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Description

Name: Alixaendar (Not his birth name, but it is long forgotten.)
-Aka: Widow

Age: 1,243

Gender: Male

Race: Elf ( Un`iliun- Meaning Elves of the Under, or even simpler, Dark Elf)

Physical description:

Alixaendar stands at five foot, eight inches in height, somewhat tall for his race but not overly. His hair, like the rest of those kept underground for the majority of their lives, is stark white and hangs to his shoulders. His skin, once pale even among his race, is darker now from exposure to the sun of his world, and others. Alix’s eyes were once a milky white, lacking any defined pigmentation, but over the years they have come to take on a tinge of blue, and give definition to a dark pupil in the center, where it should be.

His clothing is a bit odd, and shall be explained further, but for now:

Alixaendar wears a black straitjacket, covered in dark grey runes of his own design and creation. Dangling from the sleeves of the jacket are several thin chains, each boasting of small spikes and metallic thorns. The buckles decorating his chest, and thus keeping his arms encased within the sleeves, are also silver in color and run from his pectorals to his naval. His pants are of the same material as the jacket, possessing several of the same chains and buckles at random intervals, solely for the purpose of taking them on and off.

Alix’s boots are special. They are made from a spun material crafted from a rare type of spider, a silk substance stronger that steel, yet malleable. Inside the heel of each boot is a small needle, which continually pricks his each foot, forcing small amounts of blood to drip into the shoes perpetually. The blood is stored in the soles of the footwear, to be released at will.

Personality

Alix is a fragmented man. There are times when he goes against the customs of his people, and is actually kind, but then there are those when he breaks the boundaries of even the Un`iliun and is cruel beyond imagination. These polarities are directly caused by the many different experiments he had to go through as a child and into her early adult hood under the care of Elvin spell weavers.

Equipment

: Powers -- Skills -- Abilities:

//Passive//

Agility (8): Being an elf makes him already agile than most races, but the fact that he worked for countless years with using only his legs and body as balance, he achieved a level of grace and agile motions that few of even his race succeed in attaining.

Speed (8): Though not entirely passive, he is already quicker than most, but with the addition of his Static Mind Discipline, he can force his limbs into even faster forms of motion.

Art (8): Most of Alix’s life was dedicated to training in the Art of fighting among his people, and as such he became a master of hand to hand combat, or foot to hand.


//Aggressive//

- - Way Gate --

Way Keeper (8): Like his counterparts on the surface, Alix gained the power to open and control Ways, or Gates. Instead of providing people with a passage of safety, his Ways are anything but. If a person is allowed within its confines, it is very likely that they will never again be seen, in his Inner world or the actual world. As the world is a reflection of his own mentality, it is greatly disturbed. The landscape is bleak and dark, filled with large trees of twisted wood, bleeding and moaning in perpetual torment. It is possible to project another image of the world, one that was lost when he was young, but that would mainly be for the purpose of enticing someone to enter his world.

As the Sun Elves do, Widow is capable of crafting his gates in utter silence and indivisibility, however he normally enjoys allowing their creation to be witnessed by those he intends to destroy. He can create them simultaneously, whether it be one or a hundred, and only needs to know a basic location in order to open one in that spot.

Wraith Stench (8): At the death of his city, he captured within the Way the souls of Weavers, souls that are now chained to that other realm and forced to do his bidding, as he was theirs for so many centuries. Their touch draws life from anything with blood, and though dead the wraiths retain some amounts of their ancient spells and magic, though most of their Arts are used for ensnaring and restricting.

Vault (8): As he learned while imprisoned, the Way is a perfect place to keep objects that may be needed at any given moment. For this reason he spent several days after his city’s destruction going through his world, collecting every usable weapon and piece of equipment. With numerous chains, magical in essence, he tethered each weapon to the single tree in the center of his meadow. When needed he can call a single weapon, or if desired, all of them.




-- Static Mind --

Static Discipline (8): From the earliest times, Alix did not possess the power to use his own limbs. Even now he wears a straitjacket, and through this and the dark times of his past he created an Art all his own. With the power of his mind he can create arms, many more than he physically boasts of. With these he is able to control multiple weapons or objects.

Slice (8): One of the first things he learned was the ability to cut through almost anything, using only the power of thought. Barely needed to focus anymore, he creates blades of telekinesis energy and uses that energy in form of blades, thinner and more potent than anything man could create.


-- Seal Magus --

Special note: As they are runes written into Seals, they may be changed, combined, or added to in order to perform more complex reactions. Please do not take anything within this section as concrete.

