~The Twelve Ballads of Liandra~ Chapter 1. The Ties That Bind Us

[GuardianOfHearts]

{ You can't get rid of even if you want to. ;3 }


Rain. It fell down from the churning black clouds in chilly masses, relentless driving people and animals alike into shelter as it relentlessly pierced the night air. It pattered against the emerald-black of the forest leaves in the darkness like the beat of a thousand hearts. Alehur en'Terilwe sat with her back against a tree trunk, partially protected from the storm by the canopy of pine needles above her.

She wrapped her cloak tighter about her, trying to block out the cold wind that tore through the trees and occasionally showered her with icy raindrops. She prefered travelling on foot and eschewing society, but it was miserable nights like these that made her want to seek out better shelters.

I don't this like at all! It's cold and far too wet! Can we find somewhere else to stay? Please?

Sylph's petulant 'voice' broke Alehur out of her previous reverie, causing the redhead to blink and look down at her small friend as the silver-blue dragonling burrowed in her lap for warmth.

"I don't know, Sylph," she murmured reluctantly, following the rain's progress with her dark grey eyes. "I don't like staying at inns...."

This will clear up tomorrow. It will just be for the night. Please? It's far too stormy. The drake addded a little chirp to underscore her plea. Alehur bit her lip guiltily and snaked one gloved hand out from under her cloak to stroke Sylph apologetically.

"I suppose you're right," she amended, gathering her in her arms and standing up.

You should be around people more, Sylph told her, sitting cat-like on her shoulder, tiny head besides her human friend's under the hood. This will be good for you.

Alehur knew that the drake worried about her silence, and lack of contact. But she didn't have the heart to spend so much time around people yet.

The redhead walked as quickly as possible down the soaked path, heading towards to nearby village. Soon the promise of warm candlelight shone through the windows of many houses, illuminating the silvery raindrops and, presently, the creaking sign above a tavern. It probably wasn't the best or the safest, but Alehur didn't have too much money to spend. So she pushed open the door and stepped inside, warning Sylph to stay hidden as she did so.

The ex-assassin pushed back her hood, letting the firelight warm her damp cheeks as she approached the counter. A short, wiry looking man, presumably the innkeeper, turned to survey her as she walked in. As her features were revealed, he grew noticably wary; she knew he was seeing her ghostly pale face, her blood red hair, and, as Sylph put it, her "air of banshee-like tragedy". Alehur remembered how villagers had watched her pass and whispered, "wraith". She saw his pale blue eyes flicker to the doorway above her head, probably checking for the marks that superstitious people placed to ward off such malevolant spirits.

"What's yer bus'ness here?" he asked gruffly, scowling at her distrusfully.

"Same as everyone else's," she answered quietly. "I'd just like a place to be warm and away from this squall. Do you have a room for the night?"

"Aye, jus' a few," he replied. "That is, if ye have the money ter pay fer it." His nervous expression turned shrewd.

Alehur knew that Sylph was seething with anger and hoped the little dragon wouldn't decide to give the inkeeper a piece of her small, if fiesty mind. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a few gold coins, tossing them on the scratched wooden surface. He eyed them warily for only a moment before snatching them up.

"Alrigh', ah'll have ye shown a room," he said, waving her in right direction reluctantly. As she proceeded, he called to her back, "An' ah don' want any trouble from ye, wench. Cursed if ah ever saw one, that be for cert'in."

Alehur did nothing more than wince, but it was enough for Sylph. The drake burst from underneath her friend's cloak in a flash of silver, flapping agitatedly in front of the innkeeper and hissing threateningly. The man squawked and shrieked, trying to bat the little creature away and sheilding his face.

"Sylph, no!"

The redhead immediately reached out and grabbed hold of her friend before she could strike, but it was too late to amend the damage. Aware that she had the full attention of those around them, she tucked the struggling drake in her arms as Sylph glared at the innkeeper.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Get out!" the man roared, gesturing frantically to the door. "Ah knew you were no good, and settin' that blasted little nuisence on me! Get out, witch!"

