools of his harassers with songs and tales of their folly as they stood in the large crowds of people who would stop to watch the bardess play. She always made it very clear that he had just as much right – perhaps even more so – than any others did to be within the city walls.

He suddenly felt that any right he had to be here had left with her, perhaps his right to have even been allowed to leave Nektulos all those ages ago.

Are you now but an illusion, in my mind alone you breathe.
Mist gathers around the woman, white wisps brushing over her deeply tanned arms like a lover’s touch as the skies opening up to release their tears upon the forest.

Looking up from the waters, something indistinct but somehow familiar catches her attention. Stumbling, she slips into the water and begins to swim towards the other shore, near to the waterfall; she can almost see the white garb wrapping about his blue skin as he walks behind the veil of the falls. Calling his name, she swims quickly towards the falling water, but does not make it to him – the undertow of the river catches her, pulling her under the water and dragging her away.

When she looks back in desperation, she finds he was never there at all…


You believed in things that I will never know.
His hand pushed open the wooden door to Irontoe’s east, and as it did he felt the dull pain of the cut across his palm. He looked at it as he automatically made his way through the tables to the corner without lifting his head up, finding a seat alone.

As he continued to look down, ignoring some of the stares and insults from a couple of patrons who’d drunk more than their share, he traces the grain of the wooden table the same way she’d run her fingers over his palm while reading it. It was a power he knew he’d never understand, and he wonders what power her twin brother had to compliment it, as he’d never truly understood the bond twins have either. Many times she had made vague references to arcane abilities they had possessed when they were younger, before he had left their family and settled somewhere on the other side of the world.

She’d been trying to find a way to explain these things to him without violating any of the laws of her people before she left, knowing his curiosity all too well.

As he sat at the table, trying to imagine what Rhana was doing at that very moment, he found his thoughts drifting once again into the past.

You were out there drowning but it never showed, till inside a rain swept night you just let go.
Treading water off Coldwind point, the two of them embraced in the water after she’d playfully thrown them both off the rocky shore. He’d already let so much of his feelings out in her company, more than he’d ever told anyone in the last five hundred years of solitude that what came next was almost as much of a surprise to him as it was to her.

A swift movement later and he had pulled them both under the water, where they shared their first kiss beneath the sparkling calm tide, slowly rising to the surface. He remembered the way his vision blurred as the water slowly cleared from his eyes, and he saw her smiling face…in his mind’s eye, it slowly faded into the tear-misted eyes he saw her through as she stood in the doorway of her apartment carrying her life in Qeynos in a few bags and straps.

He remembered the door slowly closing behind her as she left for Freeport, and clicking shut with an echo through the empty apartment as though to punctuate the finality of it all.

You've thrown it all away, and now we'll never see the ending to the play; the grand design, the final line and what was meant to be.
The smooth blue orb hung suspended above the stone table, rainbow hues dancing beneath it as the orb turns slowly to revealed what he wishes to see. Glittering crystal, the scrying stone could reveal the past, affect the present or splinter apart into many shards that would become stones if given time.

Today, it shows to the dark artist his twin as she stalks through the forests of Nektulos like a feral beast. In anger, he had smashes the first orb into the wall with his hand, the shattering crystal and cutting deep lesions into his palm. Blood still flows out of his wounds as he readies another stone, his life essences slip from the orb’s smooth blue surface to pool in the rainbow below it.

“Damnit, ‘Ana, what have you done?” he whispers to the orb. “I had seen so much better for you before I left – how the hell did you destroy it!”

Circling the table, the man continues to watch the images within the orb, his bright emerald eyes glowing with emotion as he watches his sister being swept away by the river. Though worried for her, he knows the waters will not kill her, his mind still going over what he can feel within her distant mind.

“You were meant to be happy, damnit. Leaving…that’s what it was,” he mumbles, leaning against the table to stare into the orb again, “you’ve lost everything by leaving. That was my path, not yours…and if you’re not careful, I’ll never get to see you right this and make it to the end, you stupid schej…”

The images within the orb swirl, twisting again to another perspective, though he cannot tell if it is the present he sees now or the past. Before him, the Ayr`Dal sees the Teir`Dal monk, knowing that this is the man she had spoken of when she last visited. He was old, surprisingly so, but there was something within that still burned brightly with the light of life; beneath the haunted and pained exterior, the emotions of a young man swirled in the same chaotic dance the Ayr`Dal knew so well.

