Wherein a Gypsy Finds Lost Familia...
It had been many, many months since Rhana had been to the docks in Qeynos Harbor. She didn’t pay much attention as she rushed through the streets and onto the dock, turned and slipped into the Mermaid’s Lure. After arranging to get her job as an entertainer and cook back with the Captain, she slipped back out, stopping cold in her tracks.
Oh I come from a land, from a faraway place, where the caravan camels roam…
Shimmering on the edge of the dock, before the merchant booths, were several flying carpets; she’d only seen one before, in the Tower of the Three, but something was different about these. Slowly, the Ayr`dal realized that these were how everyone had been getting to Maj`dul.
The curious half elf girl made her way to the carpets, peering at them for a moment before she heard a small gasp behind her, towards the merchants’ booths. Rhana turned slowly and found herself staring at an odd human woman dressed in a familiar style.
This woman was dark skinned, tanned by the sun just as Rhana was, though admittedly, Rhana was much darker, despite her months in stasis. Her hair was dark, pulled up into a short tail at the crown of her head, her eyes dark and mysterious; but it wasn’t entirely her racial traits that made Rhana’s eyes go wide.
It was her clothing.
The woman wore sandals that were like gold, long laces crossing several times as they made their way to her knees. Her pants were cream coloured, bound with gold and deep purple decorative ropes at the knees while the waist – which hung low on her hips – was actually a decorated bikini-style accent with ornate crystal bead and bell-bead trims.
The woman wore a purple and maroon shirt that was cut high, right along her breasts, and it tied between them, with the sides and back cut elaborately to make it more like a bra with sleeves; it was adorned with brocade on the lower half of the cups, the same crystals and bell-beads along the bottom and neckline. Sleeves attached to the embroidered straps, slit down the backs and bound with the same decorative ropes her pants were.
A matching necklace adorned her neck, sitting right over her collar bones, brass and gold and jeweled with amber bits and sandstone rings, tiny bell-beads on the bottom of several of the ornate decorations. She wore delicate chain mail bracelets that covered her hand in a v down to a ring on her middle finger as well.
Staring at her just as strangely, the woman was surprised to see someone such as Rhana – it was not her curious white hair, and not her deeply tanned skin and bright emerald eyes that made this woman’s eyes just as wide.
It too was her clothing.
Rhana was clad in a similar brilliant red blouse that tied between her breasts, cut along just below them but without the extra sides and back cut-outs like the other woman’s. It was all brocade, but a sheerer type, with silvered bell-beads along the bottom and neckline. Her sleeves were more like a poet shirt’s that had slits in their sides, and only reached three-fourths of the way down her arm, the bottoms tied off with blue and green and silver ropes.
Her pants were simple black suede, the waistline low on her hips like the other woman’s pants were. Instead of the ornate pant, Rhana wore red, blue and purple chiffon scarves that each had little silver coins lining their edges. Unlike the woman, her feet were bare and slightly dirty from her wanderings in the city and Antonica.
Silver bell-beaded strands adorned her ankles and wrists and neck, each having a slight chain mail-like band across the top. Two-inch thick supple leather straps formed cuffs and bands on her upper arms, wrists, thighs and ankles with thin silver and gold stitching on them.
Where they cut off your ear, if they don’t like your face…
“How is it a kaçmak rahibe journeys within Qeynos without our knowledge,” the woman finally asked, her voice heavy with a familiar accent Rhana had not heard since the skies had fallen. “It is forbidden for any but the Safars to do so, punishable by the Death within the Valley of Sands.”
Rhana’s eyes went wider at the words she used, remembering the second language of her familia. Shaking her head, the girl nearly shouted, “Wai’! I was born in tha Thunderin’ Steppes! I ain’t naw kaçmak Rom! Eh, not exac’ly – we be cousin ta ‘em…”
The other woman canted her head slightly, dark eyes narrowing at the girl in front of her. Those dark eyes wandered over Rhana’s hair, knowing the bright white was purely unnatural, but catching the thin strands of fire ruby red in it. She turned her head slightly, lowering her eyes to look into the girl’s, finding them to be bright emerald.
“Kasko san, jel'enedra,” the Safar finally asked.
The girl nearly exploded, speaking quickly in her own language, “Mandi chev de les Sedrin de le Dest!”
After a moment of almost deafening silence, the Safar sucked in her breath, “We…we thought all were dead in the splitting of the world, jel’enedra. Your kumpania had just left the deserts of Ro when it began.”
Rhana nodded, having read everything in her Great-Aunt’s book, and replied, “Aye, many a Sedrin died tha’ day, missus, but some o’ las She' enedra de las Deram ile Rarti made it ta D’Lere, than ta tha plains o’ Karana.”
It's barbaric, but hey, it's home.
“I am Safar Tebrik Maj`dulýn,” the Safar almost whispered.
Whispering her reply, Rhana leaned forward, “Mi nom se Seve`ana de le Sedrin de le Dest.”
The Safar peered at her, raising an eyebrow as she stared at the girl before her. After a moment, she shook her head and answered, “Yok yanýtý, jel’enedra, sana se She’endra de las Deram ile Rarti – it is said, in Maj`dul, that one day we shall see le Dest again, but it shall be the Parno Chovexani who brings back their glory.”
Rhana puzzled at her answer, finding it true but not true. She recalled the words of Marjo, that any and all legend and prophecy must be read on the slant, but she didn’t believe that she’d ever be a part of one. The girl gave the woman a half hearted smile, and a nod that clearly spoke of how little she agreed or understood.
“But jel’enedra, I must warn you, Maj`dul is much fiercer than Qeynos or even Freeport,” the Safar continued in a hushed tone, looking Rhana over. “And because you look like a kaçmak rahibe, they will think you one from the outposts or from T’narev. Though you are not, they will kill you by binding you naked to the sands until you shrivel and die for violating our laws. No one will be there to speak for you, to keep you from the Death within the Valley of Sands…if you were to go now.”
“If I were to go now?” the girl asked, blinking slightly. “An’ – an’ wha’ if I were ta wait…?”
But what for…?
The Safar smiled, the warmth touching her eyes as well, “Then I shall take you to the Sinking Sands and keep you from such an ending. My word is worth more than gold in the lands of my home.”
When the wind's from the east, and the suns from the west…
Rhana sat quietly behind the Safar, leaning against the wall as she waited for their time to leave Qeynos. Her ears twitched often while listening to the tales she heard the various adventurers speaking of as the prepared to leave and returned from the mysterious deserts of Ro.
“It is the most unnatural thing, I say,” an Erudite extemporized, glyphs glowing with his words, “the winds should never be able to come from the East and yet during one of those great sand storms, they do. I’m sure there is a…”
His voice faded away as he and his companions stepped up onto a carpet and were whisked away by the winds. The Safar merely smiled brightly to each outrageous notion, and puzzled theory the travelers made, as if she knew the secrets they wished to know but knew they would not ask her.
The adventurers talked about all kinds of strange things, from mysterious Courts to how odd the sand giants were to the mystical Djinn and the infamous Twin Dragons. One man even spoke of how he nearly went blind when the sun suddenly rose from the opposite direction it did in Qeynos; his companions scoffed and muttered something about how it was merely the rays reflecting off the sands.
And the sand in the glass is right…
A few short hours later, another woman dressed in similar garb arrived, the only difference between this Safar and Tebrik were their facial structure – where Tebrik was almost feline in features, and the next Safar had a rounder face with larger cheeks and curves.
Rhana looked up, watching the two of them for a moment before she spied an hourglass by Tebrik’s feet. The sand had run out, and as the first Safar moved towards Rhana, the second turned the glass over and took her place.
“It is time, jel’enedra,” Tebrik said quietly, her hand extending to help Rhana stand. The two clasp one another at the wrists, and soon the girl was standing. Looking her over again, the Safar noted how thin and gaunt she was, questioning how Qeynos treated the gypsies.
Hand entwined with Rhana’s, Tebrik lead the girl over to the shimmering carpets, and motioned to one of them before asking, “Ever been on one before?”
When Rhana shook her head, the Safar nodded and helped her sit down on the strange tapestry before standing behind her. It took a few minutes for the woman to test and find the right balance, but Rhana was distracted by the pattern of the weave.
Come on down, stop on by, hop a carpet and fly…
Suddenly, the carpet leapt forward and Rhana felt herself fall back against the Safar’s legs. Tebrik had expected it, her feet firmly planted on the tapestry, bracing the girl as they pair sailed through the air.
After a few moments, Rhana regained her own balance, and carefully leaned forward to hold the front edge of the carpet. Her guide adjusted her own balance, smiling slightly as the curious girl began laughing as she stared down at the shimmering waters beneath them.
To another Maj`Dulean night!
On the horizon, two great teal pillars rose up, glittering in the setting sun as if they were maid of pale jade stones. As the carpet neared them, Rhana saw that not only were they pillars, they were gracefully curving jade plated snakes. The design made it appear as if they were gliding up out of the waters and sand, elegant in their exotic setting.
The carpet weaved between the two several times before gliding between them and dropping low over what appeared to be a dock like area built into the pale jade snakes’ backs. Slowly, it made its way over to a cluster of small, brightly coloured, open air tents before settling down again.
With wide eyes and bright smile, Rhana turned to look about her; her smile fell as several men dressed in great ballooning pants with bare chests and sashes loomed over her, glaring out from beneath their turbans.
Tebrik spoke rapidly, stepping from the carpet as she did. The conversation flew quickly about Rhana’s head, and she could barely follow anything – the tongue of the desert had been a second language in her familia, and it had been years since she’d heard it spoken. The small bit she caught unsettled her, as it was the same odd words the Safar had spoken to her on the dock.
Finally, the largest of the men spoke, “Parno Chovexani, Kasko san.”
“Mandi chev de les Sedrin de le Dest,” Rhana replied immediately, “ile chev de las She' enedra de las Deram ile Rarti, derhal.”
The man nodded, and motioned to another carpet. Tebrik stood upon it, and Rhana slowly lowered herself on the carpet, kneeling and holding to the front edge. Once the girl’s back was to her, Tebrik smiled softly.
Maj`Dulean nights, like Maj`Dulean days…
Though the sun had set beneath the horizon, it was still incredibly hot in the desert. It was not the first time Rhana had been in arid lands before, however the Commonlands of D’Lere were not quite this hot, and at night it was much more tolerable. The rains of the Overlord supposedly cooled the arid wasteland off further, but she had not been able to venture there quite yet.
Her ears twitched, listening to the fading sounds of daytime in the desert to those of the night. The shift was subtle, almost unintelligible first, but slowly she heard the sound of the scarab upon the hills, and the subtle shift in the winds. She watched the sands shifting beneath them begin to settle, as the moon broke out over the horizon.
More often than not, are hotter than hot…
Somehow, the city was hotter than the dunes had been.
For such a small citadel, there were a great number of people. The great doors to the city opened once their carpet landed before them, and Rhana could see all kinds of people milling about. Some were from the mainland, clad in the typical clothing she saw around Qeynos, sticking out like sore thumbs amid the Maj`Dulean natives.
The natives…
Many wore great lengths of cloth about their heads in ornate turbans, some wore simple kerchiefs. The men all seemed to favor either ballooning pantaloons and vests or half shirts, or elaborate robes of bright colours and stitches. The women wore pants and skirts that sat low upon their hips, ballooning and loose in styles while they wore either bright coloured half shirts, tied-blouses or the bra-like blouse like Tebrik and Rhana wore. Many had scarves about their hips, with coins or bells along the edges, and all had some sort of antique looking jewelry upon them unless they were poor beggars.
In a lot of good ways!
As Tebrik lead her through the lower market, Rhana watched the men from the mainland oogle the pretty women in revealing clothing, begging for veil dances. The woman exchanged knowing smirks with each other and even gave them to Rhana and the Safar when the passed.
Eventually, one of the more portly men with an even more portly coin purse was lead off by a ravishing woman, who smirked and winked to the wide eyed Rhana as they passed.
She knew the man would die.
Maj`Dulean nights, ‘neath Maj`Dulean moons…
They ascended a set of sandstone stairs that had been carved out of the Cliffside, making their way through the thinning crowd. At the top of the stairs was the Skygazer Plateau, where philosophers and scholars and arcanists met to discuss life, love and the universe beneath brightly coloured open-air tents or the skies themselves.
Upon the plateau was an elaborate tower, and as Tebrik led her to the doors, Rhana tilted her head back to gawk at its design. Somehow, this felt more like home than Qeynos did, and she felt like she’d never leave the exotic city again.
The pair entered the Tower of the Moon, and the three Consulates turned to stare at them. Again, Tebrik quickly offered the same explanation she had on the docks, and again Rhana was made to reply to the same question. The three Consulates nodded, and lofted their eyes and hands to the platform above them.
