Stories Abound
I love stories!
Hello All!
Below are some of the characters I've dreamed up. Some of these I've played extensively, others I have not. If any of these characters and their settings sound interesting to you, please message me! If you have a story you think any of them would fit into, even if its a minor role, I'd love to be considered! Please let me know!
Below are some of the characters I've dreamed up. Some of these I've played extensively, others I have not. If any of these characters and their settings sound interesting to you, please message me! If you have a story you think any of them would fit into, even if its a minor role, I'd love to be considered! Please let me know!
Etanis Saar
Age: 26
Height: 6’0”
Weight: 220lbs
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Dark Brown
Family: Valisar Marcus Saar(Deceased / Disgraced). Salina Saar (Deceased)
Story:
Blood flowed thick and syrupy from his lower lip to mingle with the sands of the training ground. Try as he might, Etanis could no longer push himself to his hands and knees. Each of the times that had preceeded this taunt, he had done so, only to catch the butt of a spear to his head, or the heel of a boot.
He needed to get up. This was his chance. This was his chance to redeem his families honor. He pushed, and pushed with all of his might. His arms slowly lifted his battered and bloody frame from the ground and his head rose to look at the fiery haired woman standing just a few feet away with her spear in hand.
She was Valisar Osaria, the Spear. She was the most renowned Valisar in the last twenty years, and all knew her. She had earned the title of “The Spear”, for her quick action when needed, that dove right to the heart of the matter. Now she stood against him, in his trial for entrance to the Valisar’s ranks. Why had this happened?
It had happened because of his father. Valisar Marcus Saar. The first Valisar to the old emperor had failed in his duty. The emperor had died. His father, in punishment for his lapse, was scourged to death, but not before his wife, Etanis’s mother, was raped, and lamed before his eyes. Their family had been disgraced.
All had the right for trial to enter into the Valisar. For the noble houses, it was expected that each boy or girl of age and sufficient training try for entry, for it would bring them political and military strength. For the low born, it would do so as well, and give them the chance to form their own house, or more likely be adopted into one of the greater houses. With his family shamed and ruined, this was what Etanis had hoped for. He’d hoped for a chance to rebuild, and bring some kind of honor back to his fathers name.
He’d not counted on the hatred of the Empress, and her children. All knew the Spear was her former personal Valisar. She’d only come out of her retirement at the Empresses bidding. She was moving now. Moving toward Etanis. Her feet stopped next to his shaking form, and she slowly lowered to crouch.
Nimble and strong fingers laced into his hair, and gave a sharp tug, pulling his face up to look at her. Etanis’s eyes were slowly swelling. He’d not be able to see by the next morning. Her voice came out as a hiss. “Foolish boy. Your family is disgraced, and will remain so. Did you think they would allow you to, a scion of a doomed house, a chance to enter our ranks and redeem your families honor? You are not worthy.”
It was then that she drove his head down sharply, cracking it into the floor, and driving from him the waking world. Etanis Saar, had failed his trial for entry into the Valisar.
Two years had passed since the day of his failed entry to the Valisar, and finding work had not been easy. His family name was known, and as such none wished to risk the wrath of the Valisar’s or the noble houses by employing one who had been so publicly shamed by the might of the Empire. Five long years. He’d taken what work he could, though often the jobs didn’t last.
Despite it all, when asked for his name for the Imperial records, he’d not hide it, and he’d quickly be paid for the word done, and dismissed. Such things did have to be reported. It was while waiting outside one of the work houses that a man late into his sixties strode straight up to him. His age had not bowed him though. He was tall, broad, and still as strong as a man in his prime.
His beard was close cropped, and his eyes were your average blue, save these were fiercer than anyone had seen. When he spoke, it was like one of the Gods had decided his voice needed to sound as hard as steel. It was the voice of a man who was used to command. “You. You are Marcus’s boy.” He said in a way that left no doubt he was not asking a question.
“I am Valisar Rant. People used to call me the Hawk. You will call me Rant. You work for me now. Go and gather your things.”
Etanis stood there looking somewhat dumbfounded for a minute, dark eyes blinking at the man’s fierce blue ones. A look of disapproval broke over the Valisar’s face. “What? You don’t need the work, or you want to go on mucking other people’s shit out of the city for the rest of your life? If that is what you want, so be it. If you want the chance, all be it a small one, at something you are more suited to, then get your things, and let’s get out of the flea warren. Now!”
The last was a command. The man had a voice that belonged on a battle field. Etanis quickly spun and ran, quick to obey an order given in such a voice. It was only when he’d stooped to pick up his pack that he’d realized he’d reacted at all. Valisar Rant watched him, and though no change in his features could be seen those striking eyes seemed to twinkle with a knowing amusement.
Etanis fell in beside the man, and Rant began leading him back to his manner. He was silent, and as he had not taken the time to explain why he’d want the son of a disgraced Valisar, or why he’d risk the anger of the Imperial Crown and the other Valisars, Etanis had to ask. “Why?” He asked simply.
Rant gave a grunt, and looked over to the boy, before looking back to the road. “Because you got a shitty break lad. Your father was not responsible for the death of the Emperor. He was sent to the country side by the Empress, presumably at the order of the Emperor. He suddenly is poisoned, and your father not being there is to blame.”
Rant grunted and shook his head. “The whole thing stunk, and your father, the honorable bastard he was, refused to save himself. He just died like a fool. Then you go to join the ranks, as was your right, and they dust off that old battle axe for your trial, just to keep you out.”
The old man spit to his side, unfortunately right on Etanis’s boot. Rant took no notice as he went on. “No one has seen a trial like yours for entrance into the Valisar. By all rights, you had the skill to make it past the trial. You would have been one of us, if not for the Empress and her Spear.”
Rant stopped and turned to look at the man. “You failed. That I cannot do anything about. You will never be a Valisar. There is nothing to stop you from Being one of the Valisar’s shields though. You will be one of mine. From this point forward, I will use you as a shield. Where I put you, you fight. You keep others from passing. You get me, lad?”
Etanis looked to the older man in wonder. This man was beyond brave to speak such words publically, let alone to take him, and give him aid. He’d have to report this to the Empress. “I….but the Empress. She’l-“ He was cut off though by Rant shoving his shoulder and chopping a hand through the air.
“The Empress will get her panties in a twist. She’ll order the Spear to challenge me, and the spear will tell her the same thing I’m going to tell you right now. She may be the most renowned Valisar, but I am the best. If she fights me, she will lose her precious Spear.” Rant grinned then, and the fierce look in his eyes told Etanis he was hoping for such an outcome.
Etanis shifted. “So then…I am the chip you play to strike at the Spear, and the Empress?” Rant blinked slowly and then laughed. “Oh by the Gods, boy! I do hope for the outcome, but I don’t expect it. So in the present, I get a strong lad that is alright with a blade. You get a job, and don’t have to keep shoveling shit. Everyone wins. Now lets go”.
Rant didn’t wait, he just turned, and walked on. It had been four years since that day, and since that day he had worked hard, and continued to, all at the services of Valisar Rant. He was told where to go, who to fight, and he did so. For that was his role now. Those that sought Rant’s service, would get the shamed son of a former Valisar, for Rant was far too busy with other matters, like training his girls for the test of the Valisar.
One day though, when Etanis’s fame had grown too far, the Empress would send he Spear, or another to challenge Rant. That would be an interesting day indeed.
Name: Ruindín
Age: 20
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 228 lbs
Hair: Red
Eyes: Gray
Weapons: Bow (Hisluiva)
Knives(3)
Throwing knives (9)
Boot knife(1)
Family:
Mother & Father: Deceased
Adoptive Parents: Deceased
Sister: Alive (non played)
History
The sound of pounding feet, the braying of hounds, and ragged breaths filled the forest, along with the sound of breaking branch and tearing cloth. Through harried breaths a cry came. It was the high terrified pitch of a woman's voice. "Nor-nin Mel!" Though the cry seemed to be accompanied by a high-pitched buzzing sound. The sounded ceased though as the arrow it came from pierced the back of the woman's head, only to come out at an off angle through her mouth and cheek. Her cries, whatever was about to follow being abruptly silenced.
The man she was running with, a tall and broad red-haired man had turned in time to see the woman, pierced like a common beast, falling to the earth lifeless. He felt the stirring of the bundle in his arms, and he knew he had no time to stop and mourn her loss. He turned, and he ducked through the trees, only to hear the thump of an arrow as it lodged into the thick wood of the tree he'd been standing by. There was no buzz from that arrow, it'd come as silent as one with properly fletching should.
He ran, the braying of the hounds, and the course laughter of the three men remaining men pursuing him driving him onward. He'd made it no more than one hundred yards when the trees gave way suddenly into a clearing filled with tall grass. At the far end of that clearing was a fair-sized cabin, with smoke curling up from a stone laid chimney. Switching mentally to the common tongue, the man yelled out. "For the love of the Gods! Please help!" His voice, deep and thunderous carried over the clearing, and he could see figures inside stirring.
Hope rose in his breast, just a few moments before the next arrow pierced into his back, causing him to gasp in shock and pain. His body spun with the force of the arrow strike, stalling his run. but he soon began to run again, only to have a second arrow pierce his low back. This time, his stumble took him to the earth. He did all he could as he fell to shield the bundle in his arms. He shifted that bundle to his right arm, and he used his left, to drag himself through the tall grass.
It was then that the two who lived in the cabin had come, and run. They too had bows with arrows ready. The three men pursuing saw this, and that their chance for the kill might go to these new arrivals. Though in truth they did not care. Little did they know they'd become the targets. The man and the woman drew, and loosed. Both arrows shot like lighting across the expanse and struck the two in the front, the first was taken high, the arrow lancing through his neck, the other straight to the chest.
The third man came to a skidding stop, holding the dogs that even then still brayed loudly, and struggled to get forward to claim the fallen man. He quickly saw the situation for what it was. The man and woman were already drawing fresh arrows, and he turned and ran. Those arrows flew, though he jinked at the last moment, and one tore a line in the back of his neck, the other thumped into his right shoulder. Before any further arrows could be loosed, he let go of the dogs, and fled into the woods.