“Get up, old man,” he hissed, “go to her before it’s too late…”


In the dark a distant runner, now has disappeared into the night.
The activity in the tavern had reached it’s peak for the night as Tarack sits still in his lonely dark corner, ignoring the band of bards now playing for the patrons entertainment and the rowdy chatter that his mind filters out into a dull roar.

He stares before him, his eyes not seeing the tavern and it’s patrons, but watching blurred memories of the past rush by him. Something is not right in his heart, and he soon realizes there is more than that – something is not right at all, at this moment, and he suddenly feels that Rhana was somehow in danger.

At first he pushes the thoughts aside as nothing more than guilt induced delusions, forcing himself to try and relax. Minutes pass, and the nagging feeling that she was truly in trouble did not leave his being, and he finds himself furiously debating the validity of it.

“Get up, old man,” a rasping female voice growls behind him, “go to her before it’s too late…”

He turned to see an old woman staring him down, madness dancing in her eyes as though Vazaelle herself resides within the human’s form. As he watches, the madness clears from them as she again spoke the same words to him; within the space of a single heartbeat, Tarack stands, throwing a few coppers down onto the table before he quickly walks towards the door.

Once outside the establishment, the monk takes off at a full sprint towards the gates, running through the night. His form nearly fades into the black of night as he runs further from the gates of Qeynos, however his white clothing seems to catch the starlight and glow faintly.

It is not long before he reaches the other side of Antonica, and begins making his way towards the docks within the Thundering Steppes; there he could catch a boat to Nektulos Forest, and then make his way to Freeport.

Leaving us to stand and wonder, staring from this end into your life.
He stood at the edge of the deck, with his hands resting against the ship’s railing. Tarack’s mind strayed again to his past, like a haunting ghost, it filled his vision once more. This time, he vividly recalled the first time he had stared into Lairesira’s eyes; they had been angry, wild and frustrated with being brought to the pit, but through those emotions, he had seen something that caught his heart.

Unlike the other prisoners within his Lord’s fighting pit, he had found himself drawn to the Feir`Dal. Each day that passed, whether he watched her defiance of their master or their quiet nights of talking across the small hall to each other, Tarack had found himself falling endlessly in those bright emerald eyes.

Their dream had been to escape their captor, to build their home in the lush green lands she had always spoken of, that he would later see. Though they had never been able to hold each other, each had dreamed of the day when they would finally be able to rest within the other’s arms. There was a time where that had seemed so close, only to be snatched away from them.

Shaking his head, a tear falling down his cheek, the monk pushes the thoughts of his long dead first love away. They are replaced by thoughts of his most recent – and only second – love, who he only knows is now somewhere in Freeport.

He had not been able to see her at first, the mischievous Ayr`Dal rushing past him, only to be frightened by an illusory Ogre. She had slipped into the shadows, vanishing from their eyes, and he had given her little more than a musing thought, comparing her to the others within the city who reacted badly to those originally from Freeport.

But she had not gone, instead sneaking up onto the rock he sat upon, and whispering questions in his ears. Common as they were, the innocence in her voice had caught his attention, and he found himself willingly answering each as politely as he could.

When she had let the shadows fall away from her, revealing her petite form sitting beside him, he had felt something inside him stop as she looked up at him with her brilliant emerald eyes. She did not stay long, having errands to run, but he was able to find her later on at the ‘neutral’ tavern many travelers frequented – she had been singing, and dancing, very much a natural bard as all eyes watched her.

There had been plenty of commotion that night, but Tarack would often look up to find her staring at him; two days later, the light and laughter of those sparkling eyes lured him out of the tavern, the promise of adventure becoming more like another chance at life.

Hands tightening on the railing, he recalls the first time those eyes looked up at him with a pure and innocent love, her eyes seeming to radiate with the same lush energy as the trees around them while reflecting his own love back to him. For the second time in his life, he found himself never wanting to stop staring into emerald eyes filled with a passionate soul.

The beauty and emotion held in those eyes faded, slowly becoming misted over with tears the day she had left for Freeport. For the second time in his trip, the monk forces away the memories of his lover, his tears falling silently in the night.