The Safar led her up the gilded staircase that slightly spiraled as it led up to the platform. When they arrived at the platform, Rhana again stopped cold, staring in wonder at the sight before her eyes.
Within the center of the platform was a great contraption, with great bladed arms that swung about slowly. Though enthralled by the strange mechanical beauty, her mind slowly realized that she was looking at a representation of the sun, Norrath and its two moons – the scarred Luclin and the hale Drinal – and two or three other celestial entities she did not know.
The walls were giant bookcases, quite full of books and scrolls. Several desks and workbenches lined the area against them, and two men stood in the room. Tebrik spoke rapidly in hushed tones to a man she called Steward, and Rhana realized it was a title and not a name. The man looked at her, then pointed over to the other man who suddenly held a large tome.
“Take that, çaylak de Rahibea Her Iki Yüksüz Olarak ile Siyaha Yakýn,” the Steward said, “as it belongs to you and yours.”
With that, the Steward turned from them, and made his way up the next gilded staircase before he vanished. Confused, Rhana took the book and looked down at the cover, realizing it had the same symbols her Great-Aunt Marjo’s had, but on the binding rather than just drawn in the book itself. She bowed to the man several times, clutching the book to her chest before turning to smile brightly at Tebrik.
Tebrik was gone.
A fool off his guard could fall and fall hard out there on the dunes…
Rhana left the tower, and spent sometime gazing out up on the city from the lofty heights of the plateau. After some time – when she thought she’d memorized enough of the visible city, she set out to explore.
No sooner than she stepped out to wander then a shout was cried before her, and a Dervish man attacked and killed a barrashar that had doubted the man’s abilities with women.
The barrashar’s body fell at Rhana’s feet and her eyes opened wide with fear. The Dervish sheathed his blade, grabbing her roughly and forcing a savage kiss upon her lips before dropping her to the ground beside the body. Her eyes even wider, she looked up with shock, and the Dervish man nodded, thinking he had amazed her with his tongue, and walked away.
Rhana looked down at the body and whispered, “All this fer a damn mirror.”
[OOC: That's right, I just EQ filked Disney. The bold italic text are modified lyrics from the ORIGINAL, UN-POLITICALLY CORRECT version of Arabian Nights from the movie Aladdin. And now it'll be stuck in your heads...]
Wherein a Gypsy Finds a Second Home...and Her Mirror...
After she’d regained her composure, she wandered back down to the market place, watching the merchants haggle with the mainlanders, realizing quickly that many of them were swindling the visitors. These made her smirk slightly, recalling the times when she and her familia had done the same to some poor gaje that happened to catch their eye.
She found the snake charmer, watching him use his Ney to draw the serpents from their baskets and then dance about. The book securely strapped to her back, Rhana stepped lightly amid the snakes, dancing in time with the charmer’s music. Several shadow snakes rose up, created by her own charms, to dance with their light asp partners. The charmer smiled, amused by the girl’s tricks, and the coin that it garnered from the passing barrashar.
Not direly in need of coin, she left all of it for the charmer and wandered back up to the plateau. She again studied the city quickly before making her way across the bridge to the gigantic building that a skygazer had called the Sultan’s Palace.
The building itself was huge, stretching back for quite a ways, and it took Rhana a few minutes to walk from the side near the bridge to the other. As she neared the other side, she noticed a bunch of men gambling in the corner of the massive yard, screaming and shouting and threatening each other. She decided to not call attention to herself, hugging the wall of the palace with her side and slipping past them to the stairs.
She studied the beautiful sandstone and teal patterns, wandering down them slowly, hugging the wall so that the barrashar could rush past her and the patrols could move freely. The Bladesmen smiled at the small girl, though their leader chided them for such kindness while on duty – even if she was a schej!
Finding a tower full of the Bladesmen, she stopped to listen to their chatter. The men spoke of something called the Saracen, and how it had won something; they talked of the games and knowing sure bets, as all men do when they gamble. But one said something that stuck out in Rhana’s mind.
“Anyone find out who’s been leading the Tears assassins yet?” one blathered, “That guy must be rich by now!”
Quietly, the girl made her way to the next set of stairs and downward to another courtyard with a smaller building in its center. This was the Court of Truth, and she was greeted kindly by several of their patrons. She watched the pit fighters as they practiced, recalling when the men would battle for a bone or stick to see whom could claim it without breaking it.
As she wandered through the vast Court of Truth and the tower it, she again heard talk of this Saracen, only this time a Truth guard claimed someone – a female perhaps – named Ishara shall end his streak.
The Court of Truth gave way to the Court of Blades, and Rhana wandered quietly through the militaristic place. She passed a great crowd of the Saracen’s fans, and slipped down the tunnel to the Gilded Twilight Terrace.
Again she paused, gaping as she looked about her. There were brightly coloured open-air tents with fortune tellers who shouted out the things her familia once had to attract their customers. She watched one woman take the hand of a barrashar, turning it over to stare at his palm.
Rhana felt her own hands lift, as if holding someone’s hand the same way, only she didn’t have to turn it over…whoever it was, they always handed it to her palm up so she could see it.
Shaking her head, she made her way into the open courtyard, blinking slightly as she saw it filled with very affluent men and women. The men were overly dressed, looking much like she imagined the Sultan would, except in different materials. The women were all dressed like Tebrik had been, only their fabrics were quite a bit more lavish than the Safar’s had been.
After leaving the Gilded Twilight, she found a pen full of strange beasts. A passing citizen explained that they were camels, and that the odd humps on their back stored water so they could make long treks through the desert without need to stop for sometime. The citizen bragged that these camels could make it clear to the oasis and beyond before needing water, however Rhana had no idea where or what the oasis was.
The camels, of course, belonged to the Court of Coin. The building they were attached to was the central building for the Court, and Rhana hurried past as the guards leered at her. Everyone around her seemed to be…greedy, wishing to have more coin or take advantage of the next barrashar they saw.
She wandered their market, looking over the wares with a slight frown, adjusting the book on her back so that it was more comfortable. There was another snake charmer there, but she did not dance with him and his snakes as she had the first – he seemed quite a bit more full of himself than the first had, and the girl cursed him that his snakes would turn on him before she left.
In the market there was a large building with an arched terrace at the top of the stairway. The girl made her way into the archway to avoid a Sha’ir that was flying past, still unnerved by the patrolmen of the skies despite not having done anything wrong. It was then she noticed how quiet the area had gotten, how many of the people paused to stare before moving on.
She wished that she could cover the book on her back – she was sure they had seen it as she walked up the stairs. For a moment, she wondered how much they knew about it and what they wanted; then she wandered if it was because she looked like them, except for her startling white hair.
Finally, she turned and entered the building behind her, gasping as she saw its finery after making her way through the entryway.
A large fountain was placed in the center of the room, and many finely clothed Maj`Duleans wandered about the area. The entire room was bright white, as if they had polished the sandstone until it glittered. Walls were plated with gold and brass, imprinted with designs while the floor was tiled brightly.
Rhana realized this was the real tradesmen’s’ market, and curled up on a set of pillows near the fountain and watched them with great interest. She knew she could find a mirror here that would suit her purposes, but she wasn’t quite sure how to approach any of the merchants, as they all seemed to be powerful and affluent.
There was a touch on her shoulder, and Rhana turned to see a man clad in an elaborate green and chartreuse robe. He gently pulled his hood down and looked at her with dark eyes, his elaborate goatee sparkling with fine diamond dust.
“What is it you seek, çaylak,” he asked gently, smiling to her.
After a few seconds, Rhana replied quietly, “Ayna, sahip, ayna.”
With a broader smile, the man placed his hand on her shoulders, just above the book, and led her to a pair of haggling merchants. Raising his hand, he paused their banter, and spoke rapidly to them before they all looked down at the girl with him. The man in the elaborate robe motioned to the pair as he looked at her, prompting her to ask them.
“Ayna, sahips,” she murmured, turning the book’s harness so they could see it as well, “with these symbols on either side, gönlünü etmek.”
The pair looked at each other and immediately began arguing over which would make the mirror. After a moment, they both turned and nearly shouted at her, “Fiyat!”
“Beþ altýn, sahips,” she whispered.
One merchant turned in disgust, as if her meager price was far to low for his skills; the other – a woman – smiled faintly and nodded, holding her hand out for the coin. Rhana looked up at the man in the green robe, unused to handing over her coin before being given her wares. He nodded gently, and the girl positioned the book on her back before digging in a hip pouch for the coin and handing it over to the merchant.
“Bir saat,” she said, moving behind her to sketch the symbols.
Before she left, she called out, “Destroy that when you finish, gönlünü etmek!”
The man in the green robe had already moved on, and she was left standing alone. She left the traders’ palace, and wandered through the streets for a short time. After going up a stair out of the market, she found a few homes for rent, and on whimsy she decided to look at them.
They were small, two bedroom affairs, much like the ones in the inns in Qeynos, however their white walls with dark teal trim made them seem a little larger. She decided she’d waste her hour by looking at all the houses and apartments she could find in the city, though it would be a good deal of time before she could afford them.
For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about her own apartment, and she realized that anywhere else she went wouldn’t hold the same comforting and happy feeling she had when she was there.
Soon the time came, and Rhana made her way back to the palace of merchants to meet the mirror-maker. When she arrived, she found her standing with a large man clad in the vestments she recalled Tarack being drawn in. In the corner of the room, the merchant lifted the cloth away from the full-length mirror to show her his work, the symbols engraved into its sides flawlessly.
Rhana looked around to be sure no one else saw the mirror and nodded slightly; sensing her discomfort, the merchant quickly clothed it again, binding it shut with pretty ropes she could use to hang it later.
“He will carry this to Qeynos for you, çaylak,” she said, motioning to the monk beside her. As if it were a command, the man lifted the mirror up and silently moved two steps behind Rhana, just slightly to her left. He carried it as if it were a holy relic, which gave her comfort since to her kind, it was.
“Teþekkür,” she said, bowing to the merchant before turning away.
Quietly, the merchant replied, “Yok, teþekkür çaylak.”
Unsettled by the response, the girl left the gilded palace of merchants, and she walked through the streets almost unaware of her companion that carried her precious relic. Her head down, lost in thought, she didn’t even noticed the natives moving aside for them as if she too were one of their upper-caste.
“All this, fer a mirror…”
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks and Six Days Since the Sky Fell
I am in a bit of a tight spot with my new studies.
The charms and curses and chicanery of my Great-Aunt Marjo pass for the spells of an enchanter, and more specifically, the illusionist as far as the stuffy-stuffs within the Tower of the Three. So far, everythings had at least one near identical counterpart in the Book.
But they've given me a spell that has no nearly identical counterpart. They call it the Personae Split ritual, which is meant to splinter the psyche - the thinking mind - and create a weak copy of the caster; apparently once the ritual is complete, one can split their thinking mind at will.
I've read over the ritual and it don't feel right at all. The entire thing makes my skin crawl and just doesn't sound right, though were I not already studying Great-Aunt Marjo's book, I'd not understand why - I know now that it because it is a perversion to our ways.
Long ago, back before even the Age of Turmoil, several of our women ancestors travelled alone without men. Only a few were Chovexani, Drabengri or Rashai, most were Kuriying Juvel that protected them all. They were kind to those they met, though they kept their secrets close to their own and away from the eyes of gaje. As they travelled, they offered solitude and protection to women in need, whether it was because their fathers disowned or harmed them or their husbands did the same or they were just spinster pariah's within their towns. Sometimes they even took in girl babes who were unwanted and made them Rom, raising them as their own.
Their charges that were older were made didikai and puyuria, and kept away from the secret rituals and worships, though many were taught to honor the Great Mother, the dark sister Shadow, and the Trickster; they were known to the gaje after a time as Tunare, Luclin and Bristlebane though admittably the gaje could only see one or two aspect of each diety. Many of the didikai and puyuria did not know why the women worshipped as they did, but many respected their patron Gods.
Back then, all gypsies followed the Trickster, as he blessed the free spirited Rom, finding them to his liking. His name was praised by all at the fires of our vurdon abiav, each vagonu and verdon painted with his symbol on its front or back.
But Rom are not the fools we are mistaken for, and the gyspies of old knew it unwise to ignore the other Gods who blessed them. The Great Mother tended to the open lands they loved, and the women who cared for them while Shadow kept them safe from the eyes of those who would slay them for their freedom.
These ancestors saw the face of goodness and light of the Great Mother, but they also saw the fury and the dark of Her as well. They believed that this is where the Shadow came from, for though She was dark, She was not evil.
Though only taught to the women, it was believed that the Great Mother tried to cast Her dark fury from Herself into the great shadow created by Her light...and so Shadow was called forth.
Having failed to cast Her dark fury from Herself, the Great Mother hid such things within the darkness Shadow was, and it was their secret alone to share with Her daughters...the first gypsies were Dal, not human, wandering the world long before the Marr brought about their line.