The two then came to the man, still desperately crawling toward the cabin, his breathing labored, and his motions jerky. The man came to kneel besides the wounded man, and he laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Peace...we've got yo-" He broke off, seeing the bundle there. "Maureen!" He called. "He's got a child." It was then the smaller of the two came to kneel and she came to gently take the babe from the man, who'd been wrapped and bundled. The babe was awake, and watched on with silent and serious gray eyes. She looked to the man, who hand rolled to his side.
"M-." Blood pored from his mouth, to fall over his lower lip, silencing his words. He coughed, and took a breath, wet sounding with blood. "My son.." he gasped. "Is...Ruindín" He fell forward, his face resting to the earth as he could no longer draw the strength to hold his body upright. He continued speaking though through blood matted teeth. "Son...of Brethilmor..." Blood pored like a small slow river from his mouth and he coughed again.
"And...Wilwarin." He rolled his head to the side, as the two looked on stoically, knowing well what was coming. The man was speaking his dying words. Tears streamed from his eyes, and with all the strength he could muster, Brethilmor grabbed the man's hand who knelt before him. "P-please." he begged. "H-help him." Then the light rapidly faded from his eyes, and those pupils relaxed as all pain fled his body. The hand slipped away, and the body went lax.
Maureen stood, cradling the infant to her, and she looked down, tears running down her face. Her soft voice spoke cleary, despite her tears. "Nathan...he is Elvish" She said, looking at the babe's ears, and the fiery red hair he had. "At least in part..." The man, Nathan, looked up from the dead to his young wife, and he gave a shallow nod. "Aye, and it's Elven, love." He sighed and gently reached out to close the eyes of the dead, before rising to his own feet. He'd have bodies to bury. He'd also need to trace back the trail to see how this all began.
Maureen looked to her husband, and she shifted the babe who up to this point continued to remain silent, despite the commotion. "Well, what will we do with him?" She asked nervously. He was an adorable baby, and those eyes just seemed to see right into her soul. She found herself holding him gently. Nathan drew in a breath, and let it out quickly. "For now, we will care for him, and see if we can find any who would...be better suited to raising one of his blood."
The look on the man's face was a grim one. He knew it would be difficult if not impossible to find the Elves, or even get a message into their lands. He'd try though. One thing was certain, he was not going to let the boy go until he knew he was in the right hands. He knew in his heart that Maureen wouldn't either. "Let's get him inside with Gram and Idara. Then we can tend to...these matters." He said with a sad gesture to the fallen man. Gently he draped his arm over his wife's shoulders, and drew her to his side as he walked with her.
The child shifted his serious gaze from the woman to the tall bearded man, and for the first time he gave a happy coo, and the small hands reached out. If ever there was a sound that could drive a knife into the heart of the man, it was that one. Maureen's tears fell freshly, as she looked up to Nathan. Slowly he pulled his arm from about his wife, and he reached out and took the child. Small fingers wound into that beard with one hand, and his eyes promptly closed into sleep.
Nathan found himself looking to his wife, who had the look of a woman about to get her way. He said nothing in response. The easiest way was to not broach the subject. Entering into the cabin, an old woman rocked gently by the window, holding another bundled infant, also sleeping. She had a look of sadness on her face, and she simply shook her head. Shifting the babe to one arm, she held out her other for the other. Nathan gently deposited Ruindíin into that arm, and she held the two as she rocked. She said simply, in an old and cracking voice. "Go on. I'll call to Maureen if they need milk." And with that, she looked down to the two, one red haired, the other black as night. She resumed her rocking, and began to hum for them an old lullaby.
With a look given back to them, the man and his wife exited the cabin, to take care of the distasteful work that was now their responsability.
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"Ruindin" Idara said softly. "Your going to get us in trouble!" The young boy looked to his sister, and a slow smiled grew. "I didn't ask you to come Idara. I don't need your help to hunt a buck." He said. The two had grown, and were both now around the age of fourteen. Idara had taken on the beautiful aspects of their mother, while Ruindin had only begun to grow, and was already working toward catching up the height gap that had grown between them.
He watched as Idara bit her bottom lip, a habit of hers that annoyed him to know end. Her lip popped free, and she narrowed her eyes in the same manner as their mother. "Well, if you do kill something with that bow of yours, how will you get it home? You’re not exactly as big as father." She said in a hushed voice, as they moved in slow circles from the cabin. Ruindin knew she was right, he just didn't understand why she needed to go absolutely everywhere with him. He didn't say anything, knowing it was a futile effort. They went on into the forest. His father had told him the day he could bring down a buck on his own, he'd be a man, and Ruindin desperately wanted that day to come. He wanted to see the look in his father’s eyes.
The day was upon him. For some fifty yards away, there stood a full-grown buck. Idara saw it, and also went still, though she may actually have seen it first, for she'd stopped just barely before him. That annoyed him, he should have seen it first. It mattered not, for her slowly drew that arrow, and took sight on the buck. The arrow flew, and it struck home so soundly, the buck simply lurched as if to run, but toppled over. His first formed and he pumped it downward, giving a cry of triumph. "Yes!" He and Idara called. Then she hugged him, and he felt the warm press of her lips to his cheeks. She pulled away, and he found himself standing there stupefied. That single kiss burned there, and he knew not why. His brows drew down, and he found Idara looking to him, her bottom lip bitten. Oddly, it didn't seem to annoy him now. Her soft voice came breaths later, breaking his thoughts. "See. You need me." Then she turned, and moved to the buck. He followed mutely after.
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"You can't leave us, Ruindin!" Idara cried in fury, her normally alabaster skinned face tinged with a dark red. "You just can't just leave us and go off looking for a family that is dead!" She shouted as her foot came down and her fists clenched to her side. It was then that both her mother and her father called out in unison. "Idara!" But her mother continued. "That is enough! Come with me right now!" Maureen took her daughters hand, and promptly lead her back to her room, where the door was shut.
Nathan looked to his son, and he drew in a slow breath. He knew how mad his son was. They'd told him what had happened to his parents. What had been done by humans, but men, just like his parents. They'd told them they'd tried to get a message to his kindred, but never gotten a response. But all knew it was not an easy feet to get a message into the lands of the Elves. They guarded their boarders very thoroughly. "Ruindín" He said, pronouncing the name in the way his father had with his dying breath, not how his sister, mother, and Gram had.
I know, right now your heart hurts. I know your angry, and the sight of a human, even ones that have been your family, makes your blood burn." He looked to the sixteen-year-old man, and he saw the pain in his gray eyes "I hope one day, you will find what you seek, and you will come back to us. We will always be your family, and we will always love you." Nathan saw the flood of different emotions in the boy’s face and eyes.
Ruindín stepped back, and he turned. "Wait!" Nathan called out. "You must wait. I have something you will need." He turned then, and he moved off into his own room. He came back a moment later with an old trunk carried between both hands by rope handles. He thumped it down. "These...where your fathers..." he said as he knelt beside the box and pull the lid open on hinges that gave a slight squeak of protest at being used after so long.
Inside there was armor, and knives of Elven make. Ruindín stepped forward, and he slowly picked it up. He saw then that two of the pieces on the back were different. He looked at them curiously, and then into the trunk. There sat the originals, both with a smooth hole, and deep stain about their edges. He understood then, and his jaw set firmly. Nathan rose and spoke in a voice low and with both pride and sadness. "Let me help you get it on."
Ruindín looked to his father, and simply dropped the armor. Stepping over it and around the trunk he threw his arms around the dark-haired man who'd raised him, loved him, and taught him as any father should. He squeezed him. "I..." Ruindín spoke, but faltered. Collecting his thoughts, he continued. "I am not angry with you, or mother. Not even Idara." he said the last almost with a joking tone. "I've been lucky to be made part of this family. It is my family. But I need to know if I have others out there that are as well. I need to know if they know what has happened to my...my other parents." He said drawing back.
Tears stood unshed in his gray eyes. "Once I find that out, I will be back father." He said, ensuring there was no doubt in the Nathan's eyes, who he saw as his father. "Thank you, for teaching me. Thank you for everything." Then Nathan, tears standing in his own eyes, gave a nod. "Let’s get you ready for the road, Ruindí-" Ruindin raised a hand then causing his father to cut off. "Ruindin." He said gently. Saying his name the way the family had come to know him. "To you I am always Ruindin, your son." He smiled a sad smile. Nathan gave a proud nod, moved, and picked up the armor. It would only take the two of them a quarter of the hour to outfit him and adjust the straps to his frame, and then position those knives about so they could be reached.
It was then that Maureen and Idara came from the room. Both women had faces that were red with signs of recent distress. Ruindin turned to them, and he saw his mother's composure break. Tears, which had so recently been shed, came on fresh and heavy. She rushed to him, and wrapped him in her arms. The sight of her boy, armed and armored was to much. She knew he was going into the world, but such a sight was only that much more a reminder that it was not a friendly place, and he might not come back.
She fell into a hiccupping crying mess. Idara pushed her gently back so that she might have a moment to regain her composure, and she stepped in front of her brother. Her dark eyes serious and firm. "You come back to me, Ruindin." She then took his head gently in both hands and pulled so he would have to lean down to her, having grown well past her height. She placed a kiss to his brow then. "Come back." She said, and then, letting him go, she fled back to her room.
Maureen, covering her mouth to hold back her sobs, watched the whole thing, while her husband had come and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Finally, she dropped her hand and extended both of her arms to her son. Ruindin smile, almost shyly, and moved to his mother, to wrap her into his arms as he had when he was young.
She held him, just like she had when he was a boy no more than five, and she rocked and did her best not to cry. Finally, she spoke. "If you get in any trouble, just come home...We are your family always. You may find others, but we will always be here for you." She gently pushed him back then, and stroked his shoulder, as if trying to smooth out armor as if it were cloth.