Alehur bit back an angry retort and simply clutched Sylph closer. The innkeeper's knarled brown hand grasped her upper arm and roughly dragegd her to the door, shoving her out into the rain before slamming it behind her.

She hung her head and sighed, flipping her hood back up and walking down the street, her weatherworn boots sinking into the mud. Despite herself, she couldn't help remembering how things would have been ten years ago as a little girl, listening to the rain fall on the canvas roof of their big warm wagon, spelled to stop leaks, and falling asleep besides her older brother. Maybe Mother would have sung her a lullabye over the sound of the wind, stroking her hair and-

Alehur shook her head to drive away her memories. She hated to think about Rivean and her mother, but she still did so everyday, too many times a day. Sylph helped distract her some, but it was something that followed her like her own shadow.

Sensing her distress, Sylph crooned encouragingly and nuzzled her rain-washed white cheek.

 

[Trunks]

Alexander was rushing thru the forest as the rain fell on him. Alex was wearing a cloak and had his hood on as he ran. He eventually made his way to a tavern called "Loose Noose". He decided to enter it and as he was entering the tavern he saw a man walk out. Alexander took a seat that was close to a window. Alexander was still wearing his cloak and hood on.

A waitress came to him and said "Is there anything you want, stranger?", "yes i would like a cup of rum please" said Alexander to the waitress. Then after a minute of waiting, the waitress came and gave him a wooden cup of rum. "Thanks, heres for the rum and a little for yourself" said Alexander to the waitress. The waitress then giggled and went to serve the other customers. Then Alexander decided to go outside for some fresh air, the water wasnt getting him wet as the taverns rooftop had him covered.

 

[Desert Jesus]

Password: Rings

Name: Vrael Victor

Age: 29

Appearance: http://gw.stratics.com/content/fan/wallpapers/downloads/9968_trydle_03_800.jpg

Bio: Vrael was born in a small settlement just past the Esthran Border to the east. Esthra was a land far off to the east, seperated from Liandra's Garden by a vast ocean of metallic blue. His father did not attend the birth, primarily because he wasn’t anywhere to be found. It was understood by Vrael in his later years that his father, the great Saul Victor, had run out on him, frightened by fatherhood. Ironicly enough, Vrael later heard tales that distinguished his father as a legend, a plague upon the battlefield. He could not believe this... How could he have been so frightened at the sight of a new life, when he was notorious for ending it?

So, he grew up under the shelter of his mother, Anette. She was a beautiful being. Some would say, she was conceived in the image of Liandra herself. This talk of beauty and unsurpassing passion often caused Anette to faintly blush, and remark that it was only the light. But Vrael disagreed... In any light, and even in none, he thought her the most beautiful in all the world. With this sentiment, letting her go would just be all the more difficult...

It was the day before his eleventh birthday. The rain seemed to blanket the sky that day, blocking any light from the suns that rested peacefully atop the clouds. He felt prepared... It was his 11th birthday, after all. But what he was about to witness, he could never prepare for. As he leaned over 2nd floor balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitors in the courtyard below, he was was graced with his mothers presence. However, it was only for a moment, for the rope in which her neck was poorly tied with was just longer the balcony. Anette dangled in the air like a lifeless manican, blood trinkling over her rose-red cheeks and caressing her lips like his father once had.

His reaction was unspeakable.

From that day on, Vrael was raised by his school teacher, Henge Denravi. Vrael would never be the same… Once somewhat playful, he was now full of uncertainty regarding the world around him. It was that second after gazing upon the corpse of his fallen mother that he vowed to break his own heart, so any pain ever to befall his life wouldn’t wound him the way this incident had done. He couldn’t take it… He could feel his fake, proud exterior cracking under the pressure of his mother’s lifeless body and his father’s cowardly nature. He was broken, and from then on cared for nothing but survival.

But why did she do this commit this unspeakable crime against Liandra? Vrael's drive in life has been to answer that question, hoping that he'd somehow complete his purpose in life.

By the age of 20, his teacher had secretly enlisted him in the Vigilantes, a form of military with noticeable power. Denravi was forced to by instinct... In his time with Vrael, he could only detect a burning hatred, like a flame on the end of a fuse connected to nothing.