Though born from Her, Shadow was called Sister, for the Gods and their lineages and titles are beyond what we know as mortals.
She taught the natsia of girl-children of the Great Mother that were our ancestors how to call their shadows forth from the dark world that mirrored our own, so that in the nighttime when men preferred to strike them, there would be twice as many women to battle.
The dark sisters were twins of the light sisters, and their minds were a harmonious one; though independant of one another, they shared all and moved together as if they were still girl and shadow. Many dark sisters were identical in thought to their light sisters, however they often are what the light sister keeps themselves from being but long to be.
This Personae Split ritual does call forth a dark sister, or in the unimaginable case - at least to our line - a dark brother, but the being is but a pale impersonation of what it should be. They are deprived their independant sentience, their voice taken from them unless their light twin deems it needed, and even then it is not the dark one's own. They cannot even move unless it is to protect or at the command of their light twin.
It is the last of the tolerence I have for the Concordium. I politely thanked them for the scant training they gave, though they shall always claim to have given more than what was actual, and took my leave of them. I shall not be returning to them for training again.
Great-Aunt Marjo cites that near the mid-point of the time when Norrath tore Herself, most of the sisters left from this great line died horribly, and come the day the sky fell, all the remaining lost their dark sisters. I distantly recall Great-Aunt Selna, though I'd always thought her Great-Aunt Marjo's mother, for she was so frail and old.
I realise now that she was the dark sister, faded by the time when Norrath tore Herself, and lost when the sky fell. Without her sister, Great-Aunt Marjo faded as well, becoming unable to have even vague coherent thought within days, and we buried her before arriving in Qeynos. Thinking on the years between when Great-Aunt Selna died and when her light sister Great-Aunt Marjo was laid within the earth, I understand better the burden she bore.
Had I known - had I been old enough to be truly taught by the time the skies fell, perhaps I would have released Great-Aunt Marjo long before her mortal coil failed her.
Now, long after when Norrath tore Herself apart and the dark sisters were taken away, I do not know if the ritual to call one forth will work. No mirrors exist that were fashioned and blessed by the Rashai, so I shall have to craft my own from Alder wood, or see if I can get my hands on a Mystical Mirror from Maj`dul and sand down any carvings on it and inscribe the appropriate symbols upon it.
But knowing what Great-Aunt Marjo knew, and remembering Great-Aunt Selna, I cannot cast the Personae Split ritual - I cannot do that to my dark sister.
[OOC Note: Would Rhana have written all this out in her journal? No, since the lineage and history is already known to her. That which is in the dark blue font is not actually within Rhana's journal - it is provided merely so the reader is not lost.]
The charms and curses and chicanery of my Great-Aunt Marjo pass for the spells of an enchanter, and more specifically, the illusionist as far as the stuffy-stuffs within the Tower of the Three. So far, everythings had at least one near identical counterpart in the Book.
But they've given me a spell that has no nearly identical counterpart. They call it the Personae Split ritual, which is meant to splinter the psyche - the thinking mind - and create a weak copy of the caster; apparently once the ritual is complete, one can split their thinking mind at will.
I've read over the ritual and it don't feel right at all. The entire thing makes my skin crawl and just doesn't sound right, though were I not already studying Great-Aunt Marjo's book, I'd not understand why - I know now that it because it is a perversion to our ways.
Long ago, back before even the Age of Turmoil, several of our women ancestors travelled alone without men. Only a few were Chovexani, Drabengri or Rashai, most were Kuriying Juvel that protected them all. They were kind to those they met, though they kept their secrets close to their own and away from the eyes of gaje. As they travelled, they offered solitude and protection to women in need, whether it was because their fathers disowned or harmed them or their husbands did the same or they were just spinster pariah's within their towns. Sometimes they even took in girl babes who were unwanted and made them Rom, raising them as their own.
Their charges that were older were made didikai and puyuria, and kept away from the secret rituals and worships, though many were taught to honor the Great Mother, the dark sister Shadow, and the Trickster; they were known to the gaje after a time as Tunare, Luclin and Bristlebane though admittably the gaje could only see one or two aspect of each diety. Many of the didikai and puyuria did not know why the women worshipped as they did, but many respected their patron Gods.
Back then, all gypsies followed the Trickster, as he blessed the free spirited Rom, finding them to his liking. His name was praised by all at the fires of our vurdon abiav, each vagonu and verdon painted with his symbol on its front or back.
But Rom are not the fools we are mistaken for, and the gyspies of old knew it unwise to ignore the other Gods who blessed them. The Great Mother tended to the open lands they loved, and the women who cared for them while Shadow kept them safe from the eyes of those who would slay them for their freedom.
These ancestors saw the face of goodness and light of the Great Mother, but they also saw the fury and the dark of Her as well. They believed that this is where the Shadow came from, for though She was dark, She was not evil.
Though only taught to the women, it was believed that the Great Mother tried to cast Her dark fury from Herself into the great shadow created by Her light...and so Shadow was called forth.
Having failed to cast Her dark fury from Herself, the Great Mother hid such things within the darkness Shadow was, and it was their secret alone to share with Her daughters...the first gypsies were Dal, not human, wandering the world long before the Marr brought about their line.
Though born from Her, Shadow was called Sister, for the Gods and their lineages and titles are beyond what we know as mortals.
She taught the natsia of girl-children of the Great Mother that were our ancestors how to call their shadows forth from the dark world that mirrored our own, so that in the nighttime when men preferred to strike them, there would be twice as many women to battle.
The dark sisters were twins of the light sisters, and their minds were a harmonious one; though independant of one another, they shared all and moved together as if they were still girl and shadow. Many dark sisters were identical in thought to their light sisters, however they often are what the light sister keeps themselves from being but long to be.
This Personae Split ritual does call forth a dark sister, or in the unimaginable case - at least to our line - a dark brother, but the being is but a pale impersonation of what it should be. They are deprived their independant sentience, their voice taken from them unless their light twin deems it needed, and even then it is not the dark one's own. They cannot even move unless it is to protect or at the command of their light twin.
It is the last of the tolerence I have for the Concordium. I politely thanked them for the scant training they gave, though they shall always claim to have given more than what was actual, and took my leave of them. I shall not be returning to them for training again.
Great-Aunt Marjo cites that near the mid-point of the time when Norrath tore Herself, most of the sisters left from this great line died horribly, and come the day the sky fell, all the remaining lost their dark sisters. I distantly recall Great-Aunt Selna, though I'd always thought her Great-Aunt Marjo's mother, for she was so frail and old.
I realise now that she was the dark sister, faded by the time when Norrath tore Herself, and lost when the sky fell. Without her sister, Great-Aunt Marjo faded as well, becoming unable to have even vague coherent thought within days, and we buried her before arriving in Qeynos. Thinking on the years between when Great-Aunt Selna died and when her light sister Great-Aunt Marjo was laid within the earth, I understand better the burden she bore.
Had I known - had I been old enough to be truly taught by the time the skies fell, perhaps I would have released Great-Aunt Marjo long before her mortal coil failed her.
Now, long after when Norrath tore Herself apart and the dark sisters were taken away, I do not know if the ritual to call one forth will work. No mirrors exist that were fashioned and blessed by the Rashai, so I shall have to craft my own from Alder wood, or see if I can get my hands on a Mystical Mirror from Maj`dul and sand down any carvings on it and inscribe the appropriate symbols upon it.
But knowing what Great-Aunt Marjo knew, and remembering Great-Aunt Selna, I cannot cast the Personae Split ritual - I cannot do that to my dark sister.
[OOC Note: Would Rhana have written all this out in her journal? No, since the lineage and history is already known to her. That which is in the dark blue font is not actually within Rhana's journal - it is provided merely so the reader is not lost.]
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks and Two Days Since the Sky Fell
Though I can play all of my instruments, I cannot call upon the power that once lay within their songs. Where once the strings of my sitars and tembalas were warm with magic, my flute tingling with power, my zils and spoons and riq tremble with the unknown there is nothing but horse hair and wood and and hide and metal.
As such, I've gone back to the studies of Great-Aunt Marjo's sacred book. I was actually surprised to find it with my things - I recall the Marhime taking it with him when he left, which is part of why he was made Marhime. The book teaches several different kinds of magic, but since Great-Aunt Marjo was a witch, it mostly contains the teachings of the Baro Chovexanis of old - much of the teachings pre-date the Age of Turmoil even.
The priestess caught me practicing one of the simple charms Great-Aunt Marjo wrote down, and insisted I study at the Concordium. Their way of magic doesn't feel right; its too rigid and constructed and feels more like the bonds of slavery than the enlightness of the mind.
Largely, I'm ignoring their spells, using the charms and curses that do the same things or similar from Great-Aunt Marjo's book. I study ahead in the paths they give me, since she has a vast line of each kind of charm and curse. They - the stuffy-stuffs at the Concordium - see me as some sort of quick learner, though they dislike the fact they cannot understand the language used to cast.
I don't think I shall study there long, though really I don't study there at all. When the priestesses release me to go home - and I get my home back, and my things from Vhargas if there are any left - I shall probably drop it entirely.
As such, I've gone back to the studies of Great-Aunt Marjo's sacred book. I was actually surprised to find it with my things - I recall the Marhime taking it with him when he left, which is part of why he was made Marhime. The book teaches several different kinds of magic, but since Great-Aunt Marjo was a witch, it mostly contains the teachings of the Baro Chovexanis of old - much of the teachings pre-date the Age of Turmoil even.
The priestess caught me practicing one of the simple charms Great-Aunt Marjo wrote down, and insisted I study at the Concordium. Their way of magic doesn't feel right; its too rigid and constructed and feels more like the bonds of slavery than the enlightness of the mind.
Largely, I'm ignoring their spells, using the charms and curses that do the same things or similar from Great-Aunt Marjo's book. I study ahead in the paths they give me, since she has a vast line of each kind of charm and curse. They - the stuffy-stuffs at the Concordium - see me as some sort of quick learner, though they dislike the fact they cannot understand the language used to cast.
I don't think I shall study there long, though really I don't study there at all. When the priestesses release me to go home - and I get my home back, and my things from Vhargas if there are any left - I shall probably drop it entirely.
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks Since the Sky Fell
I've read this book over almost some fifteen times, trying to remember everything written in it only to find that my mind draws a vast blank. Every little recorded incident is familiar as I read it, yet I am unable to recalll a damn thing about any of it.
Tis really quite frustrating.
What I do know is this - the last thing I recall about my life is that my brother had been cast out of our familia, and we were trying to make a living in Qeynos - mamma was dead and pappa was fading, especially after they made his only son Marhime; most of the responsibilities fell to me and Vhargas.
Vhargas was training hard as a fighter, I think he may have even been thinking about becoming a guard as work. I spent my time dancing and making music in taverns all over Qeynos, which paid me surprisingly well.
From there...its all foggy and then all I remember is the strange nightmares for eternity. Even now, awake, they seem to haunt me...each time I close my eyes, I see hints or flashes of things - I see someone dark beating me, hurting me...but I know it was someone I cared for. I feel like I must watch my back, that something is stalking me, something I cant see to fight until it is too late.
They tell me I've been asleep for over seven months, though my recollections are more like a year or two is missing. I don't understand what happened, but they tell me that one of their more established priestesses brought me to them.
I am bothered by the physical changes as well. The priests were not lying about how long I was unmoving, and where I was once lean and strong I am twig-thin and weak. I can't lift...what I were told my sais, though I never remember learning to use them...nor a sword, barely even a book and I can barely eat anything.
More disturbing to me is that I no longer have my beautiful red hair - most of it is now a startling bone white, only thin streaks of the bright red remaining behind. And it is so much longer than it has been for ages, since before we came to Qeynos. I can no longer twist it up and pin it against the back of my head, I have to braid it in a long braid.
This frightens me - the missing years, the nightmares, this life on these pages I don't know. What if all these people I once knew demand of me whatever it was I gave them in this life I don't remember? What if this Tarack still exists? What if he moved on, and my presence will be nothing more than painful and uncomfortable? What if he never moved on and would want the person I was back?
There are sketches of people in another book, sketches I drew, I know this because of the style they were done in. I keep staring at the ones of Tarack, because they unsettle me and instantly make the nightmares come for me...and I don't understand why.
I want to drink, to drowned out all of this, make it go away, but the only things I can drink are water and milk.
Oddly enough, I know how to make many drinks and foods, yet I don't remember learning how to do so...
...I need to get away from this.
Tis really quite frustrating.
What I do know is this - the last thing I recall about my life is that my brother had been cast out of our familia, and we were trying to make a living in Qeynos - mamma was dead and pappa was fading, especially after they made his only son Marhime; most of the responsibilities fell to me and Vhargas.
Vhargas was training hard as a fighter, I think he may have even been thinking about becoming a guard as work. I spent my time dancing and making music in taverns all over Qeynos, which paid me surprisingly well.