"You look so handsome." She breathed. A mischievous twinkle coming to her eye. "Please, if a young woman catches your fancy, make sure to bring her home before she has children!" The look of stunned and horrified shock on Ruindin's face was what she would remember. She cackled with delight as he called out in protest.
"Mother!" Nathan gave a grin and a wink to his son, who was about as red as a young man could get. Then his mother was there hugging him again. "I love you, my Ruindin. The God's blessed our lives with yours. Make us proud." Then she kissed his cheek and she turned to seek the waiting arms of her husband, Nathan.
Nathan wrapped her up in his arms. "Write, and let us know how you are from time to time. If you are in the area, you had better stop by. I don't think your mother would stand for anything less." He smiled. "Safe travels, my son."
Ruindin, shouldered his pack, and he stepped back to wave farewell. He did not look behind him, for his resolve to leave may have shattered. From the doorway his mother and father watched him, and from the side of the house, his sister, crying hard, watched though tears as he vanished into the woods.
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Ruindin slowly walked down the well-travelled road leading to the south. He'd found out where the Elven lands were, that part had been much easier than he'd ever thought. It seemed everyone knew just where the Elven lands were, but there were far fewer people willing to travel there, as the Elves were notoriously strict on who they even let approach their boarders. So for four years from the time since he'd left his family behind, he'd traveled with one merchant or another, slowly working his way toward the lands of the Elves.
He did what jobs he could. The skills he'd learned from his adoptive family were prized on the road. Hunting, fishing, mending equipment, and foraging were all skills any merchant or caravan had use of, and it was this skill that made him marketable. The only trouble he had was finding the right caravans that would get him closer to his destination. At times it was beyond frustrating, as there were seemingly no merchants or Caravans heading in the right direction.
To hunt, in many of those lands he needed to be traveling with a merchant or Caravan lead with a license from whatever lord was over the lands they crossed to hunt. Not having one would prove very hazardous to one's health. He'd seen the ramifications with his own eyes what they did to poachers. The dominate hand was too steep a price to pay for that failure.
Finally, sometime after his twentieth year, he found a caravan that was traveling to the towns that had been established closest to the Elven boarders. Finally, his time had come! When they'd arrived in the village, for it really should not have been called a town. He split from the caravan, and made his way to the Elven Boarder.
Ruindin had no idea how he'd recognize the boarder, but he suspected it had something to do with the tree line in the distance. So, shouldering the pack that road on his shoulders he made his way for it. Though he didn't know precisely where the boarder was, it became apparent when no less than three separate arrows struck the ground no more than a foot before him. all with in less than a few inches from the other.
He halted, and began to scan the trees in the distances, following the direction the arrows would have flown from to reach where they'd landed. He saw nothing. Knowing the Elves had just declared their boarder to him, he let his pack drop to the ground, and he lowered to sit before the arrows, and wait. His wait was a long. Day after day, he sat, and waited. He slept at night, and hunted small game, using the provided arrows when the time came. But when no task occupied his attention, he sat cross legged on the earth, palms resting atop knees, and staring at the forest.
When a month and a day had come and gone, and his patience was beginning to ware thin, he saw the first of the Elves which held the boundaries, for he came striding from the forest, bow in hand, arrow ready, but not drawn. Once he'd cleared the tree line, Ruindin watched as two others, one to the right and the other the left, came out as well.
Each ready, and wary of a fight. The moved with grace, speed, and poise. Their clothes were ideal to keep them concealed within the forest, and their hair was tucked back into their hoods. As the center Elf drew nearer though, that hood was pushed back. Slowly Ruindin rose to his feet.
The elf stopped some twenty paces away, his silvery blond hair almost glowing in the light. Ruindin could clearly see why he'd kept it covered. In the forest it would give him away easily. Then he looked to the other two. They too had discarded their hoods, and their hair shone brightly.
Curiously Ruindin looked between the three, until the center leader spoke. The words he spoke, Ruindin found puzzling, though he could hear the flow of them, the same flow his own name held. He hadn't the faintest idea of what they meant.
The look on his face must have been enough for the leader, for he switched to the common language, his accent thing, and lovely. "You have to much patience to wait so boldly at our boarder Quendi Taure. Who are you, and why have you come here?" Ruindin found himself quietly working his way through those words. He didn't understand the name he'd been called, so he slowly gave a tilt to his head, almost questioningly.
"I, am Ruindin Cole." He said, using the adoptive name of his parents, for he'd never known if he had a last name, or if the Elves even took them. He knew his father had not given one on his dying breath.
"I have come seeking any of my blood, or of relation to it." He paused looking between the three, as he saw smiles grow. They were not the sort of smiles that said welcome though. They almost seemed mocking. "My father and mother were killed when I was an infant. I was brought up by a human family. Those they sent to find what relations I had never returned word." He finished.
The lead elf let his smile break and the other two seemed to be holding back laughs even before he spoke. "If these others came here, then they would not have been granted entry, nor would they have found anything, Quendi Taure." His smile turned sickeningly sweet.
"Can you not see? You are of no relation to our blood line. But come, little cousin. We will take you in, and tell you of where your line comes from." The other two now laughed, for it was apparent that this youth, for he was a youth to them, was in desperate need of their aid. The three came to him, and lead him into the woods.
Ruindin had expected to be taken in straight away, but once they reached the tree line, they stopped. The leader simply vanished silently, while the other two waited, with patronizing smirks when they looked to him. When he'd asked what they waited for, the smiles came, but no answers with it. So he sat again, and he waited.
It seemed he'd made it only a few hundred yards, and would go back to waiting. Two days he would wait there, until finally the leader that had first spoken to him would approach, but with a woman by his side. She did not attempt to hide herself, and with a wave of her hand, she sent the others on their way. The three guards practically melted from his sight.
As the guards faded away into the forest, the woman, wearing a pure white cloak and dress slowly stepped forward with grace beyond anything a mortal could muster, perhaps even more than even another elf. She pushed her hood back, and when she did so she spoke with a voice so smooth and warm, it was like sweet honey and milk.
"Young Ruindín" She said gently, using the proper pronunciation of his name. "I have heard of your tale, and know that we all share in your grief at the loss of your parents. Know as well we share the grief in that you were raised away from your own kind."
She stopped just a step or two from him, and she looked up to him, a smile so natural and lovely that Ruindín could not help but return it, though his was only a pale imitation. She spoke gently to him again, as she held out her hand to him, slender palm up. "Please, walk with me, and we shall discuss your family." Slowly his gaze lowered to the proffered hand, and he reached out to set his atop of hers. Her slender fingers curled about his larger rougher hand, and his about hers.
The walked then, heading out from the forest, and back toward the village. This alone startled and made his hopes fall. "Ruindín. Your people came from the woods, though are not of our bloodline." She said gently, her face turning to look up to his. She read there the crestfallen look as easily as one might read the words on a page. Her smile grew.
"Fear not, for you have not traveled far enough yet. Not by half, young Ruindíin. You must turn west, and follow the river you will cross. It will cross into the Elven lands, but you will be known by a token." She said, and reached into her cloak, drawing forth a little cylinder of crystal. It held a soft green glow. She reached then to him, and affixed it to his belt, so it would hang in plain sight.
"Those that see you will let you pass through our lands, as long as you wear this." She gently brought her hand to rest on his cheek. Her eyes flicked over that stern young face. "So solemn for one so young. You've eyes that see more than most." She gently withdrew her hand. "I will also send word ahead by bird. Your people will know you come, and of your story. I promi-"
She broke off as Ruindín quickly shoved her aside, just in time to avoid the throwing knife that passed now between them. Ruindín's approach to the Elven lands had not gone unnoticed by those within the town, and he'd spoken of it to those within his caravan. It seemed some of those workers and towns people had sought to try to gain some prize from the Elves when they'd come out.
Four men, and one woman strode toward them now, the woman held a bow, and the others held stout sticks. Ruindín quickly looked between them, and edged toward his host. Casting a glance back over his shoulder, he saw many Elves coming from the tree line, all with bows.
They were out of range though. This was certainly not what he'd wanted. He whipped his head back though when he'd heard a startled cry. It was a voice that only moments ago had been rich with warmth. Protruding from her left shoulder she was the shaft of an arrow, and in her hands, she held a bow lacking a string. Ruindin moved then to catch her, as she began to topple.
Those lovely gray eyes were filled with pain, and her teeth were gritted as she tried to bare it. The advance of both the Elves, and the humans had stopped. The four men swiveled to stare at the woman who had loosed the arrow, and one bellowed. "What the hell Nel? We need her alive!" The human girl, a small strawberry blond looked about frantically. "Y-you saw her! She pulled the bow from nowhere!"
Ruindin didn't hear it though, for the woman was pressing that bow into his hands. "S-save...me" She breathed. With those words, Ruindin lifted the bow, and without thought he reached forward, until he felt a thrumming in between his fingertips. He gripped it, and just like that, the ruins on the bows face blazed a brillant azure.
A light shot down the bows tips and up its center as the string and arrow formed. Not thinking, Ruindín drew the bow, and loosed a shaft of brilliant blue. It arched, and struck the bow in the girl’s hands. The bow burst as if it were made of glass, it's shards cutting the girls hands.
Another drawing motion produced another shaft of light, and with a shift he leveled it at the lead man who'd yelled. Ruindin's teeth were shown to the man and he snarled. "Run. Away." And much to his surprise, the five ran.
As soon as he relaxed his grip, the light faded. Ruindín dropped the bow, and move then to cradle the woman in his arms. Her blood stained her white gown, but she looked to him with a new look, of pain and awe. "Your blood is.." and then her eyes fluttered closed.
More footsteps drew closer though and he spun. The hum was in his hands and he twisted and drew. The azure shaft of light buzzed between his fingertips. The Elven leader slid to a stop, his own bow drawn, but a look of horror on his face. Ruindín quickly lowered the bow again, and set it aside.