Enraged by this, Vrael fled the continent and arrived on the shores of Liandra's paradise. However, his escape was short-lived, for the Vigilantes reach was far... And so, he became a servant of Liandra, a protector of the lands. This, he could not argue with,f or just recently, he has learned of a connection between his beloved mother and a renowned captain of the 5th Brigade...

Personality: There is no hiding the cruelty in Vrael's personality. Consumed by a malice known only in his eyes, Vrael may be depicted as a "bad guy" by some. He is determined to solve the mystery behind his mothers death, and unfortunate for most, he is willing to do anything he must with the simplest ease. He doesn't care. In his eyes, he is dead anyway.

Weapon/s of Choice: A large, crystalline blade that reflects a different color in different lights. The blade, excluding the handle, is 6’ 2” and 2’ wide. See the pic. He calls it "Stormbringer."

OOC: Unfortunately, I won't be able to post in this very often. As you all know... *sniff* ...School is back. But, I'lll try and contribute to the story as much as possible.

 

[call_me_canada]

Keladry looked down at the small plate that lay in front of her which held a small piece of stale bread and a few scraps of cheese. Shoving it off to the corner of her cell she placed it within reach of the small hole that allowed entrance for small rodents. She had only been in the port’s jail for almost a week and a half caught for pick pocketing within the town market; a person had to live even if it meant stealing a few coins from those who had plenty. Though such a small crime the jailers were intent on making her pay her full time, she could only guess that they hadn’t had a captive for a good long time.

Her stomach gave a low grumble as she frowned and looked over at the food. She hadn’t eaten for the last couple of days having finally discovered that they had been placing drugs into her food making her incapable of using her powers. As she tried to draw attention away from her hunger she heard footsteps coming down the hall and the bolt on her door gave a loud clank.

As the door swung open two men walked into her cell as she looked past them at her belongings that hung on the wall, her sais and gloves. One of the men took strides towards her as he put the tip of his drawn sword under her chin and motioned for her to stand up. The other poured a powder into a small cup of what Kel could only guess was water.

“Now really do you think this is all necessary? I just took a few coins and my time shouldn’t be that harsh.” A slight smile escaped from her lips as she wished that these men actually cared enough to listen.

“Just drink it you filthy rat.” The man barked as he thrust the cup towards her as the other man pressed the blade gently to her skin. Frowning Kel took a hold of the cup before tipping the glass back and swallowing the contents and throwing the cup back. Opening her mouth she stuck out her tongue in a rude manor to show that nothing was left in her mouth. The man shoved her to the ground scowling before they both left slamming the door behind them.

“Well good riddance to you two and I'm not a rat!” Keladry shouted after them as she leaned against the wall of her cell her ears twitching for a moment. “I’ll be spending more time here then I had hoped.”

 

[Morpheaus]

Ley sat on the floor in a cross-legged position running a coarse whetstone across the edge of his sword, honing the already keen edge to perfection. He’d been sharpening Heron for the better part of an hour, overkill for a blade of such quality, but it helped him clear his head and focus on what he needed to do.

What he needed to do…He shook his head and continued sliding the whetstone along Heron’s blade, filling the room with the rhythmic sound of sword and stone, and losing himself in soothing repetition. Twenty minutes passed while he went over his strategy step-by-step, attempting to “cover all the angles” as his father used to say. A slight smile touched his otherwise grim features. Father had always been…The best. That was honestly the only way Ley could describe him; the consummate family man, even his memory brought a smile to Ley’s face.

Setting the whetstone aside and pushing himself to his feet with a sigh, he looked over at the assorted items he’d collected in anticipation of Karian’s rescue. Thirty yards of well braided robe, a small pouch of overly expensive gun powder, a small bottle of whiskey, a tin of grease, a brand new flint, and a set of lock picks.

Lock picks…I don’t even know how to use lock picks. No doubt I’ll need them if I don’t have them.