Painting (8): With his blood, or any weaker form of liquid, he is able to create simple or complex Seals, each with a different aspect. There are basic Seals that can be crafted easily, which shall be explained below.

--- Triangle (8): A simple three tipped triangle, which in the language of his Magus means: Seek, Secure, Destroy. The base principle of the triangular rune is to attach itself to a target, and once activated create a large amount of force in an effort to break apart matter at a molecular level. If the Seal is crafted in the air, it shall explode upon activation in all direction, creating a concussive force that could vary in strength and depth depending on the situation or amount of liquid used.

--Half Circle - Dotted Center- (8): Depending on the situation this may be used for healing, or for sickening. Useful against anything undead, as the power to heal brings about the gift of life-force. When crafted to bring about a sickness, the sickness must be defined within the perimeter of the half-circle.
--Sicknesses listed to date: Ebola (An ‘X’ is added), Ythua (An ‘A is added. Note: This is a flesh-eating disease cultivated on a now dead planet.), SthincX (A ‘N’ is added. Note: Causes postulant boils to appear throughout the body, inside and out.), Enza (An ’E’ is added. Note: Causes temporary paralysis and sleep.)

--Half Circle (8): Symbolizing the setting of a sun, or the rising of a sun, depending on the infliction or thought upon its creation. If inclination is given to the setting sun, upon casting it brings about an instant drop in temperature, a flash-freeze of sorts, sending readings down by at least one-hundred degrees. If it is given over to the latter, temperatures will rise almost instantly by two hundred degrees, and will steadily rise will the rune is intact and active.


Full Circle (8): Entrapment. When this rune is cast, if it is on the ground it is a trap waiting to be sprung. Once activated it encompasses the target with constrictive bindings that grow tighter and stronger the more the subject struggles. The bindings themselves are flowing runes of strength and perpetual life. If drawn in the air it is a mobile trap, with the same effects as on the ground. If drawn on a target and activated, it will begin to constrict the individuals insides rather than binding him from without.

Full Circle - Dotted Center- (8): The sun in full glory. Rather than the gradual heat and relatively low temperatures of the half circle, this is an instant barrage of flames reaching upwards of fifty-four thousand degrees, the same as a bolt of lightning.

Full Circle - Twice Dotted Center (8): Absence of the Sun. Symbolizing the moon in the deadest night in the center of winter. If used on the ground, an instant flash-freeze will spread out from its center to radiate at least forty yards before running out of power. Within those forty yards anything remaining on the ground will become nothing more than ice waiting to crack. If cast in the air it turns into an aerial attack, launching a widened cone of artic ice at the target with enough frost to freeze and then rip flesh from bones. If set on a person, the activated rune will begin a slow freeze, beginning with their internal organs.

Full Circle - Slashed- (8): Breakaway. When this Seal is crafted and executed, it is meant to destroy any and all bonds within a certain area, both on the caster and those within his area of effect. These cannot distinguish between friend or foe, so by breaking one you break them all.

Full Circle - Triangle - (8): Protection force. With this Seal, the aspects of the destructive Triangle and the Entrapping circle are both realized, encasing the caster within an instant shell of pure force, a force which propels objects, be they animate or inanimate, away. The force would be enough, as well, to blow away four concrete walls, for example.

Jagged Line (8): Growing Fields. Causes objects to grow, if cast upon the ground. These objects can vary depending on the landscape, ranging from grass, to trees, to rocks.

Jagged Line -Slashed- (8): Decay thy Father. When cast upon the ground and activated, this rune sets off a decaying factor that widens to cover forty yards. Everything within this radius and touching the ground will begin to break apart at a cellular level, bringing ruin to anything left within its path for very long.

Wave Line (8): Blood serpents. Summoned creatures, low in strength and power, but over all a nuisance. Rather than attacking a target, the serpents seek out rodents to kill. Once dead, the serpents take command of the rodents bodies, leaking blood, and at Alix’s command create Seals about the battlefield which he is able to activate at will.

Wave Line - Dotted- (8): Serpent Seeker. A crimson snake, charged with the simple task of hunting down its masters prey. Rather than natural sight, it hunts by feeling for vibrations and any disturbance of air in an ever widening radius. Once locked on to a target, the snake hunts, stopping only when commanded to. Once dismissed, the serpent breaks apart into several Blood Serpents.

Twin Wave Lines (8): Wind.

Triple Wave Lines (8): Water.

Two Lines Rising - Joined- (8): Fire.

Two Lines - Arrowed- (8): Earth

Slash (8): Variation Effects. Meaning, when a thing is slashed its meaning is distorted and can become something differing from its nature, at the caster’s whim.