"Help her.." he said, and then the Elven guard fell in around them. Ruindin would not remember much of the walk into the forest. He walked beside the Elves that bore their mistress's wounded form. He could see though that she was alive from her shallow breaths.
As they walked, he held the woman's bow, and none would take it from him, though he offered. He could hear that humming, buzzing in his mind, and feel it on the tips of his fingers. The walk was long, but eventually the trees gave way to less dense trees, and the city of the Elves grew before him. Upon the sight of the wounded, more Elves rushed to whisk the mistress away, and at this point, Ruindín felt he could hardly stand.
Someone was talking to him. It was the elf he'd first spoken with out by the boarder. A part of Ruindín's mind noticed he looked much less snide; in fact he looked frightened. For all he tried though Ruindín could not make out what he was saying. The man's voice just grew more and more distant.
Ruindín tumbled forward, and fell to his side. Finally the bow left his hand, and faded to mist. The world went black.
________________________________________
Sound came to his ears before ever his eyes opened. Dim light filtered past his eyelids, and finally, the slowly parted to allow the light in. It stung, and his hand rose slowly to shield his eyes, as a gush air past his lips in protest. A soft voice, one he'd not heard before spoke. "He is rousing, Mistress." It was a feminine voice. Slowly his head would turn towards it's sound, and he could make out colors mixed in with the bright light.
"Yavie, please draw the curtains. The light might be a bit harsh to his eyes." Another voice, one which was like honey and warm milk said. Just hearing it caused a peace to flow through him. She'd lived. Suddenly the light dimmed noticeably, and he saw sitting in a chair by his bedside was the woman he'd walked with, and behind her, fixing the curtains was woman who could easily have been a close relative, if her eyes had not been so hard.
When his eyes moved back to the woman from before she smiled gently. Ruindin's eyes slowly moved about the room he was in. It was large, and filled with white and silver shades. Then the woman spoke again, drawing his attention back to her. "Young Ruindin, I did not give you my name before. But perhaps now, things are different, for you have saved my life." Her gentle tone, and the claim that he'd saved her was to much he began to work to stammer, though she continued on.
"I am called Galadre, and you, my young savior did something you should not have been able to. You drew hisluva." She said, her eyes now serious, and deep. Ruindin found himself meeting her gaze, and knowing she spoke of the bow, and that it's name was Hisluiva, the Mist Bow. His voice rolled out, sounding more tired and strained than he thought it really should have. "The..mist bow?" He asked, seeking affirmation that what he understood now was indeed what it was.
She gave a solemn nod in answer, her eyes boring into his. "It was my understanding that you did not speak our language. How is it you knew the name of the bow then? Have you heard of it before?" Her tone was gentle, but also leaving no room to doubt she sought an honest answer. Ruindin shifted uncomfortable at the tone. "No, I do not speak your language. I was raised by...a human family. I do not know how I knew."
He watched her frown appear upon her face, marring the perfect features. He found he did not enjoy the sight of that frown, for in his heart, he watched something beautiful distort into something it was not meant to be. The look changed back almost as soon as it had come. "It would seem that you've taken it away from me." She said gently and then she looked down to her hands. "Hisluiva chooses it's wielder, and it's bond with you was strong from the moment you picked it up."
She gave a sad smile. "Those that have wielded it, all save the first of us, have shown a deep purple or a at most a green light when we have used it. It has not had the azure blue for over one thousand years. It is destined to do great things in your hands." She smiled then and rose to her feet. "When you are rested, you will travel through our lands to your peoples.
It will take you time, and you may find yourself needing the bow you even now carry in your soul. The road is dangerous." She bowed her head gently then, and as gracefully as when he'd first seen her, glided from the room, followed by the other, who seemed to glare at him all the while.
________________________________________
Though he would soon travel further south, through the Elven land’s and out, he would not leave immediately, he had still to recover his strength, and that would take time. In the days that came to pass, he was visited numerous times by Galadre.
The other woman, Yavie, always with her, and always watching him with eyes the spoke of dislike. One one such visit, she’d explained more about the Mist bow. It was a weapon forged long ago, but not by the hands of the Elves. It was forged by their creators, the Eyael, and was said to have a soul of its own.
It was always bonded, and it was set that when it broke a bond, it was because the one it had bonded to would soon pass to the next life. This news had come as a great shock, and Ruindin found himself on his feet, and pacing. The eyes of the girl Yavie followed him as he paced, cool and heavy. He saw the look, and understood now the emotion behind that look.
She blamed him for the doom that was to come. The changing of the bond signified that Galadre would soon pass from the world. Drawing in a breath he turned to face the two woman, one who’s look was as warm as the summer sun, the other who’s gaze was a cold as an artic glacier. “How do I undo the bond then? If such is to mean you perish, I want nothing of it.” He said firmly, his voice conveying a wealth of emotions he could not express with words. Galadre’s gaze warmed even more, and her smile became soft. Yavie’s gaze remained unchanged.
“The bond is the choice of the Bow. Not ours. It leaves us when it is another’s duty to wield it. Thus is the wisdom of the Eyael.” She said and then she rose to her feet. “Besides, to do so might very well speed your own passing from this world.” Ruindin looked to her, his gray eyes burning. “Then so be it!” he said stubbornly, and with a passion previously unknown to him. “I will find a way to bind it back to you. Your time is not yet done!”
It was this statement, and the redness of his face that saw the thawing of Yavie’s gaze. The first flickers of warmth shown then. It would not last, for Galadre slowly moved to Ruindin, and laid a hand to his chest. “Peace.” She spoke in a breath. “You’ve a destiny, and mine is closing. What will come will come. Though I may only have a few brief years left, I am content that I’ve seen this task passed into your care.” She leaned then, and kissed his cheek.
When she pulled away, he stood with a heated face. She looked at it fondly. “I will show you how to manifest your bow in the coming days. Once you’ve learned to call on it, I am sure you will wish to go and seek out your people. For now, rest. Tomorrow will be trying for you.” She gave a soft bow of her head, and she and Yavie left yet again. She told the truth the following day was trying to say the least.
The calling of the Hisluiva required an intense mental focus, and as the bond was fresh, far more energy than he would expend later for such a task. Galadre had explained to him that the bonding was still underway, and the more often he called upon the Bow, the easier it would be, and the less energy it would take.
Ruindin spent the day calling, and dismissing the bow. His first attempt to call the bow had taken him the better part of two hours, and its dismissing would either happen when he closed those mental connections, or when he’d run out of energy. If he left the connections open, the bow would continue to draw on him until it could draw no more. It was why he’d felt so exhausted and required so much rest after it’s first use.
The bonding of the bow, and the use for two shots was a great strain to happen all at once. Historically, it had almost always happened this way, but there were a few occasions it had been handed to another when no peril had been present. His bond was also much stronger than any in countless years. Stronger even the Galadre’s own had been.
Days would go by, and soon Hisluiva would come at a moments notice, and he would be able to fire blazing shot after shot. On that day, Galadre had come, though for the first time her unhappy shadow was no where within sight. Galadre moved to him as he’d finished a set of shots with Hisluiva. “You’re bond with Hisluiva is strong, and complete.” She said gently.
Ruindin turned, and found she had been watching from but a few paces away. He gave a nod. “Yes, I can feel it now. It comes when I call, and leaves when the need has passed.” He watched her cautiously, knowing that though she had passed the bow to him, it must still pain her to let it go. He also knew that his next words, though expected, would hurt them both, though for different reasons.
“It is time that I depart, though I wish you to know that I am grateful for the care you have given me.” By the look that flashed through Galadre’s eyes, she’d known it was coming, but had not expected those to be the words he spoke. He watched as a myriad of emotions changed the contours of her face before her gentle expression returned. “Of course. I had known the time was drawing close, though I had hoped you would stay longer.” She gave a smiling sigh. “When had you planned to leave, Ruindin?”
Ruindin, looked down to his hands and then back up. “I’ll shall leave at dawn on the morrow, Galadre. Though something tells me we will meet again.” He said gently. He said this not only to try to assuage some of his own guilt, but because he felt in his heart that it was genuinely true. Though her time to wield Hisluiva had passed, he tasks on this earth were not yet finished. Galadre, for her part smiled. He’d come to realize that though her smiles all seemed to be gentle, and warm, there were slight variances to them. This one said to him she thought him kind. Polite even, but foolish to a degree. He did not speak of what he noticed though, for it might offend her.
“Well then, I look forward to our next meeting. You will have to tell me of all you have accomplished young one.” She said. She’d reverted to calling him young one, rather than his name. A part of Ruindin’s mind wondered if that was her way of distancing herself from him. Her way of preparing to part. He simply gave her a gentle bow of his head. “It shall be as you say.” He said in deference. This brought another smile, one that said that she’d enjoyed the way he’d worded their last exchange. It was indeed their last exchange, for after that, Ruindin would not see her again. He left at dawn, moving out of the Elven city, and into the woods beyond.
Four hundred and sixty two years ago, was when my life changed. I was twenty eight years old, and filled with life and vigor. I was a servant to the High King of Hexlund, though not high ranked. This was during the time of the Dark Wars, as they were called then, or the Schism as they have sense come to be known.
At the time, I was a Sargent, I had been drafted into the service as all bodies were required, and due to my somewhat higher education than the average man, I was granted the rank of Corporal. Though I cut a fine figure in my uniform, my wife, Hailey, worried to no end. Though I knew men had fought, and died in this war long before I was ever born, I was still young, and I was sure of myself. What could possibly come happen to me, when I had so much life to live?
My first battle would open my eyes to the horrors of war. I watched the officers and sergeants above me, as well as the men below me slaughtered to the man by the dark scourge. I fought with them, and I took a blade to the side, and a blow to the head in that first fight. I was sure when the blackness overtook me, that I too was dead. The only thought I had before that blackness overtook me was that I wouldn’t get to see Hailey’s flowers this spring. They were always so beautiful.