Breathing a resigned sigh he gathered up his “tools” placing each item strategically inside of his tunic, or breeches, making sure to memorize the placement of each before moving to the next. Once assured of his plan he secured Heron into place at his belt, slipped his round shield over his back, and threw on a heavy ash grey traveling cloak.

Minutes later he slipped quietly out the window of his room making his way towards the jail house at a brisk pace. Luckily the streets were empty; no one was foolish enough to stay out in this weather, no one except Ley anyway.

At the very least, Karian will owe a favor after this, perhaps even a kiss.

Despite the warmth of his cloak his hands trembled and a tingle moved up and down his spine; nerves could paralyze a man at the worst times, but he knew better than to waste the energy fighting them back. When the time came to act, he would act, there was no doubt in his mind about that fact. Still…He wouldn’t mind if his hands remained steady for the rest of tonight’s activities.

A few yards ahead he caught the sound of a door slamming. Leaning into a nearby door way to keep out of sight, he ran a palm across his eyes to clear his vision and caught a glimpse of a wind beaten white cloak moving down the street. Despite the obvious height of the cloaked figure, he guessed it to be a woman.

Why would she be thrown out on a night such as this?

Once again allowing his ideals to overrule good judgment he set off behind her at a rapid pace. “Ma’am, I don’t think it is appropriate for you to be out on an evening like this,” he said, raising his voice as to be heard over the sounds of falling rain.

He put on a kind smile and placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “If you’ll permit it, I have an empty room at a much nicer in,” he said, tilting his head to look at the woman’s hooded features. From his angle he caught only a brief flash of pale skin and red hair. “Surely you do not wish to spend the night in this pit?”

 

[GuardianOfHearts]

Alehur paused abruptly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice above the rain, her white cloak clinging to her body as a sudden wind picked up and rushed past her. She could feel Sylph's small, warm body around her neck and shoulder.

“Ma’am, I don’t think it is appropriate for you to be out on an evening like this."

Ma'am? She was just a freed slave, an unforgiven wanderer, a ... a gypsy, a fay, as she tried to tell herself she still was. But still, it was a nicer title than wraith or cursed. Who was this person, that he even cared for some lonely young woman's well-being?

She tensed slightly as a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder, so unused to friendly contact. She turned slightly to him, still silent.

"If you’ll permit it, I have an empty room at a much nicer in. “Surely you do not wish to spend the night in this pit?”

This was the most unexpeced statement. Shock registered on Alehur's pale, hooded features as she looked up at the young man who had stopped her. He was probably around her age, smiling kindly. She wondered if he was a knight, a true one, who followed the far-too neglected code, to display such chivalry.

"I couldn't," she finally answered quietly, shaking her head a bit and pushing her hood back slightly to reveal her face but not leave herself completely vulnerable to the chilly rain. "You're very kind to offer, but I don't think I should." Alehur smiled a bit in return, yet her expression couldn't fully mask her air of sorrow.

"I'm no stranger to harsh weather. I'll be fine. But I could say the same for you, sir. What would a man such as yourself be doing, willingly braving such a tempest?"

 

[Morpheaus]

Ley briefly registered the unforgiving metal beneath his fingers tips before the young woman turned from his grip. His smile faltered for an instant when she pulled her hood back, revealing skin so pale that he briefly considered it possible that she was some sort of specter. A slight tinge of redness to her cheeks told him otherwise and he quickly recovered his composure; hopefully she didn’t notice his surprise and take offense.

"I couldn't.”You're very kind to offer, but I don't think I should."

It was the response he’d anticipated, even so, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. How anyone could choose this soggy night over a warm fire was something he could never understand; nevertheless, he couldn’t force hospitality on anyone.

"I'm no stranger to harsh weather. I'll be fine. But I could say the same for you, sir. What would a man such as yourself be doing, willingly braving such a tempest?"

Good question, now if only I could give you an honest answer.

A knight was sworn never to lie. But as Karian so often reminded him, exiled knights weren’t obligated to hold to the code. Still, something inside him twisted his stomach into knots whenever he tried to be deceptive. Nearly a minute passed before Ley settled on a suitable half-truth.