Criss Cross (8): Cutting Blades. If cast upon the ground this rune will cause multiple blades to rise from the earth, floor, or whatever substance he stands upon. The blades seek out the target, with the only thought in mind being to slice. If cast in the air much the same effect, though the blades will be faster. If cast upon a person, flesh will be rent in the drawn pattern.

Square (8): Perfection. Increases the likelihood of the casters attacks hitting their target by seventy-five percent.

Square -Center Dot- (8): Equality among all. When enacted, any enhancements the target(s) receives or gains help to fuel the caster’s own abilities. This is an area effect, spanning eighty yards.

Square - Twice Dotted- (8): Pain to spare. When activated, this Seal takes any damage imposed upon the caster and splits it in half, distributing it among any within the eighty yard radius that are considered to be enemies.

Square - Slashed- (8): Imperfection. Decreases the likelihood of an attack striking the caster by seventy-five percent.

Arrow - Crossed- (8): Duck. When cast, this sigil raises from the ground a barrage of six barbed arrows, launching at once at the speed of a crossbow, times two.


Arrow - Inside Circle- (8): Time to relax. When draw, time within a forty yard radius slows. This effects the caster as well, but only at half the rate it does the rest of the area.

Arrow - Double Tipped- (8): You go I go. This Seal enacts an instant switching of places with an opponent or object.

Three Circles - Center Dotted- (8): No element. Causes all elements, earth, wind, fire, water, within a forty yard radius to be temporarily suspended and unable to be used, by both the caster and his opponent.

Oval - (8): When this sigil is drawn, it brings a stop to all motion within a twenty yard radius, touching anything but Widow himself.

Oval- Dotted Center (8): Elemental Take over. When this is used, it allows the caster to take over and control an already established element.



//Defensive//

--Static Mind--

Second Skin (8): Since the early times of his gaining the knowledge to use his mind, he made certain to learn how to protect his body. In so doing, he creates a mental projection of himself, down to the final hair, and casts that power into the world. The result is a second skin, as its name foretells. Attacks hitting his body must first break the mentality of his defense, which can withstand attacks based on his mentality. If he is weak, the skin will be weak, strong then strong. When at its strongest the skin could withstand the full force of a cache of dynamite exploding, though this would leave Alix unconscious, and possibly break every bone in his body. He would, however, survive. At his weakest it can stop bullets shot at mid-range, but just barely.

Mental Case (8): As he learned his abilities, he realizes that there are others perhaps with powers comparable or greater than his own. With this knowledge, he shaped an image of his mind, much like his Second Skin, and cast it about his brain somewhat like a net. What this does is make his mind almost impenetrable, save for the most violent attacks.



//Equipment//

Boots (8): As stated before, his footwear is of a specific design. The material is stronger than steel, yet very agile. Within the bottom, the soles, are reservoirs filled with Alix’s blood, the blood needed when casting Seals. Along the bottom of his boots are pre-inscribed runes, not seals, which are activated upon his will, and with the addition of a nominal amount of blood from the reservoir. These runes translate to:

- -Speed (8): Gives the wearer abnormal speed upon the ground.

--Air (8): Allows the user to ‘step’ into the air, but which foot this is done with cannot be used to cast Seals. (not passive)

--Power (8): Lends additional strength to any attacks landed by the feet.

--Agility (8): Grants potential for higher and longer jumps.

--Silence (8): Gives away now sound when the wearer walks, as well as fails to leave footprints in any type of material, making it easier to cast Seals.

Straitjacket (8): After leaving his home, and the apparatus which encased his arms for most of his life, he found that when his arms were bound it was easier to focus with his Static Mind Discipline. In so thinking, he commissioned an old one, the same that crafted his boots, to make him a thing he would learn later is called by many a straitjacket. Before he donned it though, he inscribed many of the same runes as were put on his boots, but added sigils of protection and illusion, causing him to sometimes ‘fade’ out of perception. Also on the jacket he attached several chains, the same that were within his Way.

-- Chains (8): Six chains, barbed and spiked, are wrapped around his torso, normally with the ends dangling several feet below his waist. These are controlled by his mind, when needed, and contain the ability to grow or shrink in length, whichever the need may be. On four of them are hooked ends, on two barbed heads. These are mainly the reason he has come to be known as the Widow, or the Black Widow, because in battle the chains can come to resemble the legs of a metallic spider.