When I came to, I lay with my face in the mud and blood. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, and the chorus of carrion birds filled the air with their harsh crowing and crooning. I felt the sharp bite of a beak to my wound, and jerking, I pulled myself up, causing the crows about me to startle in fright and take to the air, only to land yards away to other less lively game.
The hours that followed were unpleasant to say the least. I’d made my way through that field of death which had turned into a feast for the crows, and made my back toward where I remembered my prior command had been. I found only further death and destruction there. The enemy had rolled our lines back, and rode over our encampment. I found signs though there were some survivors, and followed the path. My youth spent stalking and hunting game was what kept me alive in the coming days, though as I went my wound grew steadily worse.
On the fourth day of my stumbling, I came upon a fresh battle in progress. The cry of men dying rang carried to me long before I even saw the first outward signs of a battle. It was then I saw, to my horror, the High King of Hexlund, seemingly alone, and standing against the foul scourge that had once been an Elven sorceress of some renown, now twisted into something dark. She, towered over the King, who lay wounded on his side as he scrambled for a weapon, but found nothing but mood, blood, and broken weapons that would not serve him.
The line of the scourge pressed back the High King’s armies, keeping him cut off from what aid might be his otherwise. I was dying, I knew this. I felt it in my blood and bones. So what I did next was a vain attempt to at least die fighting.
I had no weapon of my own, having not had the strength to carry one all this way wounded. Now, that decision seemed like a mistake, but it would not matter in the end. I was dead either way. Even were I to kill her, those foul being she’d corrupted would surely kill me. So it was that I summoned what strength I had.
I pressed my fingers painfully into that wound at my side, and tore at it, so that the pain and rage would feed me, push me, and give me something to drive the reckless action i was about to undertake forward. I made no sound, other than a growl as I pushed through the thin rear ranks of that scourge, pushing them aside before they knew what was occurring. I punched into that circle they’d made around the corrupted sorceress and the dying High King. Before any could stop me, I was behind her, and pulling the dagger she wore at her hip free of it's sheath. I wrapped both my arms around her and used them, and what remaining strength I could muster, to drive the dagger into her gut as hard as I could.
This action pulled her back to my chest, and I felt her pain. I felt it as keenly as if it were my own.
I watched as her head slowly turned and fell to the side. I remember those startling green eyes, and the pain there as her mouth hung open in pain in shock.
It was the way her smile twisted into something else that sent chills through my skin, and the memory still does to this day. I watched her lips moving, and though she spoke, I did not hear what she said over the cries of rage from her followers. Then I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. I watched her eyes go dull and lifeless even as that electric feeling coursed through me, making my muscles lock in place, and feel as if God's own fire ran up each of my nerves.
I toppled backward, with her lifeless body atop my own. I had not anticipated what would follow. This foul sorceress I had killed had been more than just a scourge to the world. The corruption she had sewn into her followers and creations had been of her, and more of an influence than any had known. Her death had far reaching and immediate impact upon her followers, for they became immediately confused, stunned, and left themselves open.
It was enough for the massed armies of Hexlund, and other allies to push through. I didn’t remember much beyond that point, for the darkness again took me. When next I awoke, I was in a bed. An actual bed in the midst of a tent. Next to me in a separate bed, was a man I’d never seen before. No, that isn’t’ right. The last I’d seen him he’d armored and on the ground looking for a weapon. He was looking at me with those keen dark eyes of his. He’d not died after all. Standing in the large pavilion, for that is what is was, the King’s personal pavilion, were Elves, tall, lean and beautiful. Their alien almond shaped eyes holding that wisdom that and loftiness their kind is known for.
I’d only seen a few, and never any that had the baring such as this. These were nobles of their own kind. Slowly when I sat up, I found no pain. Moving my hand to my side, I found it clean, though unbound by any bandage. Was this the famed healing skill of the Elves?
If so, why had I of all people been granted this? The King, and the Elven man behind him both watched me keenly, and the weight of their gaze I still remember caused me no small amount of unease. I looked then to the two of them, and I must have looked ill at ease. “My Lords, I do not know what deed I might have performed to gain this favor of being tended to in such a way, but I thank you.”
My words sounded weak and frightened to my own ears, though the rang with more strength than a man that had just hours before been dying. The High King barked out a laugh, but that Elven man behind him looked to me with a growing frown.It was the King who spoke first.
“Corporal, you saved my life, and as such, I own you more than a bed in my pavilion. You have but to name your desire, and I will grant it. For your deed in slaying that scourge, you could name any boon of any of the heads of the lands, and they would grant it. For without you, we would have fallen.”
I was silent for a moment, my hand was still pressed to where the wound in my side had been. I felt no sign of it, felt to twinge of pain as I knew there should be. The words of the King rang in my ears, though the gravity of them had stunned me into silence. The silence was filled though, by the Elven man, who spoke with highly accented common.
I must say, if you’ve ever heard an Elf speak, you know it is not just their looks they are known for. Just hearing this man, I knew where he standing next to any woman, they would be smitten immediately, married or not. At that moment, I knew I wouldn’t ever want one of his kind around my Hailey.
“You hold your side, as if you were wounded. My clerics and healers found no sign of any injuries. Are you unwell?”
The sound of his voice almost distracted me from the question. Blinking I looked down and twisted to look down at my side, raising the clean white shirt I’d be placed in. There was no wound, only a scar that looked old and faded. The confusion must have shown on my face, for the Elven man was at my side, kneeling, before I had even known he’d moved.
He looked to my side, and I felt then the cool press of his fingers to my side. When next he looked to meet my gaze, there was a curious look to his eye. It seemed that gaze when on for ages. When he spoke again I blinked from the sudden shock in the break of the trance like state his gaze had put me into. How long had I been sitting there staring into his eyes?
“I am Lanarius Malonar, the High Lord and councilmen of the Elven Empire. I would ask that when you are well, you come and let my people show their appreciation for the deeds that you have done.”
Then he looked away from me, and spoke to the High King. “After your celebrations, you will see to it that he comes to stay with us? He has a place among us, and our celebration will certainly last much longer than your own. “
The High King, looked a bit taken aback, as no Human had ever been offered to stay with the Elves in recorded memory, simply nodded his agreement. Then he too spoke after a moment. “I shall see he is made available to you.”
And so it was, that after I had been presented to the combined armies of the allies. My wife was brought out, and we were paraded through the streets of Hexlund as champions in the games might have been, though with much more fanfare. Hailey met her first Elf, and though he was not Lanarius, he was noble, and his beauty, voice, and gaze had much the same effect I had feared it would. By the end of our brief encounter with him, she was flushed, and her breathing was something she clearly fought to control. The look she’d given me told me just how ashamed she was at her own inability to control her reaction.
It was then I told her of the desire for the Elven people to have us attend their kingdom for a time. I saw right away how uncomfortable that made her. She’d explained that the feeling she felt in that brief interaction with one was more than she could stand, and she did not trust herself to be about them for so long. Though it pained me, she advised that she would wait at our home, and would await me to finish my time with the Elves.
She’d explained to me that she’d thought I would be gone much longer than a year in fighting, so no matter what I’d be coming home to her much sooner than she’d thought. Once the tours of the cities of Hexlund were complete, we said our goodbyes. Though it was not without tears from her. I remembered calling her silly, as we would see each other soon enough.
It was only one year. Had I known what would follow, I would never have let her go. I would have spent every last moment with her that I had, for that would be the last time I would hold my wife again. I set out on tour with the Elves, and was ever at the side of Lanarius as he presented me at one formal setting to the next. I was completely unprepared for the desires of the Elven women.
They were no less beautiful than the men, and I worried I read their intentions incorrectly. It was only when Lanarius advised me that several of these women were making clear invitations toward a more permanent arrangement that I made sure to ask him to advise them I was married. This was the seemed to calm things down a bit. I made friends among the Elves. One was a craftsman with the longest name I’d ever heard.
I just called him Balor, as I couldn’t say his full name if I tried. He came to travel with Lanarius, and was vital in helping me shake off some of the more persistent Elves that sought my attention. He also showed me his trade, which I’d found fascinating. There was one woman though, that could not truly be shaken. This was Lanarius thirteenth daughter Malanaria.
She was ever in his presence, as was his family in general. She though found ways to ensure she was alone with me, when she should not have been. When Balor raised this concern to Lanarius, that his daughter was making advances and actively seeking to be alone with a man, he took steps. He’d called me to him, and when I came, she stood there. The conversation that followed I will not detail out word for word.
Suffice to say it was awkward. He asked me, knowing my answer I suspect, if I would forsake Hailey for his daughter, should she wish a union with me. I of course, answered I would not, for I was bound to her until death parted us. This was my mistake. Shortly after this she left his presence.
Three months later, word arrived to me that my wife, had died of a rapid wasting sickness. Grief took me, for I loved my wife, and the Elves put a halt to their celebrations on my behalf. I left them then, and set out for home, as I had duties to oversee that to me, were more important that a celebration for a battle long since done. Balor took it upon himself to be my escort, which in truth, I was glad for.
When I arrived at our home in the hills, I had found the Hexlund high Priest himself has seen to her last rights, and laid her to rest. Though I had my own prayers to say. It was then that depression took me, and that my friendship with Balor was truly cemented, for the man would not leave my side. When what money I had ran out, he worked, and sold his pieces so that I might continue to grieve in what comfort I would take. After months though of this, he slowly coaxed me out, by talking about what he was doing, why he was doing it, who it was for, and the techniques involved.
Slowly this changed into him having me try, and finding that I could still grieve with busy hands, I worked on the projects he gave me. I asked questions, and I worked. Slowly my grief gave way to the work he put in my hands.
It was not until ten years had pasted that I truly put thought into the time that I had spent grieving, or how that man, still present in my life had lead me from it, and still stood by my side to this day.
He was the sort of friend every man hopes for, and none truly deserve. When I brought this up, he simply shrugged and continued working. It was on the twentieth anniversary of the day I received word of her death that I became aware something was wrong. For Balor put a mirror in front of me.