From there...its all foggy and then all I remember is the strange nightmares for eternity. Even now, awake, they seem to haunt me...each time I close my eyes, I see hints or flashes of things - I see someone dark beating me, hurting me...but I know it was someone I cared for. I feel like I must watch my back, that something is stalking me, something I cant see to fight until it is too late.
They tell me I've been asleep for over seven months, though my recollections are more like a year or two is missing. I don't understand what happened, but they tell me that one of their more established priestesses brought me to them.
I am bothered by the physical changes as well. The priests were not lying about how long I was unmoving, and where I was once lean and strong I am twig-thin and weak. I can't lift...what I were told my sais, though I never remember learning to use them...nor a sword, barely even a book and I can barely eat anything.
More disturbing to me is that I no longer have my beautiful red hair - most of it is now a startling bone white, only thin streaks of the bright red remaining behind. And it is so much longer than it has been for ages, since before we came to Qeynos. I can no longer twist it up and pin it against the back of my head, I have to braid it in a long braid.
This frightens me - the missing years, the nightmares, this life on these pages I don't know. What if all these people I once knew demand of me whatever it was I gave them in this life I don't remember? What if this Tarack still exists? What if he moved on, and my presence will be nothing more than painful and uncomfortable? What if he never moved on and would want the person I was back?
There are sketches of people in another book, sketches I drew, I know this because of the style they were done in. I keep staring at the ones of Tarack, because they unsettle me and instantly make the nightmares come for me...and I don't understand why.
I want to drink, to drowned out all of this, make it go away, but the only things I can drink are water and milk.
Oddly enough, I know how to make many drinks and foods, yet I don't remember learning how to do so...
...I need to get away from this.
Kidnapped!
The only sound that could be heard was the falling rain against the roof, the thousands of tears slipping away from the skies to kiss the earth below. Such a rhythm is always calming, but with such a torrent of thoughts, the young Ayr`Dal mage could not relax in the slightest.
He saw many things through his scrying stones - some of them were what he was looking for, others just revealed themselves to him; all contained some sort of message for him, some puzzle to solve or some new game to play.
After much thought, there were still too many inconsistency that left him wanting answers he knew she wouldn’t have; at this point he highly doubted that her lover would either. But unlike either of them, he could not ignore the more than obvious inconstancies that faced them.
Silently, the mage rose from the stone chair he’d been lounging in, the hem of his robes brushing against the ground as he walked over to the stone dais that contained his scrying orb. The rainbow was faint, as though the stone was resting, but as soon as the mage’s hand drifted into the light, it flared and grew bright once more. His expression less than amused, the redheaded man muttered a few words in a strange language and soon the orb began to call up images it had witnessed not too long ago.
With interest, the mage watches a Teir`Dal clad in the white vestments of the Ashen Order sprinting towards a pair of figures. The woman collapsed to the ground, and the leering dark elf savage prepared to slam his sword into her body, the monk reaching out to grasp those hands before driving the sword into its owners body; he watches the entire fight once more, confused by several things.
“How does one who is over six and a half centuries move as such,” he thought, “even if he has worked to keep his body in pristine condition, there are truly no signs of an age that great…”
Growling slightly, the mage lifts a hand and waves it once, the images vanishing from the orb. He’d found the first pieces of the puzzle, and now he must connect the dots before he would be able to find rest; not only for her sake but for his own, as no Ayr`Dal can resist their curiosity for long.
As the shadows of night began to stretch out across the land, the Nektropos Nightflier he kept stirred from it’s perch, gliding over to a second stand near the orb. His slender, aristocratic fingers reached out to caress the beast, and again the mage began to sort through his thoughts aloud – not that he ever expected an answer from his winged companion.
“Yes, his hair is pure white as an elder Teir’s can become, and I cannot argue that his body has been hardened and weathered by years of training and experience, Ikarys,” he mused, still gently caressing the bat, “and yet it lacks the failings of an elderly body. And there seemed to be a bit of the events of the world that he does not know, as if he missed them completely…”
Turning from the bat, he began to pace back and forth across the room, occasionally pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes.
“I am curious, Ikarys,” he sighed, his mind turning over several thoughts before speaking again, “I suppose I shall have to investigate this first hand, in both body and mind…”
With that, he walked to the front door, opening the heavy carved oak silently before stepping out into the rain swept night. Closing the door behind him, the mage uttered a few spells and hundreds of arcane runes flared over the doors and windows before expanding outward to encompass the house, vanishing slowly as the mage walked away.
The walk across the rain swept desert was not long when time was not a concern to the one making the journey. With each step, the mage wove an elaborate illusion, becoming just a little bit older as he walked towards the gates to Nektulos Forest; by the time he reached the iron bars, he appeared to be almost as ancient as the forest – gone was his youth and the very features that made him recognizable, hidden by heavily veined wrinkled skin and the hood of his dark maroon and black robe.
She’d been writing for quite some time, caught up in the song that had drifted into her mind a few hours ago; she was so involved with her work that she didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open.
“Oh, Tarack, glad you’re home, there’s a song…” her voice trailed off as she felt something hit the back of her head. Caught off guard, she fell to the floor, stunned.
Before I put this rope down, I proceed to tie you up.
Strong hands lifted her up by the back of her neck, slamming her into the wall violently. Black stars of pain burst before her eyes, coalescing into almost total darkness. She felt her body go limp from shock, felt herself crumple into a pile on the ground when she was dropped.
Hands, wrapped like…they were the same weave on the same pale blue skin…but how…
They tied her up, binding her arms against her sides and her legs together, but she couldn’t pull herself from the darkness enough to get a good look at them; they looked like Tarack’s, with the same brilliant white weaves of cloth on them, but he’d never be violent.
The world went black before the hands finished tying her up.
No one here is, fearful of this pain because they know…
The illusionist let the image of Tarack fall away from his body, nodding to the other four Teir`Dal that stood in the doorway. As one, they entered the room and began searching through its contents – taking several books and her journal; they left the rest of the room untouched.
Though she appeared to be unconscious, one of them lifted her, throwing her against the wall several more times. Her right side was deeply bruised now, but it wasn’t enough for the brigand; with a cruel sneer, he turned her around and repeated the brutal act again until her whole body was bruised.
“That was for my brother, whore,” he growled into her ear, despite how limp her body was.
A glare from the illusionist silenced him, and they knew they were overstaying their welcome in Qeynos.
With a nod, the rogue led them through the shadows and back outside the city.
Will you scream and suffer and lie to save your life?
Her whole body hurt, a numbing sensation of pain, as if she were one giant bruise. The sensations made her want to keep her eyes closed, the memories of what happened washing over her as her mind awoke.
Opening her eyes, she saw the small campfire first. Slowly, her eyes focused on the shape just beyond it, shock grasping her mind once more.
It was Tarack, sittings as he did whenever he meditated, except instead of the familiar and calming expression she knew from this stance she saw a cruel and Hateful sneer.
His eyes snapped open, and she felt a chill wash down her spine. They were cruel, and so dark with malice she wanted to cry. Looking into his eyes, it was clear to her what he intended to do.
Standing, he slowly walked around the fire to where she lay, his hands reaching down to pull her up. Lips twisting into an even darker smile, he lifted her up onto her feet. Pain exploded in her body, but before she could fall over, the first of his strikes landed against her, forcing her body upward slightly.
Reeling, another strike connected with her side, knocking the wind from her as she began to fall again. His hand was suddenly against her chest, holding her up as the other lashed out against her arm. Still grinning that sickening smile, he looked into her eyes as he swept her feet from beneath her, his hand slipping up to her neck and gripping tightly.
Clawing as best she could at his hands, staring terrified into his cold eyes, she began coughing and tried to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. He continued to use his free hand to pummel her.
No one here is, fearful of this anger deep inside.
They were deep inside Nektulos forest, and even the other wild dark elves had left them alone, watching from a distance as the bruiser continued to beat the half elf that had caused them such great losses.
She was terrified, and her fear only fed the Hatred they felt.
Love you to pass away, and I bleed more…
Bleed more…
The instinct to live kicked in and she reached for him, her nails digging into flesh as she tried to get a grip on him. His grasp on her throat was tight enough to keep her choking but loose enough to keep her from passing out – between the lack of air and the constant strikes from his free hand, there was little she could do to fight against him.
Bruises began to open from their pressures, blood spilling over his hand and once again staining the bright white wraps of his arm. The sight seemed to spur him on, and again he grinned at her, all light and warmth gone from the motion.
You want love forever and so you take away my freedom
Finally, he dropped her, and her battered body collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. The twisted grin still bright upon his face, the dark elf monk walks back to the fire and sits down to meditate once more – his face remains cruel and darkened, so unfamiliar and distant from what she knew of him.
Head swimming, she tried to imagine what she could have done to anger him like this. All she had been doing the last few weeks was redecorating their home, and experimenting with her cooking techniques with an occasional visit to the Thundering Steppes to stretch her muscles.
Unless…he knew about her first adventure back into the Steppes, though she didn’t know how he would have found out about that.
With eyelids fluttering, she gave into the darkness tugging on her mind…
I'm screaming why are you hurting me
She awoke to a burst of pain as his foot connected with her side, the sound of cracking bone echoing in her ears. He reached down and picked her up once more, hauling her by the back of the neck to a nearby tree; there he stood her upright, and tied her against the tree so that she would not fall again.
Looking up into his eyes, she could only see a burning hate reflected back at her. The quite calm, the silent caring and distant love had evaporated, leaving him only with the cold and harsh comfort of Hatred.
He began to strike her again, the first connecting with her shoulder and the second quickly following into her side. As the pain exploded and the bruises there opened up to release their blood and ease their pressure, she screamed and began to cry.
She couldn’t understand what had happened, why he was beating her with no remorse. Had the forest of Nektulos actually called up the Hate within his blood again, turning him back to the darkness he’d left so many years ago? What had she done to him to cause this?
I feel your hard knuckles, but I'm too scared to run.
Time and again, she felt his fists and palms slam into her body, sometimes realizing that he kicked her as well. She’d already picked out the rhythm of his strikes, and wondered why it was so out of synch with what she had witnessed of his fighting style.
Perhaps the anger and Hate had disrupted him so deeply that it had thrown off his natural rhythms as well. The chaotic sense of timing frightened her, but there was little she could do to escape now.
After what seemed like an eternity, the strikes stopped and she was left with the eerie silence of the forest and the faint ringing in her ears. She’d stopped being able to feel anything from the neck down quite some time ago, but she knew that most of her body was bruised, bleeding and broken.
Quit laughing, don't choke me, my body's going numb
His hand wrapped around her throat, slowly tightening its grip as he leered over her. As she began to choke, he chuckled once before covering her mouth with his own, further cutting off her air supply. The kiss was harsh, almost unfamiliar and alien to her, and for a moment she wondered if it was even Tarack at all.
Pulling away, the last thing she saw before the world went dark was his cruel blue eyes and sadistic smile.
Before I take this rope off the child I stole away…
Reaching out to untie the woman, the illusionist let his disguise fall away, revealing the ebon skinned dark elf he truly was. He was quite content with his work, smiling like a cat that ate the canary while it’s master was away.
He paused, feeling some flicker of unfamiliar magical energy coming towards him. The phantasmal energy struck him hard in the back, and he turned to see an ancient man in a dark robe standing just beyond the campfire. The mage carried a simple staff, but the power that radiated from him was far greater than the illusionist had ever felt within his own body.
Snarling, the illusionist launched his own attack at the other man, his eyes widening in terror as the energies splashed against a protective barrier like water against a stone.
It pierced me with the blade; I fear it's too late to be saved
The ancient mage smiled darkly, summoning forth a spectral blade of energy that cut through the air between them; the phantasmal dagger struck true into the dark elf’s chest, dispersing and wrapping its dark energies about the illusionist. Energy crackled along his blackened skin, swiftly searing his flesh from his bones without any effort.
Carefully, the old mage hobbled over to the tree and took out a small dagger, carefully cutting away the ropes. As the woman fell forward, he uttered a spell that lifted her from the ground and to his side. Having already dealt with the other wild Thexians, the old man began the slow journey towards Port Naythox. A shimmering portal opened before them, and without even looking up, the old man and the floating woman vanished into the gate.
[OOC: Lyrics are Kidnapped by Kramus, though they've been slimmed down to cut back on redundancy.]
He saw many things through his scrying stones - some of them were what he was looking for, others just revealed themselves to him; all contained some sort of message for him, some puzzle to solve or some new game to play.
After much thought, there were still too many inconsistency that left him wanting answers he knew she wouldn’t have; at this point he highly doubted that her lover would either. But unlike either of them, he could not ignore the more than obvious inconstancies that faced them.