And if this is all illusion, nothing more than pure delusion; clinging to a fading fantasy.
At first she thought that perhaps it was the forest’s way of telling her that she needed to forget him, to let go of that quickly vanishing dream they had lived together for a brief moment within the march of time. The hopelessness she had arrived with begins to sweep through her as the river carries her back towards base of the mountain, clouding her mind once more.

Like a shattering mirror, the woman realizes what has happened here, and that perhaps she was in fact wrong for wanting to remain within the forest. Mind racing, she thinks of the possibilities of where she could go from here, each one filled with only the disadvantages of location.

But she knows she has to leave the forest, before it destroyed the little she had left…

Like Icarus who heeds the calling of a sun but now is falling as the feathers of his life fall free.
Pulling herself from the waters downstream, the woman looks up into the trees, wondering if it was going to rain the rest of the evening. It was dark, but as she thinks over the past few wild days, she realizes that she’d never actually seen the sun shining here.

The hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise, and she feels as if she is being watched; she turns to look towards where the sensation is coming from when the bushes in the other direction explode with shadows. A flock of dark birds burst from within the brush, their feathers falling over her with the leaves from the trees above.

Frightened, she turns towards her camp and beings to sprint…

Can you see?
None of them were breathing, that is until the dark half elf had taken off in one of the other directions. Before she was out of sight, they began tracking her once more, slipping through the shadows of both tree and bush as they followed her.

Always careful to hide their secrets, many scrolls and treasures had been placed into a strongbox and sealed before they had dumped it into the roiling waters beneath the falls. When they had found the woman making her way up the mountain, the Thexian scouts found it wise to follow her – when she began swimming towards their precious secrets, they found it wise to end her life if the river did not.

Motioning to each other as they slipped through the woods, the scouts hunt their prey with surreal silence, so focused they are on their prey they no longer need words to communicate. One might liken them to a pack of wolves…if any ever noticed their presence before it was too late…


Tomorrow and after, you tell me what am I to do.
Holding the railing tightly, blue knuckles whitening from the intensity of his hold upon the smooth wood, he stood like a second figurehead to the large ship. Looking out over the nighttime waves, his eyes stare out upon the past again as the ship makes its way towards Nektulos Forest.

Though his body is on the ship, his soul is again within the arena – on that fateful day so long ago. He is kneeling, cradling the body of Lairesira e’Viresse Karythar against him, while looking deep into her loving emerald eyes as the light left them. Ghosts of sorrow drifted through him, followed by the phantoms of Hate that had engulfed his soul when she died.

It was an eternity that he knelt upon the floor of the arena, staring into the dying eyes of his lover, mind clouding with emotions as he blamed himself for her death – she had died for their love, and he’d realized it was something he should have never allowed himself to give into. Perhaps she would have lived if he had resisted the pull of his heart.

Shaking his head, he forces his mind to turn away from the past, to concentrate on the future and his goal this night.

Again he finds himself within the arena, but as he looks down into his arms, it is not Lairesira’s body he sees – instead he sees Rhana, those brilliant emerald eyes again staring up at him with love as the light of life slowly leaves them. Terror grips his soul, fearing what lay ahead in Freeport; he cannot forget the image, praying to Tunare that it is only a warning, and not the reality of what was to come.

I stand here believing that in the dark there is a clue.
Frantically, the young Ayr’Dal woman quickly gathers her belongings into the packs that carried them there. The eerie feeling of being watched does not leave her, and with frightened eyes, she looks about the area of her camp while tossing things into her bags.

Dark movements catch her attention, and for a moment she believes she has seen a Teir`Dal just outside the small shack she had made. This spurs her movements on, and soon the contents of the hovel are back within their carriers and she slings them onto her back.

Taking a deep breath, she bursts from the shack, running at a full sprint across the island as the skeletal remains of an ancient behemoth streak past her vision. Though she does not hear them, she can feel a number of beings behind her, and perhaps one or two beside her, beyond the trees on the shore. Swimming quickly through the waters, she crosses to the other side of the river and begins to run towards the beach path.

With the chase initiated, her stalkers no longer hide amid the trees, and pursue their prey in the open, weapons drawn and ready to strike…


Perhaps inside this midnight sky, perhaps tomorrow's newborn eyes, or could it be, we'll never know – and after all this was the show.
The sprawling treetops fill the orb, mists from the rain almost breaking through the crystal and filling the room. It was almost peaceful in Nektulos when it rained during the night, that is, it would be if it were not for the grand chase that was taking place.