“Your kind should not look the same after twenty years.“
Was all he said. Looking into the mirror, I was shocked to see he was right. I ventured out then, something I rarely ever did now, and went to the town. I did not go to se the sights, but the people. The faces of those that had survived were not the faces I remembered. Time had taken its toll on all of them. On all of them but me.
When I returned, Balor was there, with his bag, and mine packed. He smiled and held it out. “It is time we return to the Elves. We will find out what has done this to you.”
And so I returned with him. Looking for answers that did not come. I spent over one hundred years with them, unchanged. Their best healers, clerics, and healers could come up with only one explanation, when I killed the scourge, I’d somehow been tainted with magic that should not have been. Could they fix this? No. But they would keep searching for answers.
After waiting for so long though, and learning all the while, I knew that the answers I sought would not be there. So I left. I made my way out into a world that had changed so much that I hardly recognized it. I found that in the time I’d been with the Elves that Hexlund had broken out into civil war, and fragmented. Those pieces each being swallowed up by surrounding kingdoms.
It mattered not though. There was nothing left for me there. I needed to travel further, learn more, and to find answers. I have done so ever since. I still search. I still hope. Though the road is lonely. I know one day I will find a purpose, or answers. There has to be a reason for this, right?
Name: Duncan Alton
Age: 27
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 215lbs
Hair Color: Red
Eye color: Blue
Status: Widowed
Occupation
Farming & Livestock
Brewing
Smithing
Wood working
Race: Human: 100%
Abilities: None
Duncan's Story thus far.
Every story has it's beginning, and not every story is a grand epic that will rivet audiences the world over. I know my story isn't one of the Grand ones, for I'm the son of a farmer, who descended from a long line of farmers. My parents names were Hector and Maria Alton, and they gave birth to me, my brother, and my two sisters. My brother's name was Danny, and my sisters Honey and Autumn.
Growing up, the four of us learned as all children on farms do; through hard work. My brother and I mainly learned from my father, though both mother and father taught us proper behavior when it came to how were treat a woman. My father taught us the practical trade. How to raise the chickens and hogs. How to brew fine beers, whiskies and mead, how to mend a fence, and when to sit and listen. All very practical pieces of knowledge for a young growing boy. There was no official schooling, as the farm had to come first, and our family was not rich enough to afford the merchant schools. In sooth, I doubt my brother or I would have wanted to go into such a trade, though it was a bit heart breaking when Honey showed an interest in medicine, and mother had to break it to her we could not afford an apprentiship, let alone formal schooling.
Our time was not all work though, The four of us would often find ways to make mischief, as all kids do. We often played with our neighbors the Hawkins, and it was then, when their family came to visit that I caught the first sight of her. I was fourteen, just one year into my manhood, when I saw Natalia. She was walking down the the row between her cousins', and I swear by all that is holy, there was never a prettier sight. My brother and I had been headed over to their place to see about inviting them, and their guests to a bonfire and meal, as we knew they had family visiting, and it would be a great way for the news from afar to be shared.
Natalia was a bonnie lass, my age, and already fully a woman. Her hair, unlike mine, was a dark black, as pure as night, with lovely and proud features. My brother, seeing I'd been struck dumb quickly gave me the elbow so I'd shut my gob and not look the fool as they approached. I can honestly say that to this day, I can't remember the faintest thing my brother and the Hawkin's said to one another. I looked at her, and her blue eyes looked right back at me. She was even more beautiful up close. Her cheeks held the lightest hint of a natural blush, her lips were like a bow, soft as any rose petal and pink.
To say I found her beautiful would be as obvious as calling water wet. When we parted, my brother had to take me by the arm, to break my stare, and as we walked away, he cuffed me upside the back of my head with a grin on his face. "You'll see her tonight." he said to me, and it was clear then I was as transparent as the lake on a windless day. I did see her that night at the bon fire. My father played his fiddle, and Mr. Hawkins, and his brother played their own as well. It was then I got the first chance to dance with her.
I wish I could say I danced with one of her sisters, or even cousins who we'd lived next to for all our lives, but I'd be lying. I took her time shamelessly, and she mine. Neither of us had a mind to let the other go. As the night wound on, we found ourselves sitting by a log in the field, watching the fire burn low, and simply talking. If I were a romantic, I would say this was because our hearts knew at first sight that we were fated for one another, and all we had to do was catch up. Alas, I am no romantic. It was during our conversation that I found her father, Mr. Hawkin's brother, had come to help for the summer, before they'd be looking to buy their own partial of land out in the next town over. Before we knew it, the sun had begun it's climb into the sky.
My summer saw the beginnings of my awkward courtship of Natalia. I was careful to show her the respect my mother had farther had taught to me, and though my desire for her was beyond measure, I would not dishonor her. Her cousin would accompany us, and this was mostly the part I regret, for I knew she fancied me, though I'd never done anything to encourage her, and I saw the looks she gave me with I was with her cousin. It hurt her beyond measure I'd chosen another.
Before the year was out Natalia and I were wed, and she moved in to our home. I'd just turned fifteen, and she soon after. Like any man should I began to look at my options, for my brother would be the one to take over the farm when my father passed, and I'd need a way to support my own family. Natalia, who had schooling with words, began sending out inquiries by post for those seeking an able hand, in exchange for land. It took almost two years when we received a reply from a young merchant that was willing to offer me land in exchange for first right of purchase to any goods I produced for a period of five years.
I lept at the offer, and Natalia and I packed our belongings, and began our travels. The timing could have been better, for Natalia was pregnant with what was to be our first child, though she was only shortly into the process, I did not like the idea of her being subjected to hundreds of miles on a jouncing wagon. Our trip was uneventful though, and aside from her sickness from the child, she was well. It took us a little over a month to make the full distance along the roads, but once we arrived, we found everything to be in order. The land was a grand piece of property. I could raise a goodly amount of Hogs, chickens, and goats. It had plenty of timber and it's own water access. I could not have asked for better.
it was in the winter about midway through the pregnancy when Natalia got sick. Growing worried for her, and not having the most money, I didn't have many options, I knew she needed a doctor. So I loaded the slay with what valuables we had, and went inside to say my goodbyes. I held her hand, gave her my most loving smile, and kissed her lips and brow. I told her I loved her, and that it'd be alright. I didn't know I was lying at the time. For when I got back with the doctor in tow, her light had already fled the world, and taken that of our child's with it.
I didn't know it was possible to hurt so badly. I had broken bones, and worse, and this by comparison was an agony that made these other things as a feather tickling the skin. I had lost my love, and my heart had been ripped asunder. I buried my family that night in the frozen earth. I sat, and I wept, and the tears froze to my cheeks, and to her grave. It is nice to know she'll always have a part of me.
I can speak no more on it, save to say that our home, now without her, was empty, and hallow. What had once been grand, now lacked color, taste and life. It was not my haven any longer, by my prison. So I left the merchant with the deed, the chickens, hogs, and goats, the lumber and the good ales I'd brewed, in exchange for a purse of coins and a note to draw on more, and a good horse. I set out then into the world, to see if there was anything left for me.
I am still searching to this day. My coin long since has run out, but I've found that there is always a farm that needs a hand, and my hands are as good, if not better than the next mans. Though some men might have given up, and heavens knows I wished for it for a long time, I know I'd have shamed her if I did that. I couldn't do that, not to her. So I go on, and will so until finally I'm able to move on, or leave this world. I don't know which will happen first, but I do hope it happens soon.
You will watch, Adonis. Do not look away.” The deep voice of the High King of Elgin spoke. The boy, no more than twelve years old, dark off hair and dark of eye, brought his eyes slowly up. Tears welled in his eyes as he set sight on the naked Elven woman, belly swollen with child, as his father slowly settled a heavy hand upon his thin shoulders. A tight squeeze was given to the boy’s shoulder, which caused him to look up to meet his father’s gaze. The look on his face was grim, dark, and sad. Then he looked away from the boy, and stepped forward to the naked woman. Slowly he moved around the woman, taking her hand, and binding it into position, and then doing so with the other. Once this was done, he too her by the ankle and pulled her leg as she sobbed to one side, and bound it, before moving to repeat the process with the other.
“Adonis.” His father spoke, drawing the boy’s horrified gaze from the woman up to his father, who was standing between the woman’s spread legs, but looking to his son. “Save your tears and your sorrow.” His voice was still cold, and still oddly lacking emotion. “These creatures, if given the chance would subjugate our kind. We are not as long lived as they, and so they think us fools. The think our memories short.” His father turned and looked to the weeping woman, and a man stepped from the corner, to assist his father, pushing a tray lined with silvery instruments of pain. When the first cut was made, and the dark red blood flowed down the woman’s side, her scream pierced his soul, and embedded there. For years after he would hear that first scream over and over in his dreams. It would haunt him ever after.
That experience would not be the last of such sessions with his father. He was made to watch over and over as various demi-humans were brought before him for one crime or another and subjected to various punishments. Some were merely tortured, and then released, others were subjected to endless sessions, until they were not longer able to stand the torments, and they died. His father, or whoever his father had overseeing the sessions would always make sure to tell him in great detail of the crimes they had committed. Speaking out against the King, or the nobles. Speaking out against the humans. Plotting to overthrow the kingdom or rob it’s citizens. The lists went on and on. As time went on, the boy’s heart grew accustomed, as his father intended, to such brutality, and when his father judged him ready, he brought him personally back to the very same room where the woman had been bound the very first time.
Much to his surprise, the very same woman was there, though her belly was no longer swollen with child. It was a mass of old scars from where that child had been cut from her. Her eyes, which had once been a deep green like that of a pine tree, were now dull, and glazed over. At first Adonis thought her dead, but then he saw the rise and fall of her mangled chest. “Adonis. The first time you were here, you saw what was done to this woman, though you were not told her crime. Today that changes.” Just as the first time he’d stood there, his father set a heavy hand on his now strong shoulder, and Adonis looked away from the woman, over to his father, not up, and saw that same grim look.