Silently, the mage rose from the stone chair he’d been lounging in, the hem of his robes brushing against the ground as he walked over to the stone dais that contained his scrying orb. The rainbow was faint, as though the stone was resting, but as soon as the mage’s hand drifted into the light, it flared and grew bright once more. His expression less than amused, the redheaded man muttered a few words in a strange language and soon the orb began to call up images it had witnessed not too long ago.
With interest, the mage watches a Teir`Dal clad in the white vestments of the Ashen Order sprinting towards a pair of figures. The woman collapsed to the ground, and the leering dark elf savage prepared to slam his sword into her body, the monk reaching out to grasp those hands before driving the sword into its owners body; he watches the entire fight once more, confused by several things.
“How does one who is over six and a half centuries move as such,” he thought, “even if he has worked to keep his body in pristine condition, there are truly no signs of an age that great…”
Growling slightly, the mage lifts a hand and waves it once, the images vanishing from the orb. He’d found the first pieces of the puzzle, and now he must connect the dots before he would be able to find rest; not only for her sake but for his own, as no Ayr`Dal can resist their curiosity for long.
As the shadows of night began to stretch out across the land, the Nektropos Nightflier he kept stirred from it’s perch, gliding over to a second stand near the orb. His slender, aristocratic fingers reached out to caress the beast, and again the mage began to sort through his thoughts aloud – not that he ever expected an answer from his winged companion.
“Yes, his hair is pure white as an elder Teir’s can become, and I cannot argue that his body has been hardened and weathered by years of training and experience, Ikarys,” he mused, still gently caressing the bat, “and yet it lacks the failings of an elderly body. And there seemed to be a bit of the events of the world that he does not know, as if he missed them completely…”
Turning from the bat, he began to pace back and forth across the room, occasionally pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes.
“I am curious, Ikarys,” he sighed, his mind turning over several thoughts before speaking again, “I suppose I shall have to investigate this first hand, in both body and mind…”
With that, he walked to the front door, opening the heavy carved oak silently before stepping out into the rain swept night. Closing the door behind him, the mage uttered a few spells and hundreds of arcane runes flared over the doors and windows before expanding outward to encompass the house, vanishing slowly as the mage walked away.
The walk across the rain swept desert was not long when time was not a concern to the one making the journey. With each step, the mage wove an elaborate illusion, becoming just a little bit older as he walked towards the gates to Nektulos Forest; by the time he reached the iron bars, he appeared to be almost as ancient as the forest – gone was his youth and the very features that made him recognizable, hidden by heavily veined wrinkled skin and the hood of his dark maroon and black robe.
She’d been writing for quite some time, caught up in the song that had drifted into her mind a few hours ago; she was so involved with her work that she didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open.
“Oh, Tarack, glad you’re home, there’s a song…” her voice trailed off as she felt something hit the back of her head. Caught off guard, she fell to the floor, stunned.
Before I put this rope down, I proceed to tie you up.
Strong hands lifted her up by the back of her neck, slamming her into the wall violently. Black stars of pain burst before her eyes, coalescing into almost total darkness. She felt her body go limp from shock, felt herself crumple into a pile on the ground when she was dropped.
Hands, wrapped like…they were the same weave on the same pale blue skin…but how…
They tied her up, binding her arms against her sides and her legs together, but she couldn’t pull herself from the darkness enough to get a good look at them; they looked like Tarack’s, with the same brilliant white weaves of cloth on them, but he’d never be violent.
The world went black before the hands finished tying her up.
No one here is, fearful of this pain because they know…
The illusionist let the image of Tarack fall away from his body, nodding to the other four Teir`Dal that stood in the doorway. As one, they entered the room and began searching through its contents – taking several books and her journal; they left the rest of the room untouched.
Though she appeared to be unconscious, one of them lifted her, throwing her against the wall several more times. Her right side was deeply bruised now, but it wasn’t enough for the brigand; with a cruel sneer, he turned her around and repeated the brutal act again until her whole body was bruised.
“That was for my brother, whore,” he growled into her ear, despite how limp her body was.
A glare from the illusionist silenced him, and they knew they were overstaying their welcome in Qeynos.
With a nod, the rogue led them through the shadows and back outside the city.
Will you scream and suffer and lie to save your life?
Her whole body hurt, a numbing sensation of pain, as if she were one giant bruise. The sensations made her want to keep her eyes closed, the memories of what happened washing over her as her mind awoke.
Opening her eyes, she saw the small campfire first. Slowly, her eyes focused on the shape just beyond it, shock grasping her mind once more.
It was Tarack, sittings as he did whenever he meditated, except instead of the familiar and calming expression she knew from this stance she saw a cruel and Hateful sneer.
His eyes snapped open, and she felt a chill wash down her spine. They were cruel, and so dark with malice she wanted to cry. Looking into his eyes, it was clear to her what he intended to do.
Standing, he slowly walked around the fire to where she lay, his hands reaching down to pull her up. Lips twisting into an even darker smile, he lifted her up onto her feet. Pain exploded in her body, but before she could fall over, the first of his strikes landed against her, forcing her body upward slightly.
Reeling, another strike connected with her side, knocking the wind from her as she began to fall again. His hand was suddenly against her chest, holding her up as the other lashed out against her arm. Still grinning that sickening smile, he looked into her eyes as he swept her feet from beneath her, his hand slipping up to her neck and gripping tightly.
Clawing as best she could at his hands, staring terrified into his cold eyes, she began coughing and tried to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. He continued to use his free hand to pummel her.
No one here is, fearful of this anger deep inside.
They were deep inside Nektulos forest, and even the other wild dark elves had left them alone, watching from a distance as the bruiser continued to beat the half elf that had caused them such great losses.
She was terrified, and her fear only fed the Hatred they felt.
Love you to pass away, and I bleed more…
Bleed more…
The instinct to live kicked in and she reached for him, her nails digging into flesh as she tried to get a grip on him. His grasp on her throat was tight enough to keep her choking but loose enough to keep her from passing out – between the lack of air and the constant strikes from his free hand, there was little she could do to fight against him.
Bruises began to open from their pressures, blood spilling over his hand and once again staining the bright white wraps of his arm. The sight seemed to spur him on, and again he grinned at her, all light and warmth gone from the motion.
You want love forever and so you take away my freedom
Finally, he dropped her, and her battered body collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. The twisted grin still bright upon his face, the dark elf monk walks back to the fire and sits down to meditate once more – his face remains cruel and darkened, so unfamiliar and distant from what she knew of him.
Head swimming, she tried to imagine what she could have done to anger him like this. All she had been doing the last few weeks was redecorating their home, and experimenting with her cooking techniques with an occasional visit to the Thundering Steppes to stretch her muscles.
Unless…he knew about her first adventure back into the Steppes, though she didn’t know how he would have found out about that.
With eyelids fluttering, she gave into the darkness tugging on her mind…
I'm screaming why are you hurting me
She awoke to a burst of pain as his foot connected with her side, the sound of cracking bone echoing in her ears. He reached down and picked her up once more, hauling her by the back of the neck to a nearby tree; there he stood her upright, and tied her against the tree so that she would not fall again.
Looking up into his eyes, she could only see a burning hate reflected back at her. The quite calm, the silent caring and distant love had evaporated, leaving him only with the cold and harsh comfort of Hatred.
He began to strike her again, the first connecting with her shoulder and the second quickly following into her side. As the pain exploded and the bruises there opened up to release their blood and ease their pressure, she screamed and began to cry.
She couldn’t understand what had happened, why he was beating her with no remorse. Had the forest of Nektulos actually called up the Hate within his blood again, turning him back to the darkness he’d left so many years ago? What had she done to him to cause this?
I feel your hard knuckles, but I'm too scared to run.
Time and again, she felt his fists and palms slam into her body, sometimes realizing that he kicked her as well. She’d already picked out the rhythm of his strikes, and wondered why it was so out of synch with what she had witnessed of his fighting style.
Perhaps the anger and Hate had disrupted him so deeply that it had thrown off his natural rhythms as well. The chaotic sense of timing frightened her, but there was little she could do to escape now.
After what seemed like an eternity, the strikes stopped and she was left with the eerie silence of the forest and the faint ringing in her ears. She’d stopped being able to feel anything from the neck down quite some time ago, but she knew that most of her body was bruised, bleeding and broken.
Quit laughing, don't choke me, my body's going numb
His hand wrapped around her throat, slowly tightening its grip as he leered over her. As she began to choke, he chuckled once before covering her mouth with his own, further cutting off her air supply. The kiss was harsh, almost unfamiliar and alien to her, and for a moment she wondered if it was even Tarack at all.
Pulling away, the last thing she saw before the world went dark was his cruel blue eyes and sadistic smile.
Before I take this rope off the child I stole away…
Reaching out to untie the woman, the illusionist let his disguise fall away, revealing the ebon skinned dark elf he truly was. He was quite content with his work, smiling like a cat that ate the canary while it’s master was away.
He paused, feeling some flicker of unfamiliar magical energy coming towards him. The phantasmal energy struck him hard in the back, and he turned to see an ancient man in a dark robe standing just beyond the campfire. The mage carried a simple staff, but the power that radiated from him was far greater than the illusionist had ever felt within his own body.
Snarling, the illusionist launched his own attack at the other man, his eyes widening in terror as the energies splashed against a protective barrier like water against a stone.
It pierced me with the blade; I fear it's too late to be saved
The ancient mage smiled darkly, summoning forth a spectral blade of energy that cut through the air between them; the phantasmal dagger struck true into the dark elf’s chest, dispersing and wrapping its dark energies about the illusionist. Energy crackled along his blackened skin, swiftly searing his flesh from his bones without any effort.
Carefully, the old mage hobbled over to the tree and took out a small dagger, carefully cutting away the ropes. As the woman fell forward, he uttered a spell that lifted her from the ground and to his side. Having already dealt with the other wild Thexians, the old man began the slow journey towards Port Naythox. A shimmering portal opened before them, and without even looking up, the old man and the floating woman vanished into the gate.
[OOC: Lyrics are Kidnapped by Kramus, though they've been slimmed down to cut back on redundancy.]
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Twelve Weeks and Two Days Since the Sky Fell
And stretch I did...though that was the smallest of events.
Bored and restless now that the pain was gone, I pulled on my chainmail and headed out to wander. Out of habit, I ended up in the Thundering Steppes, as I lived there for so long as a child; originally I had started heading for Coldwind Point, but I didn't want to disturb Tarack if he was there, nor did I wish to have all those memories crying for...something.
For quite some time, I was able to just wander the shores near the docks, collecting fish and the like from the waters. The work moved my unused muscles just enough to stretch them, but not enough to hurt them and it was almost comforting to hear the clicking of the crabs over the gentle song of the ocean.
Sadly, I began to recall dancing on these shores with the Marhime, when we were very young. The secrets, the magick, and everything just kind of hit me...and I found myself looking up at the shattered moon.
My inner calm disturbed, I could feel that same downward pull, the simmering Hatred beginning to inflame again. If the Rallosians had not attacked the Nexus, perhaps then the moon would still be whole, and everything would be different - perhaps Kelshinth would still be one of the familia.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the crisp white of a gi, and realized that if these things had not happened, I may have never met Tarack and he might have died an old and distraught man...alone.
Almost thankfully, there was an interruption to my thoughts...almost thankfully...
There was a man watching me. Though he appeared to be a High Elf, something about him didn't strike me as elven. After a few minutes, he introduced himself as Xhane, and asked if I would care to aid him with the study - and more than likely slaughter - of a few gnolls.
He was able to muster a few more people for the task, and while I did wish to fight, I knew I wasn't exactly up to that much just yet. I asked instead if I could just enhance our little band of fellow's with song, occasionally spiking the enemy with a discordant moment and it was agreed that such would be fine.
We battled for some time at the camps of the gnolls, however eventually we moved on to destroy the animated scarecrows that were attacking passers-by. I promised to take care of them for Celestial Watch, and collect whatever I could of their remains, so I was not adverse to fighting them.
At some point, a Teir`Dal woman wished to aid us against the constructs, and I invited her to join us. She didn't strike me as particularly vile, and something about her presence was strangely comforting; I've never really interacted with many Teir, aside from Tarack...and those beasts in the forest...so I don't think it was because she reminded me of anyone. I've theories on it now, but I'm still not quite sure why I demanded she be allowed to aid us.
The Kerra was rather indifferent about the whole matter, stating she cared not if the woman did not serve the Overlord or any of the other forces that sought to destroy Qeynos - this Teir didn't, of course. The knight was too busy fawning over her beauty to really give much imput on the matter, which is rather dishearting considering his supposed path in life.
Xhane, on the other hand...is lucky I didn't remove my gloves, reach up to him, put my hand through his chest, grasp his heart, pull it out and feed it to him as his life drained away to the ground.
"A dark elf? We really must discuss your taste in companions, Rhana!" he had said.