He watches them stalk her, and now through the eyes of their leader, he watches them hunt her. They would catch her, easily, in minutes if they did not wish to frighten her; nothing in the skies would save her, nothing within the forest would pursue them, as predators knew when to avoid other predators.

“Damnit, ‘Ana…”

Mists cross the orb, and reveal the dark elf standing on the deck of a ship, his hands holding tightly to the railing beneath them. Curious, the man watches as the Teir`Dal stares out over the sea, knowing all to well that his eyes are not witnessing the beauty of the dark waters.

“What are you remembering, elf?” he asks the orb, staring intensely at the man. “I can see the sorrow upon your soul, a dark stain upon your brilliant light; have you learned from your mistakes, old man, or will you miss the opportunity you thought you lost?”

His hope renewed, the Ayr`Dal twin watches the events unfold within the scrying stone, waiting to see if the ends have justified the means…


What am I to do - Gotta get back, gotta get back, gotta get back…
Adrenaline flows through her veins, powering her sprint and causing her to pull ahead of her hunters – she didn’t want to die here, alone, without being able to see him again; she had to make it out of this forest alive.

The forest had become familiar to her over the past few days, and now she felt the primal essences of the woods take on a different tone. Desperation course through her, and she found her footsteps becoming uneven as she sped up, knowing the path to the docks lay only a few brief minutes ahead…


Standing on a dream isn't what it seems
When a living being faces death, their thoughts turn to the past – they have a perspective on their life that is only possible when they believe it is ending. Regardless of situation, these thoughts will rush over an individual even if only for a brief instance.

She was no different.

She remembers the initial days she had spent with him, from the time they left the tavern through the days up to their terrifying revelation. Instead of panicking, and finding only the dark conclusion, she should have instead focused on the light that would have been; perhaps if they had both remained calm and gentle, they would not be where they were now.

It was not that he was wrong for her, or that she was wrong for him…it was that they had both been so unfamiliar with what they were feeling, they had both made bad choices…

Could we then reclaim a dream refused?
His journey half over, his mind begins to wonder about the future once more, what will happen when he finds Rhana and brings her home to Qeynos. Recalling the dreams he and Lairesira had shared so long ago, he slowly realizes that Rhana had wanted the same simple things – a house that was a home, filled with love, a peaceful life spent in the presence of the man she adored with all of her heart, knowing he shared her desires, her love and her dreams.

All of that had been broken apart when they realized how short a time they may have together in this world, his age becoming more apparent to him than it ever had before. From her perspective, she would do what she believed to be the right thing when the time came for him to move on to the afterlife; from his, it was the worse thing she could do, and it was his fault that it would come to pass.

When he had returned the first time, she had promised him that she would not be foolish, that she would continue on after he left Norrath. Tarack had wanted to believe her, desperately wanted to allow things to return to the course they had been upon before their sorrowful discovery, but he found that he could not stop thinking that he would have her blood on his hands.

Now, after all that had been, and all he knew was yet to come, could he allow himself to finally give in to the life being offered to him? Could he allow himself to let go of his past, and live the way he’d always known Lairesira would have wanted him to?

The ocean holds no answer for him this night, it’s waters remaining calm, broken only by the ship that carried him back to her.

Knowing what we know could we let it go?
Though she feels herself tiring, the Ayr’Dal drives herself on, her feet as swift as her thoughts. Her mind turns things over so many times as she sprints for the path to the beach, but it all comes down to one conclusion, no matter what other things might have influenced their lives.

She didn’t want to be away from him, and his sudden absence so soon after his return had gotten deep under her skin. In her frustration, she had actually believed that perhaps if she were far away from him, and from the home they had made together, she might actually have been able to let go of her feelings for him and move on.

No, while she had fallen into the lure of the forest, he had been the one thing she continued to love. It had, in fact, been foolish to leave him at all.

And she now sees where it has gotten her…

Realizing that all the years are used.
Land looms in the distance, growing ever larger as the ship sails towards its destination. Still standing upon the deck, his hands grasping the rail as though his very life depends upon holding on to them, Tarack slowly realizes exactly what his life has been.