“I have a comrade waiting for me,” he said stiffly, the words seeming to hang in the air. “Even if you can’t accept my offer, allow me one boon. It would be a great disgrace to leave such a beautiful woman unaided.” Reaching up with his left hand he quickly unbuckled the neck strap of his cloak. Concealing the shiver running down his spine, he slid the cloak around the redhead’s shoulders and fastened it snuggly around her neck.

“You won’t freeze tonight, I should say,” he supplied the words in a jovial tone. “My name is Leythaniel by the way. I’ll let you on your way now, Miss. Good evening to you.”

Giving her a slight bow, he turned on his heel proceeding down the street at a brisk pace.

 

[stickxkeyblade]

"Huh."

That's the first thing Juniper said when she woke up. She was groggy, and she wasn't sure where she was, but she soon noticed that she was now missing both her blindfold and her jacket. She was still wet, her hair dripping a little, and the air around her was cold. She could hear more water dripping around her, mixing with quiet moans and mumbles from whomever else was in the vincinity. The way the sound echoed around led her to believe that she was in some sort of large, stone room. Probably underground.

Her right shoulder hurt. A lot. She tried to move her left hand to it, but was surprised to hear the clanking found of metal chains. They were attached to her wrist, and her legs were similarily chained up. Her feet we're touching the ground.

After a moment of thoughtfull silence, she put two and two together.
She hanging on a wall in the middle of a dungeon.
But how had the gotten there...? She was going to follow that man that left the inn... And was... Ambushed? Yes. She thought that sounded right. She was shot with an arrow that was specially made as an anti-magic weapon. Then she was knocked unconscious and dragged here. That would explain her shoulder and the splitting headache.

But why a dungeon?

 

[Eikre]

New day...new adventure. Rain or Shine. In this case it's the rain. Vrael of the Kiske halfling clan got dressed in a simple dress of green tunic and dark blue pants, both of the baggy variety. Taking his bandoleer, thats one of those belts that go across your chest and has the pouches, and strapping it on, he put his shortbow in the larget pocket in the front, took his quiver of multi-coloured arrows and put that on his back, with that strap going perpendicular to the bandoleer. Whistling to himself he continued to ready himself, arming himself with seven balenced knives and several lockpicks, scissors (don't ask), and a small lyre.

"Mom, I'll Be back later!" Vrael yelled in the hose as he pulled over a Dark-blue hooded cloak. As he walked out, he thought to himself...
*pause for ooc to tell you: Warning:Retarde Plot Device*
«I'll head over to the Loose Noose tavern, and check what's been happining lately.» And walked off north-west-ish twords the tavern, hugging the cloak about him, and creating a small fire in his hand for warmth. After about twenty minutes of walking, he came to the Loose Noose. When he, finally, walked in, he headed immediatly for the bar and ordered a pint. We asked calmly if anything special was happening, or if it already did. The answer was a simpe "No." Not deterred, Vrael began to sip his spirits and waited out for something to happed.

 

[Desert Jesus]

It is said that when one becomes a victim of the sandman, he is often propelled into a dreamscape where he witnesses the recollections of his past, whether it be entirely factual or not. To most, this was a blessing; but in the mind of Vrael Victor, it was not. Only darkness drifted about the deepest recesses of his troubled mind, forcing him into nightmares that he had come to loathe and detest so. The tent was cold, and the ground that carried the many men through their dreamscapes was hard. With an abrupt grunt, the man known only as “The maul” shot up, throwing the blanket from his chest and into his lap. He could feel the moist sheet soak into his thigh, for it was drenched with thick sweat.

“The same one…” he mumbled in the darkness. Reaching out into the unknown, he lit a small torch that was caged in by decomposing bones. The minute blaze of fire did not wake any of the men. They were tired. They were hungry. In the eyes of the soldier, sleep is their only escape from the horrors of reality. Vrael carried the torch outside, lighting the small encampment. They were camped on the edge of Cedar Forest, the untouched sanctuary inhabited by ground-dwelling monks who devoted their time to Gilgamesh, the King of the fabled city Uruk. Legend has it that it was Gilgamesh who slaughtered Humbaba, the Demon of the Gate. This became the foundation of Elamite, the religion in which the night-dwellers of the forest blindly follow. Vrael could not see the light in this. It was as if they had no control over their beings, no freedom. The thought of this churned his stomach.