Instantly, I saw Tarack, standing silently as faces leered at him while making horrible comments...saw him stand there and take their insults and Hatred without a word...watched his eyes drop to the ground as his shoulders drooped in disappointment and frustration...
...it was Tarack standing in front of Xhane, not the mage.
Words cannot describe what occurred in my mind and with my body then, though I think I may be able to do it at least some justice here.
That simmering Hate just lept up - there was no boiling to an explosion this time, it just suddenly engulfed my mind. The world swam, and I saw red before my eyes, which is when I found I had the undenyable urge to slaughter Xhane with my bare hands. My body tingled, burning with that unquenchable anger, my entire being suddenly engulfed by the essence I'd found within Nektulos. I could feel the muscles just ripple with Hatred, and I think I lifted my hands up to clench my fists as I stared at him.
Xhane's expression was one of shock and horror. His mouth was open in surprise, and I wasn't quite sure why until I saw myself in his eyes...or, saw what was standing where I should be.
She...I...had pale indigo skin, almost iridescent indigo over alabaster, really; my hair was a more...natural colour red, with strange blue orbs dancing in it. My facial features were changed, sharper and more defined, etched with the Hate I had felt burn away only inside...til now.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I shrugged and turned their attention back to the constructs that were inching closer to our position. I could still feel that burning essence coursing through me, and became restless just sitting back with my songs. Eventually, I joined in the fight, the motions of battle slowly taking the edge off the dark feelings I had...
Needless to say, I hurt quite a bit once the adrenaline had been used, and I was left to quietly sit on the dock after everyone had gone their seperate ways. I could not return to Qeynos looking as I did, let alone return home in such a state - Tarack had enough to worry over, I did not need to contribute to that any more than I already did.
I spent the night sleeping in a pile of hay, tucked under my bedroll, in the barns of Thundermist Village. When I awoke, things had not changed, and so I made my way back here...sneaking into my own home.
Thank the Gods Tar was not about. After being within the calm and happiness of our home, the darkness seems to have faded away again, and now when I look into the mirror, I see myself and not someone I don't know...
...well, to a point...
Dinner...yes, cooking would be good for me right now. And it will surprise Tar, make him happy with me...
Bored and restless now that the pain was gone, I pulled on my chainmail and headed out to wander. Out of habit, I ended up in the Thundering Steppes, as I lived there for so long as a child; originally I had started heading for Coldwind Point, but I didn't want to disturb Tarack if he was there, nor did I wish to have all those memories crying for...something.
For quite some time, I was able to just wander the shores near the docks, collecting fish and the like from the waters. The work moved my unused muscles just enough to stretch them, but not enough to hurt them and it was almost comforting to hear the clicking of the crabs over the gentle song of the ocean.
Sadly, I began to recall dancing on these shores with the Marhime, when we were very young. The secrets, the magick, and everything just kind of hit me...and I found myself looking up at the shattered moon.
My inner calm disturbed, I could feel that same downward pull, the simmering Hatred beginning to inflame again. If the Rallosians had not attacked the Nexus, perhaps then the moon would still be whole, and everything would be different - perhaps Kelshinth would still be one of the familia.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the crisp white of a gi, and realized that if these things had not happened, I may have never met Tarack and he might have died an old and distraught man...alone.
Almost thankfully, there was an interruption to my thoughts...almost thankfully...
There was a man watching me. Though he appeared to be a High Elf, something about him didn't strike me as elven. After a few minutes, he introduced himself as Xhane, and asked if I would care to aid him with the study - and more than likely slaughter - of a few gnolls.
He was able to muster a few more people for the task, and while I did wish to fight, I knew I wasn't exactly up to that much just yet. I asked instead if I could just enhance our little band of fellow's with song, occasionally spiking the enemy with a discordant moment and it was agreed that such would be fine.
We battled for some time at the camps of the gnolls, however eventually we moved on to destroy the animated scarecrows that were attacking passers-by. I promised to take care of them for Celestial Watch, and collect whatever I could of their remains, so I was not adverse to fighting them.
At some point, a Teir`Dal woman wished to aid us against the constructs, and I invited her to join us. She didn't strike me as particularly vile, and something about her presence was strangely comforting; I've never really interacted with many Teir, aside from Tarack...and those beasts in the forest...so I don't think it was because she reminded me of anyone. I've theories on it now, but I'm still not quite sure why I demanded she be allowed to aid us.
The Kerra was rather indifferent about the whole matter, stating she cared not if the woman did not serve the Overlord or any of the other forces that sought to destroy Qeynos - this Teir didn't, of course. The knight was too busy fawning over her beauty to really give much imput on the matter, which is rather dishearting considering his supposed path in life.
Xhane, on the other hand...is lucky I didn't remove my gloves, reach up to him, put my hand through his chest, grasp his heart, pull it out and feed it to him as his life drained away to the ground.
"A dark elf? We really must discuss your taste in companions, Rhana!" he had said.
Instantly, I saw Tarack, standing silently as faces leered at him while making horrible comments...saw him stand there and take their insults and Hatred without a word...watched his eyes drop to the ground as his shoulders drooped in disappointment and frustration...
...it was Tarack standing in front of Xhane, not the mage.
Words cannot describe what occurred in my mind and with my body then, though I think I may be able to do it at least some justice here.
That simmering Hate just lept up - there was no boiling to an explosion this time, it just suddenly engulfed my mind. The world swam, and I saw red before my eyes, which is when I found I had the undenyable urge to slaughter Xhane with my bare hands. My body tingled, burning with that unquenchable anger, my entire being suddenly engulfed by the essence I'd found within Nektulos. I could feel the muscles just ripple with Hatred, and I think I lifted my hands up to clench my fists as I stared at him.
Xhane's expression was one of shock and horror. His mouth was open in surprise, and I wasn't quite sure why until I saw myself in his eyes...or, saw what was standing where I should be.
She...I...had pale indigo skin, almost iridescent indigo over alabaster, really; my hair was a more...natural colour red, with strange blue orbs dancing in it. My facial features were changed, sharper and more defined, etched with the Hate I had felt burn away only inside...til now.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I shrugged and turned their attention back to the constructs that were inching closer to our position. I could still feel that burning essence coursing through me, and became restless just sitting back with my songs. Eventually, I joined in the fight, the motions of battle slowly taking the edge off the dark feelings I had...
Needless to say, I hurt quite a bit once the adrenaline had been used, and I was left to quietly sit on the dock after everyone had gone their seperate ways. I could not return to Qeynos looking as I did, let alone return home in such a state - Tarack had enough to worry over, I did not need to contribute to that any more than I already did.
I spent the night sleeping in a pile of hay, tucked under my bedroll, in the barns of Thundermist Village. When I awoke, things had not changed, and so I made my way back here...sneaking into my own home.
Thank the Gods Tar was not about. After being within the calm and happiness of our home, the darkness seems to have faded away again, and now when I look into the mirror, I see myself and not someone I don't know...
...well, to a point...
Dinner...yes, cooking would be good for me right now. And it will surprise Tar, make him happy with me...
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Twelve Weeks and One Day Since the Sky Fell
Physically, I feel much better. With Tarack's help, I've been able to start walking around again, though I cannot do so for too long before I feel too light headed. But even a few minutes is an improvement.
The rest...
Lately, he's been doing a number of things away from home, though I hope not more than he might do if I were completely well. He's not telling me something, I know it. I believe he may have encountered that Scaven again, however it is just a feeling I have - all I see from him are gentle smiles and reassuring words, that same protective caring he's given since bringing me back here.
When he is away, I find my thoughts drifting back to my experience within the forest of Nektulos. Sometimes...I can hear those voices again, the ones that whispered softly as the essence of the forest pulled me downward in a spiral, twisting me away from the world I knew and loved. They speak of darker things, telling me what people really see when they look at me...what is wrong with my life...and how they can fix it if I would only let them.
I twitch when I think about everything, and it's not just my ears. Whenever I think about them, and hear them again, something inside just seems to boil and seeth just below my skin...I feel like any moment I'm going to explode, rip the room apart and shatter everything here. Sometimes I've thought about just harming myself, to see if it makes it all go away - if having an outlet will make it vani
An ink splot slashes across the page, the quill set upon it for quite some time before being picked up again.
That was...interesting.
Although at first I was rather upset by the sudden interruption, the Temple sent over a priestess to look at my shoulder. She was very quiet, much like the other young girls that I saw there, however when she actually began moving, I noticed something very...strange about her.
Koada have always been graceful - at least from what I have seen, they are all so. But this one was, well, her movements were jerking and almost clumsy; several times she lost her grip on the bandages and ended up sighing in frustration.
She told me it was because basically she didn't feel right in her body, that she thought the small little motions she made would have more movement. To me, it sounded like the Marhime had been after his first growth spurt, but she assured me she had a rather steady and even rise to her current height.
The bandages mostly gone, I felt her fingertips brush my skin and I don't know why, but rather than cutting through the dark essence as a priest of light's should...they melted into it. It was such a strange feeling, really...perhaps I am arong and I am not as far fallen as I believe I am, but I don't think so.
She healed it the rest of the way. My whole upper body still is slightly sore when I move, but at least there won't be anymore sharp pains that make me collapse. Tonight I will try to cook a little, perhaps I can show Tarack how not to burn the water when trying to boil it.
I need to stretch. A lot.
The rest...
Lately, he's been doing a number of things away from home, though I hope not more than he might do if I were completely well. He's not telling me something, I know it. I believe he may have encountered that Scaven again, however it is just a feeling I have - all I see from him are gentle smiles and reassuring words, that same protective caring he's given since bringing me back here.
When he is away, I find my thoughts drifting back to my experience within the forest of Nektulos. Sometimes...I can hear those voices again, the ones that whispered softly as the essence of the forest pulled me downward in a spiral, twisting me away from the world I knew and loved. They speak of darker things, telling me what people really see when they look at me...what is wrong with my life...and how they can fix it if I would only let them.
I twitch when I think about everything, and it's not just my ears. Whenever I think about them, and hear them again, something inside just seems to boil and seeth just below my skin...I feel like any moment I'm going to explode, rip the room apart and shatter everything here. Sometimes I've thought about just harming myself, to see if it makes it all go away - if having an outlet will make it vani
An ink splot slashes across the page, the quill set upon it for quite some time before being picked up again.
That was...interesting.
Although at first I was rather upset by the sudden interruption, the Temple sent over a priestess to look at my shoulder. She was very quiet, much like the other young girls that I saw there, however when she actually began moving, I noticed something very...strange about her.
Koada have always been graceful - at least from what I have seen, they are all so. But this one was, well, her movements were jerking and almost clumsy; several times she lost her grip on the bandages and ended up sighing in frustration.
She told me it was because basically she didn't feel right in her body, that she thought the small little motions she made would have more movement. To me, it sounded like the Marhime had been after his first growth spurt, but she assured me she had a rather steady and even rise to her current height.
The bandages mostly gone, I felt her fingertips brush my skin and I don't know why, but rather than cutting through the dark essence as a priest of light's should...they melted into it. It was such a strange feeling, really...perhaps I am arong and I am not as far fallen as I believe I am, but I don't think so.
She healed it the rest of the way. My whole upper body still is slightly sore when I move, but at least there won't be anymore sharp pains that make me collapse. Tonight I will try to cook a little, perhaps I can show Tarack how not to burn the water when trying to boil it.
I need to stretch. A lot.
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Eleven Weeks and One Day Since the Sky Fell
There are few words to describe how things have become here, as it it too much like a waking dream.
While there is still a rather large degree of distance between Tar and I, it's not how it was right after he had left the first time. In fact, the differences between now and the time before we'd realized how short our time was together are quite subtle, really...we're more so not completely as close as we were physically, and other things are well, left to be understood through action rather than being put into words.
He does so many little things that are just so sweet for me. Like, he tries his best to cook all of our meals, even though he's not exactly experienced with food preperation at all; I'm getting used to the slightly burned toast and the slightly too bland tea. Really, it's not the quality of what he's making, but why he's making it, at least to me it is.
Even though my bandages need to be changed every few hours, Tar sees to it with the same gentle and dedicated degree each time. I don't think he's yet realized that he wraps the bandages like his armwraps, but that seems to make it all the more sweet of him. After he finishes with them, he'll hold me until most of the sharper pains go away, and then find some book for me to read while he does his katas - sometimes he'll talk to me about the things he learned at T'narev, and explain to me why he does the motions he does.
He's said when I become stronger, he can help me work up my strength by teaching me some of the very basic stances and exersizes he had to do when he first began to study with the Ashen Order. Tar believes it will help calm the Hate that is lingering from my time in the forest.
I've tried to not think on that much these past two days, as it only makes me frustrated and off-center...part of me is afraid things will change when I am better, and so I am trying to focus on the happiness here for as long as it lasts; it's so very close to what I wanted all along.