“Her crime.” His father began, but paused for a moment, to ensure his dark eyes held his son’s, and his son’s did not waiver. “Was to plot to kill you.” He let that sink in. Removing his worn hand from his son’s shoulder, he stepped back, and gestured to her. “For the plot to take my son from me, I took her’s away from her. Now, you must finish the punishment, and end her life. How you do this is up to you.” The king raised his hand, and snapped his thick callused fingers. Two men stepped from the corner, both held a squirming Elven man, who appeared much as the woman had once looked. It must have been her brother, Adonis thought.
He looked questioningly from his father, to the man, and then back. “This one is her brother, as you might have guessed, Adonis. He will witness your first act, and speak of it to the people.” The cold expression he was used to seeing on his father’s face fell into place, and that stern tone came forth as he spoke. “Proceed.”
Adonis stood where he was for a moment. He was to kill this woman, who had sought his own life, and he was to do it in front of her family. Turning from his father, he slowly moved over to stand beside the bound woman, and look down on the assortment of tools that lay before him. Slowly he let his fingertips slide over the assortment of tools. As his fingers settled on the thin blade at the end of the row, he brought his eyes up to see the look of pure hatred the brother had fixed upon him. Adnois’s own expression was blank, empty, and composed. To the girl’s brother, it must look as if a heartless monster stood there. He could not know the inner torment Adonis felt, and would never know how that girl’s very first scream haunted him still.
That scream came back to him now. He could not bare to hear more of them. His fingers wrapped about the blade, and he turned and moved to the woman. Slowly he bent down, and watched as those glazed eyes slowly focused on him. He saw her lips began to tremble, and he felt pity within him. A slow breath was drawn in, and the stench of the woman stung his senses. He brought his left hand to gently cup the Elven woman’s cheek, and lowered to speak words only meant for her. He drew back then, and met her eyes, and watched as tears fell from those eyes, no longer dull, but vibrant, and….adoring. Then, he took the blade, and slide it up through the base of her skull, and into her brain, all while gently holding her cheek. He held her gaze as he watched the light quickly fade from her eyes.
The woman’s brother did not cry out, or sob, but the Adonis felt the heat of his hatred even without looking. Slowly he pulled that blade free, and dropped it without ceremony on the tray, before he stepped back, and strode past his father, who’s gaze he met, coolly, and without emotion, before moving past him. The King let him go, and he looked to the brother, and the men holding him. Striding forward, he looked at that man, who’s eyes and being radiated hate. “My son gave your sister more mercy than she deserved. You will tell your people of this.” The King’s eyes continued to rove the man. “I know though, that you will seek blood in exchange for your sisters. I can’t have that. You are only spared her fate so that you may tell others of the punishment for the acts she sought to commit.” He shifted his gaze to the guards.
“Cut off his thumbs, remove his eyes, and lame his right leg.” He said with causal indifference, and then turned to make his way out. The man who tell the tale of what happened here today, and in so doing he would cement in the mind of the Demi-Humans just how much of a monster Adonis was, just like his father. They would come to call him Adonis the bloody merciful.
Name Uri
Gender: Male (Gelded)
Race: Eyael
Age: Older than appearances would indicate
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 115 lbs / 52 kg / 8.2 stone
Hair: Red
Occupation: Varies
Abilities: Ward
ONCE UPON A TIME...
A very long time ago, when the races that walk the world now were young and hardly of note, there were already two elder races. A race called the Eyael was at war with another known as the Sheed. Though both have now since fallen out of memory of both memory and text, there were ever signs in the world they had been there, if one knew were to look. Of the two races, the Sheed were far more willing to get their hands dirty. Those from the younger races, they would conscript and twist to their will. They would imbue their blood lines with power, and set them loose on the Eyael,
The Eyael were not to be outdone. They too tampered with the lower races, instilling in them the arts of power and lore. When the races fought, there would be titanic unleashing of power. Countless lives were lost. At some point in this ageless struggle, the Sheed stumbled upon an idea. They sent some of their followers to steal the offspring of the Eyael leader, who at the time, was naught but a babe. Their mission of abduction was a success, and the Sheed that took him quickly got to work weaving their power over him, and through him. Though they knew they had to work quickly as they moved, for the Lords of the Eyael were seeking them, and would not stop to save the sacred child.
Their idea was simplistic. They did not seek the end of the Eyael child, but to turn him into their greatest weapon. The would make the child a Master Ward. A living Ward beyond any that the worlds had ever seen, or would ever see again. They wove that power on him, twisted his body to their needs, and finished just in time, for the Lord’s of the Eyael were upon them. Just as they were about to descent upon the Sheed stalkers, the child was simply thrown, and the Eyael Lord’s left with the choice to save the child, or pursue the stalkers. The decision was made, and the boy saved.
In the days that would follow, the damage done to the boy would not be wholly understood. Some of that damage was physical, and some was not. The boy had been gelded, and because of this, the Eyael did not look further into the actions of the Sheed, until it was to late. The sheed descended upon the Eyael, and when the Eyael sought to use their power, nothing came of it. It was as if it had been stripped from them. Oddly, it seemed the Sheed had prepared for this, for when the descended upon the Eyael, it was not with magic, but weapon, and the lower races they’d twisted to be their fighters.
The Eyael were driven back, and back further still. What was frustrating was the fact that in some battles, their power worked, and in others, it did not. It took time, but eventually the common factor was determined to be Uri. None of the magics given to the world seemed to work about him, and soon it became evident that if something was not done, then the Eyael, and their followers would be lost. It was with a small sadness that his mother guided him into the mountain and laid the boy on a slab of rock.
What was done there is unknown, but when his mother left, and those that had accompanied her came to behold what had been done, they found the boy laying in a sleep so deep, it appeared as if death had claimed him. And so, he would lay. He would lay there until the last of the Eyael had passed from the world years beyond count. When the last of them did finally pass, whatever had held him there faded, and he awoke to a new world. The world was not as he remembered it. The races that were young then, were now established, and already the Eyael, and the Sheed were names of myth. He was well and truly alone, the last of his kind.
Name: Wren
Age: 17
Height: 5'5"
Weight: ≈ 119 lbs
Hair Color: Red
Eye Color: Green & Blue
Occupation: Ladies Maid
Family: Mother: Deceased
Father: Deceased
Sister: Unknown
History:
The Winther's were a minor noble house, and Wren was the youngest child of Lord Hawthorne Winther, and the Lady Aurora Syblis. Her first real loss came when her father, a true and devout servant to the crown was sent on an errand for their Queen. Though she knew not what it was, she knew from the moment she last saw him, that it was dangerous, for he left their home under arms, and ready for a battle.
Word would reach the Winther home that he had not survived, and his sword was sent back broken upon the body of their father. She remembered her elder sister crying, though the look upon her mother's face was oddly blank. It was almost as if she didn't care. Even as she gave comfort to her daughters, she didn't seem troubled by the loss.
After that night, her mother began to see many other gentlemen, either rich merchants, or Lords. One of the men that had caught her eye was a rich merchant tradesman, by the name of Master Cutwright, who though he did not make his mother's final cut of men, did manage to become a friend. He, and his sister, would often come over for dinner, and Wren was always happy when she was invited to sit between them, as they went out of their way to make her feel special.
She, and her sister Abigail, were even invited to go to the theater with them, where they able to enjoy a private booth! It was an exciting time for both of them. Not all was well though, for though her mother had made a good and true friend, many of the men she saw were not so kind, and were clearly looking for a woman who was not so choosy in the activities she took to.
Her sister, five years her senior, resented what her mother had seemed driven to. Though Wren didn't know it, it would seem her mother had more practical considerations for the activities she took to. The passing of their father was a hard thing for a minor house, such as theirs, and their mother was doing what she felt she had to in order to protect the family, and keep them from becoming destitute. As such, she had even gone so far as to look for a husband for Abigail.
Her sister had found this to much to bare, and sometime during the night, she'd run away. She'd left a note, simply stating she'd note be married off so her mother could stay in fine dresses, and left with little else. When her mother found this, things became much worse for Wren. Her mother was convinced that Wren knew her sister had planned this, and had purposefully set out to spoil her plans.
Of course, Wren hadn't known any of it. It had been as much a surprise to her, as it was to her mother, and as such, she was just as wounded, if not more by the abandonment. The years would pass, and by the summer of her fifteenth year, Wren was blossoming into a find young woman. She'd taken to helping out Madam Cutwright when she had need of aid in a Lord or Ladies house. The Cutwrights had been kind to her family, even after her sister ran away. As the nobility expected a certain quality, they often used lesser nobility for house functions, such as cleaning, or taking care of their family members.
One evening, when Wren was on her way home, walking with Madam Cutwright, she found the Sargent from the local garrison waiting at the home. It was then she was informed that her mother had been hurt severely while attending the Duke's ball. It seemed two young noble's had drawn weapons over some sight, and when one sought to hurt the other, the man stepped out of the way, and used the man's momentum to throw send him rushing by, and right into her mother.
Much of the details she missed, if the truth be told. The shock of it settle on her, and she found herself on the ground, unsure of how she got there, and her friend, the Madam Cutwright holding her. The Sargent had gone, and she was well and truly alone inn life. In the days and weeks to come, she'd find out just how dire her circumstances were. There was no family fortune. The money that was left after her father had passed was not much, and though he'd attempted to grow it, it was not enough.
Her mother had attempted to keep their family relevant, but it was only through the generosity of others, and Wren's own working that kept them stable. Master Cutwright and Madame Cutwright were the ones that truely helped her. Though only through the sale of the families meager estate was she able to clear what debts she had, and purchase a small cellar apartment.
She continued on to work for the Cutwrights, as a housekeeper and caregiver, and after three years, things had changed drastically for the Cutwrights. Hard times had come. Mr. Cutwright suffered one setback after another in his business. It seemed that because of these setbacks, the Noble's looked less favorably upon Mrs. Cutwright, and as such they sought ladies from other sources, which proved to be another blow to their income.