He wonders how many times he had allowed someone who might have looked at him with those same brilliant eyes slip past him, refusing to give himself over to love again; he questions what treasures he may have missed, what moments of wonder he could have experienced if he had not been so lost in the past.

Memories of his time with both Lairesira and Rhana swirl through his mind, at first each fighting for dominance only to blend together, as if they were just one experience in his life. He had found everything he had lost when Lairesira had died in Rhana, when she had offered him life once more; as he thought of the Ayr`Dal, he wondered exactly what else he would loose if he let her slip away from him, if she became just like Lairesira had – just a memory.

He remembers lying with her in his arms, holding her and watching her sleep after they’d shown each other how much they truly loved one another, afraid he might miss something if he fell asleep then. He remembers that he had been afraid that when the morning came, he would find everything had been a dream, and that he would be right back where he had been when he believed she had just passed him by.

Looking back over his life, over the opportunities he had missed, he wonders if he will, in fact, continue to waste his life even until its end.


I am the way, I am the light.
It was always dark within Nektulos, and today is no different.

Standing at the top of the walkway that leads from the ship to the docks at Port Naythox, the monk takes several slow and deep breaths. There is a primal Hate within the forest, an essence fused to the soul of the woods by the Teir`Dal and their creator so many eons ago; despite having long ago believing he had escaped the Hatred that defined his race, Tarack finds himself fighting to remain in control of his emotions.

One slow step at a time, the monk descends into the darkness of Nektulos Forest. He reminds himself that those who had wronged Lairesira and so many others no longer haunted these woods, and there was nothing here for him to Hate as the woods whispered there was.

Calm and focused, he begins to jog across the beach towards the narrow pathway that would lead to the road to Freeport, his thoughts grasping tightly to his goal of bringing Rhana home.

I am the dark inside the night.
Surrounding their target, the scouts bring their circle closer.

To their delight, she first runs towards one group before backtracking into another, only to turn and run into yet more until they have her within a tight circle. They leer at her, playfully slashing and stabbing at the woman with their weapons as they press even closer upon her.

Frightened, the woman pulls her own blades, her voice beginning to rise up against them in powerful song. Her keening lamentation pierces the minds of her attackers, and though it causes them pain, it also succeeds in bringing their Hatred to a breaking point.

Blade after blade lashes out at the young woman, and she desperately blocks and parries as many of them as she possibly can, however she is now tired from her flight and fear…

I hear your hopes, I feel your dreams.
Several of the Teir`Dal were either dead or wounded now, but there were still more to cross their blades with hers. Her songs waning, her strength leaving her as she spun away from each blade, the young woman finds herself faltering and receiving several deep cuts along her arms from the enemy blades.

Another Dark Elf falls, and in desperation she sprints over his body in an attempt to escape the Thexians. She knows that the path to the beach lies just around the next corner, if she can only make it that far she might stand a better chance of living through this hunt.

The opening to the pass comes into view, and a hand grasps her shoulder, pulling her to a stop against his chest. She feels something against the back of her head, feels the deadening within her body and the warmth of blood on the back of her neck as she slowly falls to the ground.

In the dark, she believes she again sees his white clothing against his blue skin as he runs towards them…he is her thought even at the end…

And in the dark I hear your screams…
“TARACK!”



The Thexian lets the petite body of the Ayr’Dal drop to the ground as he pulls back his arm, readjusting the sword he holds. Turning it downward above her neck, the dark elf does not see the man in blinding white clothing beyond her; stepping to stand over her fallen form, the Thexian grasps both hands upon the hilt and pulls up slightly before slamming the tip of the sword down as hard as he can.

Sharp and deadly, the point is never reached, as two pale blue hands catch the Thexians wrists, twisting them upwards and sideways while pulling him away from the fallen girl. As they snap beneath the powerful hands, the dark elf screams in pain while his companions halt a few feet away within the tree line. Without hesitation, the Teir`Dal monk turns the sword back towards the owner and forces the Thexian to run himself through.

His actions are fluid, his mind centered upon the goal of keeping her alive, his resolved steeled as he turns to look at the men within the tree line. While he may come to great harm today, he would be damned if he let them kill her; preparing himself for the next attack, his white gi sparkles with the flickering lights of the forest, though its purity is marred by a small slash of deep red from the first man to die this day.