Tar does go out from time to time, to get things for the apartment and for us. It's so strange to not question if he will be coming back each time he leaves, as I'd never realized exactly how much that had become a part of my day to day thoughts in such a short time. At least now I know if he does not return that there is something amiss...
...which is not something I wish to think about. Before I left he'd mention Scaven being in the area, causing trouble, and I still worry that despite his words, the man will being to actively torment Tar...
...I'll kill him if he does.
While there is still a rather large degree of distance between Tar and I, it's not how it was right after he had left the first time. In fact, the differences between now and the time before we'd realized how short our time was together are quite subtle, really...we're more so not completely as close as we were physically, and other things are well, left to be understood through action rather than being put into words.
He does so many little things that are just so sweet for me. Like, he tries his best to cook all of our meals, even though he's not exactly experienced with food preperation at all; I'm getting used to the slightly burned toast and the slightly too bland tea. Really, it's not the quality of what he's making, but why he's making it, at least to me it is.
Even though my bandages need to be changed every few hours, Tar sees to it with the same gentle and dedicated degree each time. I don't think he's yet realized that he wraps the bandages like his armwraps, but that seems to make it all the more sweet of him. After he finishes with them, he'll hold me until most of the sharper pains go away, and then find some book for me to read while he does his katas - sometimes he'll talk to me about the things he learned at T'narev, and explain to me why he does the motions he does.
He's said when I become stronger, he can help me work up my strength by teaching me some of the very basic stances and exersizes he had to do when he first began to study with the Ashen Order. Tar believes it will help calm the Hate that is lingering from my time in the forest.
I've tried to not think on that much these past two days, as it only makes me frustrated and off-center...part of me is afraid things will change when I am better, and so I am trying to focus on the happiness here for as long as it lasts; it's so very close to what I wanted all along.
Tar does go out from time to time, to get things for the apartment and for us. It's so strange to not question if he will be coming back each time he leaves, as I'd never realized exactly how much that had become a part of my day to day thoughts in such a short time. At least now I know if he does not return that there is something amiss...
...which is not something I wish to think about. Before I left he'd mention Scaven being in the area, causing trouble, and I still worry that despite his words, the man will being to actively torment Tar...
...I'll kill him if he does.
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Ten Weeks and Six Days Since the Sky Fell
I awoke yesterday morning with the feeling that something was not right, however I was unsure if it was something to do with the fact that Tarack had not yet come to the Temple, or perhaps something...within.
Every few hours, the blasted apprentices come to change my bandages - the wound was deep, and while they did heal it enough that I was not in danger of bleeding to death, with such a wound they wish to allow much of it to heal naturally. It bleeds enough that the bandages are soaked within three or four hours, and each time they are changed, the apprentices cast some sort of minor healing spell upon it.
The amount of annoyance and anger at these younger children is quite a bit more than I have felt at any other time in my life - outside my time in the forest - and I am not sure why I feel such an emnity for nearly everything I encounter.
I look into the bedside mirror, and I know something has changed, but I am unsure of what exactly has happened. When I try to recall the events within the forest, I am met with a wall of fog, and I can feel myself slowly drawn down into whatever state I was in there. Sadly, without being to concentrate for long on these things, I'm not going to be able to sort it out.
My relfection was interrupted by the door opening, and expecting another apprentice to annoy me, I gave the door another ill-intended look. To my surprise - and of course, delight - Tarack stepped through it instead; he looked very dark for a moment, but when he realized I was awak, it was gone and I was given that familiar smile I'd almost forgotten.
I apologised for not being awake when we arrived in Qeynos to stop the guards from imprisoning him, though he humbly believes they were just doing what was right. For some reason, the idea of anyone believe it was right to lock away Tarack made me so angry, I had to look away from him for fear of him mistaking it for something directed at him. Of course, I told them it wasn't right at all and that I had half a mind to go beat the living hell out of Alesso, which had upset a priestess - he merely laughed and said he was released because someone from the Temple was sent to explain things and vouche for his story.
His laugh drew away much of the darkness, and I found myself smirking at him. He then spoke of how empty the apartment was when he went to visit it before he came to the Temple, and I let him know I was told I could leave as soon as I was able to walk out of the building. When I asked if he could help me, he agreed but told me he'd be right back; apparently he went to speak to the priests about the whole situation, and they gave him quite a bit that would be needed to care for me.
When he came back, he put the bandages and vials of salves into one of my packs, and threw them onto his back. I tried to stand, but moving like that pulled too hard at the wound on my shoulder and I couldn't help but voice the pain it caused. Tarack was at my side instantly, carefully lifting me and gently putting my arm about his shoulders; I told him how funny it was that I could barely walk after a few days of rest when I had stormed over to my weapons the day I awoke without a problem. Slowly - so as not to scare any other apprentices, as he put it - we made our way out of the room, and eventually out of the Temple.
Once outside, he looked back at the windows of the strange Temple and commented that I'd walked out. Before I could do more than nod in agreement, he gently swept my feet out from beneath me and craddled me in his arms, so careful not to put pressure against the wound. With the light steps of an elf, he slowly carried me back to our apartment in the Willow Wood.
As we walked through the Elddar Grove, I could feel the difference between this small manifestation of nature and Nektulos Forest, though it almost made me uncomfortable. In some respects, I felt like I did not belong in the Grove, which only caused the anger I felt within to flare for a moment - I was able to push it away once we entered the Wood, though.
When we arrived home, the first thing that caught my eye was the cat - Sevi. I then noted that not a thing had been touched since I left, and asked Tarack if he'd at least remembered to feed the poor animal. Luckily, he had, though he didn't feed her proper food for a feline...that may come back to haunt me as the days pass.
He took me over to the bed, and gently laid me down on it, kissing my cheek...and telling me 'Welcome home'....before setting the packs onto the large dining table. We started talking, and I told him how I had really thought I was imagining things in the forest when the dark elves were chasing me, that I was sure that I would die there before I could see him again. He told me he can never let that happen, and that he would have died as well, especially knowing it was his fault.
I find it odd that he has figure out that part - the dying without the other one being alive part.
What I dislike is how he still blames himself for everything, and I tried explaining to him that it wasn't his fault, that it was the Teir`Dal that had chased me. He only shook his head, telling me that it was the Teir`Dal here that had driven me away.
I had to look away again, because it made me so angry to hear him take all of the blame onto himself, when it was really just both of us making very stupid choices. We argued on how it wasn't just his fault for a few minutes, until I said it was mine for staying in the forest and getting so fascinated with what I felt there.
He asked me how I felt now that I had seen Nektulos for myself, as more than just a dark place I run through quickly if I want to visit my brother. That's been the very same question I've been asking myself since I woke up - how do I feel now that I've been...there. What exactly has it done to me, and the like.
Eventually, I was able to tell him how the essence of the place had just gotten to me, in me and through me and about how I just found myself starting to not care about anything. He said something about how the forest reaches up and changes you, its dark memories affecting you; I agreed to a point, and told him that once I didn't care anymore, I found myself hating everything - the animals there, how I would slay them in anger or lure them to something I know could when I could not - and how I hated even myself...that the only thing I couldn't bring myself to hate had been him.
He told me that the forest couldn't touch what I held most dear to me, at least not at first. He began to run his fingers through my hair, and I realized that I must have seemed quite distraugt by the conversation, since he knows that it calms me. We continued to talk about, and I told him that I didn't think that whatever was there in the forest stayed there completely, and told him how I had wanted to just kill the priestess that I scared...that I only stopped because the way she looked at me remind of how many look at a Teir`Dal.
Strangely, he was calm, explaining to me that I hadn't really changed and that beneath the dark tendrils was still the same Rhana he knew; that he'd had to fight the very same Hate once before in his life, and that he would help me learn to fight it now. He said that while it will be difficult, I hadn't been in the forest long enough for the Hate to be permanent. He rested his hand over my heart and reminded me that I was still the same person there.
I...don't know why, but his touch suddenly made me think about...well, us. I suddenly realized that for all the tenderness, all the gentle care he was giving...I had no idea of where things stood.
Of course, I stammered out a question, asking him if he would be staying with me. Tarack told me that he would be staying, that the last thing I needed was to be alone; I asked him about after the forest let me go, and he said not to think about it, and that we would cross that bridge when we came to it.
Holding his hands, I asked him if he'd at least sleep up on the bed with me, and hold me at night. He agreed to, and I even told him I'd expected him not to...he just smiled and stretched out beside me, propping himself up with one elbow so we could look at each other while we talked.
As we were talking, he realized that he needed to change out the bandage I had on, as the blood was starting to come through the robe the priests had given me. Once he got the bandages and salves, he helped me sit up in the bed as he sat down beside me.
Sometimes it still amazes me how gentle Tarack can be, even with small things like untying a robe. He was so careful as he undid the robe and helped me out of it, and even more so as he began to unwind the stained bandages. Despite his gentle nature, removing the padding that was against the wound hurt like hell, and I had to try and forget I was in my own body to keep from stopping him. It was not quite so bad to have him put the new padding on, as the salves soothed the aggrivation; he was quite intricate with wrapping the bandages, and when he was finally done and I looked down at them, I realized he used the same pattern as he did on his armwraps.
When I felt him gently touch my arm, I just leaned sideways until I was stopped by his chest. It was then, as I looked at his gi, that I realized it was discoloured and stained quite a bit. Of course, I asked him about it all, not remembering it being that badly damaged by the fight. Apparently he hadn't noticed either, as he told me it wasn't until the guards at the gates pointed it out to him that he actually saw it.
Curled up together, we talked for quite some time, about how I was going to leave the forest anyways, but the dark elves had caused a problem with that. I told him how fast I ran and how hard I fought, because I wanted to come back to him, knowing that I shouldn't have left in the first place by then. Tarack told me that it was alright now, helping me into my robe again, and that everything would be okay, that I'd made it back to him and that was all that mattered.
After we laid back down, all either of us did was stare at the other. I don't know what he was thinking, but the only thing I could think about was how much I loved him, and how blessed I was to have been able to make it back to him. The gentle care, the loving caresses, the small kisses on my forehead and cheeks...it all made me feel like maybe everything was okay now.
I..tried telling him, but I found myself stammering, because I was afraid that maybe I was wrong about his manner. In the end, I was able to tell him how I felt...in Romani, not that I realized it; he smiled at me, and just held me again, not saying anything for a very long moment.
Finally, with a quiet and shy voice, he slowly pronouned "Me sevi tu, Rhana"...he said he loved me, in the language of my blood.
To hear him reply to me, in my own language - one dearer to me than that of the half elves - was a breaking point. Whether or not it was something I should do, I had to kiss him; pain exploded in my shoulder as I pushed myself up to do so, and I had to grasp him with the other arm to keep from falling and breaking the kiss. He held me, carefully laying me back down so that I wouldn't be in any pain while we kissed.
Finally, he asked me if he'd pronounced it right...which was just a silly question at that point...like I would have been that excited if he had said something like you are the cat or something.
I'm not sure how long we remained awake after that, talking while holding each other - I know that it is the safest and the most familiar place I've been for quite some time; waking up to find him still there, sleeping soundly with his arms around me, had to be the second most.
"Welcome home," he had said...yes, this is finally home again...
Every few hours, the blasted apprentices come to change my bandages - the wound was deep, and while they did heal it enough that I was not in danger of bleeding to death, with such a wound they wish to allow much of it to heal naturally. It bleeds enough that the bandages are soaked within three or four hours, and each time they are changed, the apprentices cast some sort of minor healing spell upon it.
The amount of annoyance and anger at these younger children is quite a bit more than I have felt at any other time in my life - outside my time in the forest - and I am not sure why I feel such an emnity for nearly everything I encounter.
I look into the bedside mirror, and I know something has changed, but I am unsure of what exactly has happened. When I try to recall the events within the forest, I am met with a wall of fog, and I can feel myself slowly drawn down into whatever state I was in there. Sadly, without being to concentrate for long on these things, I'm not going to be able to sort it out.
My relfection was interrupted by the door opening, and expecting another apprentice to annoy me, I gave the door another ill-intended look. To my surprise - and of course, delight - Tarack stepped through it instead; he looked very dark for a moment, but when he realized I was awak, it was gone and I was given that familiar smile I'd almost forgotten.
I apologised for not being awake when we arrived in Qeynos to stop the guards from imprisoning him, though he humbly believes they were just doing what was right. For some reason, the idea of anyone believe it was right to lock away Tarack made me so angry, I had to look away from him for fear of him mistaking it for something directed at him. Of course, I told them it wasn't right at all and that I had half a mind to go beat the living hell out of Alesso, which had upset a priestess - he merely laughed and said he was released because someone from the Temple was sent to explain things and vouche for his story.