“You need to sleep, Vrael.” the voice shot from the forest trees as Vrael hung a left and whirled around.

“Aye.” he replied gallingly. “I’ll do what I wish, Parrel.”

“Indeed you will.” he retorted, walking towards him. As the moonlight slowly showered upon his face, Vrael could see that what was once handsome had been stained with blood. Parrel stood at a solid 5’ 9”, and His eyes were a heavy metallic that seemed to slightly bend towards the left. He was a very apparent man, with the exception of his hair, which was never displayed in public, for it was covered by a hood embossed with black-gold lettering. He could feel the wind picking up now, for the blood splattered upon his face was as cold as ice.

“Is that yours?”

Smirking, Parrel wiped the blood from his face. “Of course not, Vrael. Seems Osiric was correct after all. The forces from the east are moving again, and this time, they’re moving much faster. As fast as a dragon.”

 

[GuardianOfHearts]

Alehur was left stunned, still as a statue, as Leythaniel left her with his cloak around her shoulders and a mind as turbulent as the stormy sky above. She wanted to run after him, but she didn't see what good it would do, and he had already disappeared into the night.

This is much better! See how nice people can be when you give them a chance? Sylph slunk around the redhead's arm, relishing in the added warmth of Leythaniel's cloak.

"The storm will be much easier to bear with this,'" she admitted, ducking her head against the oncoming rain.

Almost reluctantly, the redhead turned around and walked back the way she had come a scant ten minutes before, back into the woods, leaving the cheerily winking houselights behind.

Though the storm did not break as the pair made their way down the forest path, Alehur nevertheless veered off, pushing past the damp brush until she was standing under the small ledge of a cliff, the normally pale stone dark with rain and night to mask it.
Cautioning Sylph to remain tightly on her shoulder and checking to make sure her gloves were secure, she reached out and grasped the jagged rock slightly above her. Her long legs, strong and used to labor, had no trouble pulling her slim frame up onto the cliff face. Her weathered boots grasped desperately for purchase on the wet stone, her fingers clenched around her supports. With the rain beating relentlessly beating down upon her back through Leythaniel’s protective cloak, she climbed up the cliff, occasionally slipping but managing to regain her balance before a fall.

Alehur didn’t stop until she had reached an overhang, wide enough to settle on and sheltered in a way to form a crude alcove. With a sigh, she pulled herself up and onto it, gratefully edging back to lean into the fairly dry stone, pulling her knees up to her chest. From here, she could see over the treetops and look down at the village beyond it.

She was wet and tired, denied of the comfort that even a night in a simple inn would bring, but she had born worse conditions before. She would sleep, and awake in the morning ... to do what? Alehur clenched her eyes shut in remembered pain.

To greet the new day of course! Sylph answered pragmatically as she draped herself under Alehur’s arms. The drake’s simple, optimistic logic buoyed the redhead in her own torrential downpour of sorrow. The muscles she hadn’t realized she’d been tensing eased slightly, allowing herself to relax enough for the sleep she intended.

Yet she was as reluctant to sleep as she had been to accept Leythaniel’s cloak. During the day, she could guard her thoughts, protecting the walls of her mind from any besieging memories- but the night was different. Her defenses were laid bare as she slept. She hated dreams.

"They’re always red," she murmured absently, her dark grey eyes seeing past the rain. "Red with blood, with my hair and gowns, because that’s who I am...." Her former title, the Red Knight, hung unspoken on her lips.

You’re not a red knight. You’re Alehur, Sylph remarked sleepily. Once again, the childish dragonling’s straightforward sense snapped her out of her dreaded thoughts and encouraged her to close her eyes for sleep.

 

[Nebula Zero]

Allmacht had begun to get a little 'too' cozy at the tavern. He had taken a few more drinks, left a drunken knight, revelling in his past sorrows. He looked at his number of cups, but his intoxicated eyes couldn't keep up, as he straggled into his small room, as he collapsed on the bed, facing the ceiling, as the room became black, entering his realm of dreams.