Wren heard her friends, who were more like surrogate parents, discussing their financial woes. She knew they could not afford to keep her on. So it was that the time for her adventure had come. She'd heard tales of a Kingdom in distant lands that had long ago been a great and mighty kingdom. It had fallen. She was not able to find out why it had fallen, and it would seem that many that ventured there did not return, and those that did warned of viscious beasts.
The men she'd listened to made it seem as if these that had returned told tall tales to keep others from the fortunes there. So Wren decided she would go. It was an adventure after all! It was supposed to be at least a little scary. So after leaving the Cutwrights a note, she'd set off. He journey to those distant lands was not easy. It had seen the loss of the majority of her belongings, the death of her horse on the trail, but she had hope. Hope that something would come along and change the course of her star. She just had to keep going, and make it to this ancient city.
History:
23 years ago, a child was born in a whore house known as "The Painted Lilly" It was a place frequented by many, and she was not the first to be born in such a place, and surely she'd not be the last. Every one of the working girls had at one point or another had a child, and Elandra was the first for the newest of the girls. Rayna was her mother, and when she was born, the women told he what she'd need to do, and so she did it.
Rayna left the baby girl on the steps of the church to be cared for by them, along with a note. All the note said was "Elandra Eira Kendale" and that was all. The only thing her mother had left her with was a name. She was found by the priests and sent with them to the orphanage. It was there she learned fear. For the manner of discipline was severe. The caretakers did not live up to their name. They simply did not care.
You would either do what you were told, or you'd be sent to the cellars. It was dark there, damp, and filled with insects and spiders. They would yell, beat, and leave you there for days at a time, only bringing food and water, and changing out the bucket filled with waste. It was humiliating and it left it's mark the first time she was ever put in there. Unfortunately, those marks were easy for them to see, and to exploit. Not everyone who went down there came out unscathed. These were given different tasks to do.
Elandra had many such times in that cellar before she broke as a young girl. Eventually she'd do anything to keep from going in there. Many were the same, boys and girls both. When she was sixteen, she woke the the smell of smoke, and the sounds of horrible screams. A boy, some years her junior had barred the door to the caretakers rooms, and set it on fire. He'd given no consideration that this was the only home for any of them. He'd just let his fear of the treatment dictate his actions, and he'd burned them alive.
Children ran from the orphanage, and when dawn came, a huddled mass of them stood outside watching as the only home many of them had ever known went crashing to the earth as no more than charred wood and ash. When the authorities arrived, those that were young enough were taken and sent to other orphanages, those that were older like her, were simply given to one house or another as servants.
Elandra found herself as a part of the kitchen staff of Lord and Lady Fulton. When it became clear though that this newest addition was drawing to much attention from Lord Fulton, Lady Fulton took steps, and promptly had her hair cut, and pulled up. When that didn't work, she had Elandra stripped, and lashed at the post until her back bled, and she vomited upon herself. Lord Fulton never really looked at her the same after that. The Lady Fulton though, was not afraid to yell at her, to get just what she wanted. In fact she took great pleasure in it.
Eventually the fun ended though, and when she was twenty, and the young Lord Fulton's son was but sixteen, he too took notice of Elandra, and when his mother noticed this, she simply sold the girl, as if she was cattle, to a service house. Being carted off, was probably the best moment for her, for the last three years she'd only had to work contracts. Going to the houses of clients, cleaning, cooking, or caring for young ones.
Name: Mair (Maeve) Lumus
Age: 16
Race: Human
Height: 5'3"
Alignment: Neutral Good
Affinities: Destructive Magic & Illusions
Occupation: Undisclosed
Likes:
Being on her own
Turtles
Cinnamon Hot Chocolate
Dislikes:
Fighting
Confrontation
Royalty and Nobility
History:
The Lothan kingdom was not a large place, but it was a place that seemed to produce an inordinate amount of gifted magic users. Typically those skilled in healing where there, and so when neighboring lands went to war, the healers of Lothan were often sought to be present on the battle fields. While other kingdoms fielded armies of soldiers, and even battle trained mages, Lothan fielded armies of surgeons and healers.
King Darius and Queen Magdalena were proud of their lands and young. King Darius having just taken over for his father after his passing. In the first year of their marriage, the Queen fulfilled her duty, and bore a child. When that child was born, as was the tradition, the readers were there in the room with the Queen, and her infant daughter. It was then the readers would take the child, and gauge her talents. The Queen lay in her bed, as the Royal readers did their work. When hushed and frantic murmurs filled the Queen's chamber, she looked up to see the Reader's clustered together and passing the infant babe back in forth with barely disguised looks of worry.
When the King walked into the chambers, having heard the word of his daughter's arrival to the world he stopped, for even he did not miss the air of doom that hung in the air. His deep voice filled the room. "What is it?" He asked, his fear that the child was stillborn, or in some other way ill. The first among the Readers stepped forward, holding the sleeping girl. Her old voice, though strong, wavered and gently placed the girl in his strong arms. "As tradition states, you must name her before we shall speak of her reading."
The look of aprehension that passed over the King's face was seen. He looked from one Reader to the next, and then to his wife. Taking a slow breath and feeling the weight of this upon him solely, he spoke. "She shall be known as Maeve Mari Lumus. Maeve for my mother, Mari for the Queens, and Lumus for the house." As he spoke those words, his eyes rested upon the first of the Readers. "Her name is given, now speak to me of her talents."
There was a noticeable lack of an answer. The Reader's all clustered behind the first, and looked to the babe even then squirming in her father's arms. Finally the first of the Reader's spoke. "Maeve has an affinity for destructive magic, and a second affinity for illusion. She has no gift for any of the healing magics." The gasp from the Queen filled the room, and the color drained from the King's face, as his jaw slackened and fell open in stunned shock. "D-destructive magic? Illusion? This surely is a jest of some sort." He looked to one of the Readers behind the first, his Iron gaze settled upon her. "You. Tell me. Do you and the others concur with this? Tell me truly."
The woman in the back slowly stepped beside the first and bobbed her head. "Yes...Majesty. Her affinities are strong. Though she may not be the strongest, she will surely be one of the strongest we've seen in these fields, and the weakest in healing we have seen." She quickly stepped back behind the first. The King moved to sit, his eyes going to his wife. Despite the fact the marriage had been arranged, theirs was one filled with love. Finally the Queen spoke, her voice weakened from the exertions of birth, but strong still. "We will love her all the same." It was a statement, as much as a command to all present. All that heard it, including the King felt it's weight.
Time went by Maeve grew, but despite the Queen's command, word of her affinities had gotten out. Either by the readers, or her tutors, all knew she was not a natural healer. She lacked the skill, and could not seem to even grasp the knowledge of a physician. What made this worse was that she wanted to be those things. She'd seen the care and compassion her mother and father had with the sick, for their were the strongest of the healers, and she wanted it badly. The other children of the high lords and ladies were mean and spiteful. They'd tease her, and mock her endlessly. When she sought to join them, they would sneer at her, and make comments to how she'd just ruin everything if she did.
This of course hurt her, and she withdrew. Her parents, knowing they could not truly command children to be kinder, had decided it would be best that she be trained to use her skills. So, they sent her to the neighboring Kingdom of Sarthis. There they skills ranged widely, and there she was to stay with the King, who's own wife had died, but had born him three sons of identical visage. All three had affinity toward either destructive magic or fire magic in the third's case. Her parents couldn't have known the trouble that would cause. Three boys who were above their peers with destructive tendencies was clearly not a good role model for a soft hearted girl.
These boys would tease her as well; though not for her skills, for she never once demonstrated them. They teased her, picked on her, and used their affinities upon her to frighten her. She saw what those skills could do, and she found it sickening. Why could she not have just been born with a useful talent like he parents? When word came that her father was worked out a betrothal agreement with the King of Sarthis to whichever of his sons was his heir, she could not stand it. She ran. In the night, she gathered what things she had, and fled into the city.
She knew they would look for her, but she also knew that if she didn't appear to be the right person, than she would be overlooked. Her eyes were the part the would be the hardest, for one was green, the other blue, and this was not common in any land. Her hair was white, and that was not uncommon for the women of Lothan. As she moved through the city, she stole for the first time in her life, though she paid how she could. When she took clothes air drying from a line, she left one of her fine silk gowns in it placed. She made her way into the lower districts, where the high born were less likely to be, and there she began he change. She shed the remnants of her regal lifestyle. She donned the simple dress she'd taken, though it was faded, worn and torn in spots. her hands she scuffed on the ground, before running them through her hair. She made herself dirty. She wore down her finger nails, and she scuffed off the polish.
Her shoes were swapped for simple sandals and after some work, she looked the part of your average low born. Looking into a puddle of grimy water, she could see herself. Though she was clearly young, the dirt hide the cream skin, and gave her soft hands the appearance of a working woman's. She'd pass, at least until it was washed away. Having been around plenty of the populace growing up and in the hospitals, she knew their way of talking could be less refined, and she'd do her best to master it. If anything she would just have to fall back on her normal tactic of not talking when she was unsure she could pull off the ruse.
In the time that followed her running away, she'd not been seen, though every time she saw a royal guard or official her blood ran cold. They'd not stopped looking, of that she was sure. Lothan had restricted high level healers to Sarthis until the princess was found and wed. Getting in and out of the country would be difficult, as the major border crossings were manned by representatives of both kingdoms, and they'd been looking for her. Her disguise would not hold up to knowledgeable scruitiny. So she'd worked what jobs she could, and saved what money she could, until she found a troop who was going the long way across Sarthis to a port city. She had enough coin to secure transport with them, under the pretense that her brother was expecting her, and had aquired a job in a noble woman's home. It was made up, and she was sure they knew it. But she also knew they were taking the long way to avoid patrols, so they had to be smuggling something that customs would take issues with.
Both parties knew the other was hiding something, and both parties looked the other way. It was scary, frightening, and all together wonderful! She was free. She'd made it out os Sarthis and away from her people's kingdom. Now her life was before her! All she had to do was live it!
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