The remaining dark elves charge forward, their blades and flails spinning with deadly intent. While most of them head directly to the monk, two brake away and move towards the fallen form on the ground. Ignoring the charging attackers, the Teir`Dal dressed in white rushes towards one of the men heading towards the unconscious woman, dodging the few blades or flails that manage to match his sudden speed.

With a hopping step, the monk lashes his right leg out, turning his whole body into the kick as it connects with the first man’s chest. Before the man even has time to fall backwards, the Teir`Dal brawler begins to strike him with each fist rapidly before brining a powerful blow down upon his skull. A sickening crack ensures all know that the man is dead, more blood staining his white clothing as he turns back to search for the other attacker.

Those who pursue him stand between them, and five faces leer in an attempt to hide their sudden fear. Beyond them, the final attacker stands above the Ayr`Dal’s body, turning her over as he pulls the packs from her shoulders; as the nearest Thexian moves to strike, Tarack watches the man begin to tear Rhana’s clothing from her body and caress her still form. Deep within his soul, a spark ignites, the burning Hatred of the Teir`Dal beginning to take form within his heart as he watches the man touch the woman he loves.

A sword sweeps down towards his shoulder, intent on slicing into the bare skin between his gi and his armwraps. The strike is cut short as Tarack slips sideways and kneels, catching the flat of the blade between his hands, its tip barely an inch away from his face before he twists it sideways and out of the Thexian’s hands. Tossing the blade aside as he rises, the monk brings a swift and sharp punch into the man’s chin before his other hand connects with the dark elf’s jaw and shatters it. Collapsing in pain, the man curls over his own body, his last view that of his own lap before the monk channels some of his dark emotions, bringing his elbow down onto the man’s spine, breaking it.

Something to his right catches his attention, and rolling sideways along the ground saves the monk from being crushed by the head of a flail, its sharp spikes striking the ground and tearing up the soil as its owner pulls the weapon upward for a second swing. Using his moment from the roll, Tarack stands and turns quickly towards the flail wielder. Almost sensing the second man coming up behind him, the monk charges forward to coax a strike from his visible assailant; startled, the man swings as the monk moves sideways and pulls his companion forward. With a sickening thud, the flail head connects with the other Thexian’s neck, the crack that follows again making it clear to their companions that another of them will not walk away from this fight alive.

Glancing over his shoulder, the monk sees that the final assailant has finally cut the fallen woman’s leggings from her body, moving her roughly as he reaches for his own trousers, unaware of the carnage and death of his fellows just a few feet away. Within him, the burning flares brightly, his Hatred boiling over and taking hold of his mind; vision blurs red, and his movements take on a more deadly intent. Before he can react physically, the three remaining Thexians charge forward, two swords and a flail streaking through the air towards him.

Dropping to the ground, he sweeps his leg out as he turns, catching one of the swordsmen by the ankle. The man falls to the ground and his two companions move to bring their weapons down upon the crouching Teir`Dal; still turning, Tarack drops onto his back and rolls towards their fallen companion. The weapons connect with the ground, and the men stumble forward slightly as they raise them back up for another attack. As the monk rolls over the downed man, his hand finds the dropped sword, grasping it tightly in a familiar motion he thought he would never use again.

This time as the monk stands, he brings his heel down hard into the throat of the Thexian, crushing the man’s windpipe. Choking in terror, the swordsman is forgotten as the other two attackers approach the Teir`Dal – eyes darting between his attackers and the man beyond them, he watches the vile dog look over at the fight with shock at the results thus far.

The flail barer is the first to step forward, swinging his spiked weapon down towards the monk’s side. Dull pain flairs in his muscles as the head of the flail connects with his bare side, reflexively the monk drops sideways and moves with the blow, pulling away from the weapon before it can break his ribs. The pain cuts through the mist of Hatred, and for a moment the monk is able to refocus his mind on the situation. As the next swing begins it’s arch, Tarack raises the sword upwards and to the side as though to throw it at the attacker; instead, he allows the man to charge him, dodging the flail as he brings the sword down only to curve the blade upward once more – through the man’s neck. Cutting flesh and bone with its force, the man’s head separates from his body and tumbles along the ground towards the final attacker.

His once white clothing is now mostly deep red and black, slicked against his body with the blood of the fallen Thexians. A single streak of pure white wraps across the neckline of his gi, fading up from the bright red stains; his Hatred made visible, the shattering of his inner calm and tranquility marred by this single moment of pure Hate.