Why did he allow himself into such a state of euphoria? He asked this question to himself as he fell deeper into his dream. As he placed his hand on his face, he couldn't feel it. He couldn't tell if it was his drunken state, or his dream nullifying his senses. As his fingertips slipped from his cheek, his body soon felt a burning sensation. He closed his eyes to try and contain it, but it was to no avail.

He opened his eyes and found himself in the slide show of his own youth. The burning was still there, as he lay in a place under flame and seige. He analyzed this place well, and figured out what this place was. It was the A'lzheur faction's camp. He could remember their cries for mercy, as he gave them what they gave to those he knew: A melody of the Grim Reaper, written in their own blood, played by his justice-worn blade, as it played its last fortissimo.

Through the arson, he was able to see himself, trapped in the past of his subconcious, ageless. The young Allmacht had turned to face the visitor. His arm was gashed, blood flowing freely along his armor, blood painted onto his sadistic face. Was that the face of vengeance? Had he fallen from grace that day, to avenge the innocent struck down by the blade of light? Was he the result, a being of never-ending hatred? As his sadistic face produced a smirk of malice, it spoke in a whisper.

"A massacre without meaning, the slaughter of the lambs." he whispered, the words enticing Allmacht's ears. What was he trying to say? That killing them was unnessescary? As he tried to reply, he disappeared into the flame, wisps of smoke remain. Looking around, he was gone. They deserved for their crime. But he couldn't help but bring himself to think: Was the blood of the destroyer would be able to bring back the blood of the destroyed? He looked down on a burning wooden horse, most of it faded. Did that make him a murderer?

As he lost himself in his own thought, he felt a sharp pain course through him. He grasped the blade with his two hands, wrapping himself in his own blood. He turned around, only to find a reflection of himself staring solemnly back at him, as he fell kneeling onto the ground. He looked up, as the smirk had turned into the smile of a saint.

"Sleeping eternally, the harbinger of self-doom." he whispered once more, as he held out a sole finger, and lightly pushed Allmacht into a pool of water, the sword still pierced through. As he sank and sank, his crimson sin now danced endlessly with the water around him, as his eyelids became too heavy, shutting down on each other. Sleeping eternally would be an enlightening sleep indeed. But...it was not his his requiem yet, as he forced open his eyes with all the strength he could summon.

Allmacht woke up from his slumber. His head scanned the room frantically. His hand supported his hung head, as he tried to recollect what happened. A dream, losing himself in his past transgressions. He shook his head. Something he shouldn't dwell on, since the deed was done. But he had the feeling the dream would haunt him in the shadows, as he lay back, the bed catching his fall. A sigh of relief, as he stared into the blank space that was the ceiling, muddled in his thought once more.

 

[Scotty]

Password: Raven

Name: Inglor Mithrandír (Inglor Mith-rin-deer)

Age: 746 years, although the immortal Night Elves count in centuries, of which he is 7.

Appearance: Click here

Biography: Inglor was born in the glades, deep within the great forest Grenthley to a small clan of Night Elves. Living in solitude, this clan had no name, and were very timid creatures to outsiders. His Mother, Tiandra, was a magical store owner, with potions and trinkets littering the oak shelves. These items she crafted herself, as Inglor's Mother was a knowledgable practitioner or nature magic and it's rituals. A very compotent Druid, although she did not like to be named this. His Father, Derringlor, from which Inglor's name derived, was a hunter for the clan. His marksmanship could not be matched by anyone in the glades, or even all of Grenthley Forrest itself. Darringlor would go out early morning and return late at night. His loot was repeatably bountiful, much to the appreciation of every Night Elf in the glade.

Inglor's life was much that of every Night Elf - He learnt the "tools of the trade" that he would use to become benefficial to the clan. These tools he learnt were both that of his Mother and Father's. For decades he learnt the ways of the ranger from his Father; using a bow, fletching his own perfectly balanced arrows and setting traps, all the while learning to respect nature, use it's magics and call upon it's spirits from his druidic Mother.