His laugh drew away much of the darkness, and I found myself smirking at him. He then spoke of how empty the apartment was when he went to visit it before he came to the Temple, and I let him know I was told I could leave as soon as I was able to walk out of the building. When I asked if he could help me, he agreed but told me he'd be right back; apparently he went to speak to the priests about the whole situation, and they gave him quite a bit that would be needed to care for me.
When he came back, he put the bandages and vials of salves into one of my packs, and threw them onto his back. I tried to stand, but moving like that pulled too hard at the wound on my shoulder and I couldn't help but voice the pain it caused. Tarack was at my side instantly, carefully lifting me and gently putting my arm about his shoulders; I told him how funny it was that I could barely walk after a few days of rest when I had stormed over to my weapons the day I awoke without a problem. Slowly - so as not to scare any other apprentices, as he put it - we made our way out of the room, and eventually out of the Temple.
Once outside, he looked back at the windows of the strange Temple and commented that I'd walked out. Before I could do more than nod in agreement, he gently swept my feet out from beneath me and craddled me in his arms, so careful not to put pressure against the wound. With the light steps of an elf, he slowly carried me back to our apartment in the Willow Wood.
As we walked through the Elddar Grove, I could feel the difference between this small manifestation of nature and Nektulos Forest, though it almost made me uncomfortable. In some respects, I felt like I did not belong in the Grove, which only caused the anger I felt within to flare for a moment - I was able to push it away once we entered the Wood, though.
When we arrived home, the first thing that caught my eye was the cat - Sevi. I then noted that not a thing had been touched since I left, and asked Tarack if he'd at least remembered to feed the poor animal. Luckily, he had, though he didn't feed her proper food for a feline...that may come back to haunt me as the days pass.
He took me over to the bed, and gently laid me down on it, kissing my cheek...and telling me 'Welcome home'....before setting the packs onto the large dining table. We started talking, and I told him how I had really thought I was imagining things in the forest when the dark elves were chasing me, that I was sure that I would die there before I could see him again. He told me he can never let that happen, and that he would have died as well, especially knowing it was his fault.
I find it odd that he has figure out that part - the dying without the other one being alive part.
What I dislike is how he still blames himself for everything, and I tried explaining to him that it wasn't his fault, that it was the Teir`Dal that had chased me. He only shook his head, telling me that it was the Teir`Dal here that had driven me away.
I had to look away again, because it made me so angry to hear him take all of the blame onto himself, when it was really just both of us making very stupid choices. We argued on how it wasn't just his fault for a few minutes, until I said it was mine for staying in the forest and getting so fascinated with what I felt there.
He asked me how I felt now that I had seen Nektulos for myself, as more than just a dark place I run through quickly if I want to visit my brother. That's been the very same question I've been asking myself since I woke up - how do I feel now that I've been...there. What exactly has it done to me, and the like.
Eventually, I was able to tell him how the essence of the place had just gotten to me, in me and through me and about how I just found myself starting to not care about anything. He said something about how the forest reaches up and changes you, its dark memories affecting you; I agreed to a point, and told him that once I didn't care anymore, I found myself hating everything - the animals there, how I would slay them in anger or lure them to something I know could when I could not - and how I hated even myself...that the only thing I couldn't bring myself to hate had been him.
He told me that the forest couldn't touch what I held most dear to me, at least not at first. He began to run his fingers through my hair, and I realized that I must have seemed quite distraugt by the conversation, since he knows that it calms me. We continued to talk about, and I told him that I didn't think that whatever was there in the forest stayed there completely, and told him how I had wanted to just kill the priestess that I scared...that I only stopped because the way she looked at me remind of how many look at a Teir`Dal.
Strangely, he was calm, explaining to me that I hadn't really changed and that beneath the dark tendrils was still the same Rhana he knew; that he'd had to fight the very same Hate once before in his life, and that he would help me learn to fight it now. He said that while it will be difficult, I hadn't been in the forest long enough for the Hate to be permanent. He rested his hand over my heart and reminded me that I was still the same person there.
I...don't know why, but his touch suddenly made me think about...well, us. I suddenly realized that for all the tenderness, all the gentle care he was giving...I had no idea of where things stood.
Of course, I stammered out a question, asking him if he would be staying with me. Tarack told me that he would be staying, that the last thing I needed was to be alone; I asked him about after the forest let me go, and he said not to think about it, and that we would cross that bridge when we came to it.
Holding his hands, I asked him if he'd at least sleep up on the bed with me, and hold me at night. He agreed to, and I even told him I'd expected him not to...he just smiled and stretched out beside me, propping himself up with one elbow so we could look at each other while we talked.
As we were talking, he realized that he needed to change out the bandage I had on, as the blood was starting to come through the robe the priests had given me. Once he got the bandages and salves, he helped me sit up in the bed as he sat down beside me.
Sometimes it still amazes me how gentle Tarack can be, even with small things like untying a robe. He was so careful as he undid the robe and helped me out of it, and even more so as he began to unwind the stained bandages. Despite his gentle nature, removing the padding that was against the wound hurt like hell, and I had to try and forget I was in my own body to keep from stopping him. It was not quite so bad to have him put the new padding on, as the salves soothed the aggrivation; he was quite intricate with wrapping the bandages, and when he was finally done and I looked down at them, I realized he used the same pattern as he did on his armwraps.
When I felt him gently touch my arm, I just leaned sideways until I was stopped by his chest. It was then, as I looked at his gi, that I realized it was discoloured and stained quite a bit. Of course, I asked him about it all, not remembering it being that badly damaged by the fight. Apparently he hadn't noticed either, as he told me it wasn't until the guards at the gates pointed it out to him that he actually saw it.
Curled up together, we talked for quite some time, about how I was going to leave the forest anyways, but the dark elves had caused a problem with that. I told him how fast I ran and how hard I fought, because I wanted to come back to him, knowing that I shouldn't have left in the first place by then. Tarack told me that it was alright now, helping me into my robe again, and that everything would be okay, that I'd made it back to him and that was all that mattered.
After we laid back down, all either of us did was stare at the other. I don't know what he was thinking, but the only thing I could think about was how much I loved him, and how blessed I was to have been able to make it back to him. The gentle care, the loving caresses, the small kisses on my forehead and cheeks...it all made me feel like maybe everything was okay now.
I..tried telling him, but I found myself stammering, because I was afraid that maybe I was wrong about his manner. In the end, I was able to tell him how I felt...in Romani, not that I realized it; he smiled at me, and just held me again, not saying anything for a very long moment.
Finally, with a quiet and shy voice, he slowly pronouned "Me sevi tu, Rhana"...he said he loved me, in the language of my blood.
To hear him reply to me, in my own language - one dearer to me than that of the half elves - was a breaking point. Whether or not it was something I should do, I had to kiss him; pain exploded in my shoulder as I pushed myself up to do so, and I had to grasp him with the other arm to keep from falling and breaking the kiss. He held me, carefully laying me back down so that I wouldn't be in any pain while we kissed.
Finally, he asked me if he'd pronounced it right...which was just a silly question at that point...like I would have been that excited if he had said something like you are the cat or something.
I'm not sure how long we remained awake after that, talking while holding each other - I know that it is the safest and the most familiar place I've been for quite some time; waking up to find him still there, sleeping soundly with his arms around me, had to be the second most.
"Welcome home," he had said...yes, this is finally home again...
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Ten Weeks and Four Days Since the Sky Fell
Thirteen Days Since the Leaving
I awoke in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar bed.
My first instinct was to scream - the last thing I remember was Tarack holding me close as he carried me, crying. When I opened my eyes and saw him, I was confused because I remembered the sword entering my body, and when I blacked out from the pain I truly thought that it was time for me to die.
But then there he was, with me...
After a moment of looking about, I realized that I was somewhere within the Temple of Life, which meant that Tarack had carried me all the way from Nektulos. But he wasn't there, not in the room and from what I could feel, not even in the Temple.
It hurts greatly to move, my neck and left shoulder burn with pain each time I move them, but waking up alone was terrifying and I had to try to get out of bed and find out where he was.
A priestess arrived before I had done more than sit up, and she insisted I lay back and relax. Of course, I immediately asked her where Tarack was, but she seemed confused; I explained to her that a Teir`Dal monk had been with me, and she informed me that he was being held within the cells for questioning.
Such news brought forth such an anger from me, I'm surprised the priestess didn't faint. I cursed at her, informing her that Tarack had saved me from death by the hands of a pack of wild dark elves and that he was a hero, not a criminal. The pain forgotten, I forced myself out of bed and to my things, picking up my weapons. She asked me what I intended to do, and I told her plainly that I planned on beating Alesso until the stupid and pompous bastard released Tarack.
Flustered, the woman promised that she'd have the High Priestess speak to Alesso instead, and that they would see that Tarack was released and brought here and insisted I remain in bed, citing I had lost far too much blood and had far too little time to have produced enough to keep me moving for long.
I agreed to this, however after more than twenty-four hours, I've yet to see Tarack. They've sent another priestess twice to change the dressing on my wounds and another several times to leave food; with how difficult it was to get a quill to even write this, I wonder if they really have taken steps to see to his release.
The first was correct though, I've very little energy at all to do anything. Even lifting my weapons for as long as I did has tired me - holding this quill tires me, thinking over the horrors of Nektulos tires me.
It makes me wonder exactly how close to death I was - surely much closer than when Miss Fae...D`Narin healed me. The once pure white robe I wore as a night dress has more red to it now than I imagined it would when Tarack wrapped it about me. Sadly, it is ruined as no amount of washing has completely removed the stains.
I find myself on edge, and the slightest annoyances make me very angry and spiteful. When I realize these emotions, my mind immediately returns to my days in the forest, the sensation of that primal energy returning.
Sometimes when I look into the mirror by the bed, I expect to see a Teir`Dal looking back at me, the anger is so accute. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, or any of the thoughts that dance inside my mind just yet.
I'd like to think that it is merely stress from finding out Tarack has been wrongfully imprisoned, but I continue to have the nagging feeling that there is much more to it than that....
Perhaps I fell further than I first thought at Timber Falls...
Enough thought and confusion, I can feel my eyes drifting open and closed, so I think now I shall sleep...
I awoke in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar bed.
My first instinct was to scream - the last thing I remember was Tarack holding me close as he carried me, crying. When I opened my eyes and saw him, I was confused because I remembered the sword entering my body, and when I blacked out from the pain I truly thought that it was time for me to die.
But then there he was, with me...
After a moment of looking about, I realized that I was somewhere within the Temple of Life, which meant that Tarack had carried me all the way from Nektulos. But he wasn't there, not in the room and from what I could feel, not even in the Temple.
It hurts greatly to move, my neck and left shoulder burn with pain each time I move them, but waking up alone was terrifying and I had to try to get out of bed and find out where he was.
A priestess arrived before I had done more than sit up, and she insisted I lay back and relax. Of course, I immediately asked her where Tarack was, but she seemed confused; I explained to her that a Teir`Dal monk had been with me, and she informed me that he was being held within the cells for questioning.
Such news brought forth such an anger from me, I'm surprised the priestess didn't faint. I cursed at her, informing her that Tarack had saved me from death by the hands of a pack of wild dark elves and that he was a hero, not a criminal. The pain forgotten, I forced myself out of bed and to my things, picking up my weapons. She asked me what I intended to do, and I told her plainly that I planned on beating Alesso until the stupid and pompous bastard released Tarack.
Flustered, the woman promised that she'd have the High Priestess speak to Alesso instead, and that they would see that Tarack was released and brought here and insisted I remain in bed, citing I had lost far too much blood and had far too little time to have produced enough to keep me moving for long.
I agreed to this, however after more than twenty-four hours, I've yet to see Tarack. They've sent another priestess twice to change the dressing on my wounds and another several times to leave food; with how difficult it was to get a quill to even write this, I wonder if they really have taken steps to see to his release.
The first was correct though, I've very little energy at all to do anything. Even lifting my weapons for as long as I did has tired me - holding this quill tires me, thinking over the horrors of Nektulos tires me.
It makes me wonder exactly how close to death I was - surely much closer than when Miss Fae...D`Narin healed me. The once pure white robe I wore as a night dress has more red to it now than I imagined it would when Tarack wrapped it about me. Sadly, it is ruined as no amount of washing has completely removed the stains.
I find myself on edge, and the slightest annoyances make me very angry and spiteful. When I realize these emotions, my mind immediately returns to my days in the forest, the sensation of that primal energy returning.
Sometimes when I look into the mirror by the bed, I expect to see a Teir`Dal looking back at me, the anger is so accute. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, or any of the thoughts that dance inside my mind just yet.
I'd like to think that it is merely stress from finding out Tarack has been wrongfully imprisoned, but I continue to have the nagging feeling that there is much more to it than that....
Perhaps I fell further than I first thought at Timber Falls...
Enough thought and confusion, I can feel my eyes drifting open and closed, so I think now I shall sleep...
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.]
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.]
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