Looking into the dead eyes of his companion, the last man quickly reties his trousers and frantically searches for his weapon, one hand dropping to rest upon the fallen woman’s hip. The hilt of his short sword sticks out from beneath his comrade’s head, covered with slick blood of a friend. For a long moment, the Thexian can only stare in disgust and anguish at the scene before him as he is unable to touch the blood of his companion for some time. Beneath the Thexian, the Ayr’Dal stirs, looking up in fear at the man crouched between her legs; with a startled noise, she crawls backwards away from the man, rolling over to kneel before her packs – panicked, she looks for her weapons among them.

The remaining swordsman watches the monk, his eyes following the long sword as the man completes the turn. He notes that the once white clothing is stained with blood, fading from white to near black in many places, but it seems that the Teir`Dal is oblivious to the gore as he lifts his eyes to look up at his next opponent. Dropping the sword, the Thexian turns to run in fear despite the dishonour and shame it shall bring him – he is spared humiliation this day, his life coming to a swift close; the monk pulls back his arm, throwing the sword towards the man’s back, impaling with a true strike to the heart.

A breath passes before he turns to look back at the final Thexian, the scene before him all to familiar.

Crouching, sword in hand as she pulled it from the bag…

…the man lifting his sword from the gore of his fallen companion as he walks towards her…

…running at full speed towards them…

…the world slowing as he struggles to inhale, shouting with all the breath in his lungs for her to look out…

…”RHANA!”…

…brilliant emerald eyes looking over towards him, rather than over her shoulder…

…his world shattering, the last vestiges of calm and tranquility washed over by darker emotions – the instinctual Hate of a dark elf, the despair of loosing her again – covered by the single emotion he felt for her since laying eyes upon her…

…the sword driving downward in perfect vertical line…

…her scream as the blade bit deep into her shoulder…

…but not deep enough…


With a flurry of emotion, Tarack arrives at the last Thexian, his hands reaching out and grappling the other Teir`Dal. Surprised, the man lets go of the short sword, stumbling backward with the monk as Rhana’s body falls forward. It takes little effort to twist the man’s torso while keeping his legs motionless; the crunch of breaking bone and snap of a severing spine overpower the echoes of her dying scream. Falling against the ground, the monk pushes the dead weight off his body and rushes to his lover’s side.

Lifting her body as he carefully pulls the sword from her back, the Teir`Dal kneels gently to cradle her body against his own. Her eyes remain closed, body limp within his arms, and with tears streaking down his cheeks; the monk slips a hand against her back, covering the wound there as her calls forth his life essence, begging Tunare that it be enough to save her.

She gives a stuttering cough, followed by a strong tremble through her entire body, her emerald eyes finally opening wide too look into his own deep blue eyes. Tears roll gently down his cheeks, falling through the space between them to splash against her face before he sighs deeply and pulls her tightly to his chest. Dazed, shivering and naked, she barely can lift her hand to rest against his shoulder as she whispers to him.

Her hand, covered with her own blood, rests against the remaining white streak, slowly turning it red.

“You…you came for me…” she breathes, “…it wasn’t a dream…”

Voice taken away by emotion, Tarack found he could only nod as he held her against him, feeling the tangles of her hair against his cheek as he did. Gently, he lowers her to the ground, turning her sideways to keep the wound from touching it. While she watches, he gathers up her belongings, throwing the packs over his body once they are all repacked.

Slowly, he unfolds her beautiful white embroidered robe, untying the cords as he walks back towards her. Gently, he lifts her up while wrapping the soft fabric about her battered body, folding the cloth over her without tying the cords once more; he pulls her into his arms, holding her body against his as she leans her head against his shoulder, the emerald eyes he could never get enough of closing slowly.

The journey back to Qeynos would be long, and he would pray to Tunare for her life the entire way…home.


[OOC: The bolded text in the first entry is from the song Alone You Breathe by Savatage (originally the band was called Avatar). Some lines that were repeated often were removed in formatting.

This story was written by both Tarack and I, though the way we posted it does not reflect who wrote what. It's taken us a few days, but we wanted it to be as complete and as flowing as possible despite having two authors.

And Tarack deserves a reward for putting up with my writing tendencies - especially with the story song format.]