One day, when Inglor was of six centuries, his Mother predicted another war in the near future, one that threatened all of Grenthley and it's creatures. The Great Elven Diviners could also feel it's haunting, harrowing presence closing in, choking them. This day would be the last day Inglor would see his clan or family.

He left the tuition of his parents to live on his own, deep withing Grenthley. For over one hundred years he stayed there, each day gruelly training himself intensely, preparing for the day the grim war errupted. When his core skills were as perfect as he believed they could be, he began to work on combinations of all the skills his parents had taught him, to increase his abilities even more. His aim was better than that of his own Father's, and he was completely one with nature and it's magic uses. He began enchanting his bow and arrows he fletched with various magics, he would commune with nature spirits who offered him mystical aids aslong as he acted as a totem, allowing their force to channel throughout him and granting them entry to his plane of existance, and he experimented with traps of a greater scale, more powerful and versatile than he was certain his Father could have hoped.

A century and forty-six years passed since he had began his training and the war did indeed arise across the lands. He could feel it in the earth, the planet was crying out. Grabbing his bow and plethora of equipment he had prepared for this day, he set out, unknowing of anything beyond his lands, or what awaited him. All he knew was one thing, that he could not allow the war to reach Grenthley.

Personality: Very caring, very respectable, but also quiet and calculating. He will leap into any sort of danger if it means he can rescue a companion or friend, all the while thinking things through, connecting the points that many seem to miss. With this, some find him hard to trust, but there is no reason not to. He is as loyal as they come, like all Night Elves.

Weapon/s of Choice: A bow fletched by himself from ancient spirit tree wood, only known by the inhabitants of Grenthley. Markings are etched into it's shaft, allowing him propserous advantages from any enchantments he may add to the bow and his arrows at the time. This bow is a longbow, as one of the enchantments he has perfected is that of greater arrow speeds, allowing him the distance a longbow can fire, whilst all the while having the speed and low-arc of a shortbow. He can also call upon and channel powerful nature spirits, which also give him increased abilities whilst he maintains them.

He has a wide variety of druidic and nature spells in his knowledge, along with rituals which he has perfected over the centuries.

He can also create powerful and devastating traps which hinder his enemies, or shut them down entirely. From flaming traps when set-off to traps that cripple his enemies, allowing swift escape.

((Sorry about the short bio and such, I knocked this up quick with no ideas of a character history in mind.))

 

[Trunks]

As the king of the destroyed kingdom, Alexander McKaine, stood outside by the loose noose tavern he was thinkin about his family and friends that had died due to by the unknown attack that burned down his kingdom. In a state of rage he clenched his fist as he thought about them and swore he would have revenge. Alexander had his cloak and hood on as the rain poured from the sky but was covered by the taverns rooftop. The sky was almost covered by grey colored clouds as the rain went on. He had to get away from all the drunks and noise from inside the tavern so he could clear his thoughts.

As he thought about his family and friends that had died he looked at the sky, he then turned and saw the people inside the tavern thru the window. He saw the people laughing and talking but quickly the window started to change to a reflection to his past. He saw that the unknown attackers had invaded his kingdom. He was witnessing all that happened like a ghost looking back at his past. He saw himself being thrown out by his mentor Von and said "why did you do that? i know you didnt want me to fight but...", As Von seperated himself from the throng of soldiers with his sword, the attackers came in. Von, a master of swordplay, cut through bone and sinew, justice gallantly defending a distraught Alexander. As Von had slain the last of the 10, he stood exhausted, his strength relinquished, blood the paint of this materpiece of destruction.

But his fate was nigh, as the remainder of the attackers came in, and his body could not keep up with him, as he died a soldier's death, Alexander yelling out to his mentor, only to find out that it was a cry unheard. He then came back into reality more determined to avenge his people. He then decided to go inside the loose noose tavern and ordered a drink. As he opened the door, everybody looked at him, just staring, Alexander ignored them and sat on a table, the people then quickly went back to what they were doing. He ordered a drink after drink from the waitress as he kept thinking of his past.