Twin Short Swords (8): Crossed in front of the straitjacket are two swords, both double-edged, with one edge on each being jagged. The tip of one of them is slightly curved, while the other remains straight, ending in a point. Both are two feet in length, silver bladed with maroon hilts. Their hilts are black and silver inlaid, to match the jacket. On the bottom of each hilt is an eye, not a seeing eye, but the type a hook would fit into, for obvious reasons.

Chained Spikes (8): Kept within his Way are another pair of favorite weapons. Two three-foot long spikes, their tips barbed and edges serrated, connected by an extremely long chain. The chain itself is a weapon, containing many of the same properties as those attached to his jacket, though larger.

Within his Way are many other weapons, each attached to a chain which is attached to a single tree. The weapons range from lances, to swords, to axes.

History

The beginning.

When Alixaendar was a young boy, only fifty or so, it was discovered by his mother that her only son was cursed. One night, while the child slept, she awoke to find herself looking into a round doorway with strange markings dancing up and down the shimmering violet surface. She touched it, and instantly the Gate twisted in upon itself and opened, revealing to her a shining backdrop of silver trees, lush grass, and a single winding brook charting a course through the center of a large meadow. Within that green and silver landscape she saw her son, running among the tall stands of grass, sword in hand as he chased down imaginary enemies.

She snapped her arm out of what she recognized from stories as a Way; a door into another world controlled by the Way Guardians, a species within a race, but only the race of Sun Elves. Never had there been an Under Elf that could open or control one of these things. The woman leapt from her bed and ran down the stone hall, bursting into her son’s room just as he was sitting up in bed, silver eyes widened in terror, pale white hair a mess on his small head.

“What have you done!?” his mother shrieked as she grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking the child while he sat there, dumbstruck. She hit him full on across one soft cheek, sending the boy off the bed and against the hard, grey wall. With a sob, she turned and fled the room, then the house.

The child picked himself up, visibly trembling, but too shocked to cry out or allow a tear to fall from his eyes. He barely remembered the dream now, the scene of a place he had never been, the feeling of his body actually being there. Through the end, somehow, he knew his mother had seen him, and knew that she would be angry, but there was little he could do to hide what he had done.

Hours later, she returned, but not alone. Elves in pitch-black robes, lined in crimson runes, grabbed the child by the arms and drug him forcefully from his home, though it was unnecessary. The moment his mother struck him, something in his heart had broken away from the attachment no true Un`iliun family shares.

For the next few days the boy was studied, his blood taken and re-taken. Finally, after weeks of such tests, he was forced to create a Way. It took the child four more days to create one, a small Gate only two feet by three feet, but much the same as the one described by his mother. The doorway was circular, not conventional like legends said, with moving symbols embracing the dark purple surface. As one of the men touched it, the door opened, revealing a similar landscape as described by the mom, but somehow… darker, less vibrant than she had described. They continued on daily, each time forcing him to make a Way larger than the last, finally discovering that he had to use his hands in order to create the Way, something to keep in mind for later.

Years passed, and finally the boy was able to make a Gate larger than the cave the weavers took residence in. This opened up new possibilities to the child. The next time he was asked to create a Way, he instead created two, one in front of the weavers and one behind, then slowly began to merge them until they became one, and rather than a cave surrounding the elves, they were located within a meadow filled with lush grass, though patches of it turning brown here and there. Their demands to return to their cave were met with a simple smile from the small dark elf, and he did so. After this, he was never forced to create a Gate larger than a doorway, and to keep him from making one unbidden, they put him into an apparatus, which kept his arms bound behind his back.

For a decade they kept him locked up, but during that time he was far from idle. They performed more tests on his body, took more blood to try and reproduce his powers in other elves, even inserted foreign blood into his veins to see if the addition would negate his abilities. It did not. Rather, the opposite happened. The blood used to try to dampen his strength was blood from the spell weavers, and as such, its magic sang to the magic in his own cells, becoming something different.

Another aspect, and perhaps one of the most profound of his time in captivity, was the development of the Static Mind Discipline. Through the new blood coursing in his body, his inherent magical powers of his race, and the fact that he was unable to use his arms unless permitted, he began concentrating on his own inner workings, beginning with that of his mind. He knew of some that could move things without touching them, so he latched onto that one goal and began his silent, solitary training. It would be twenty years later when he lifted a spoon from the plate sitting on the floor of his stone cell, and another ten before he sent the plate soaring through the air. Fifty more years came and went before the child lifted the stone plate, sliced it into four jagged-edged pieces, and used each piece independently of its brethren.

For the next hundred years, he perfected and honed his abilities of the mind, creating a Static Discipline, named for the rocks found throughout their caves that were virtually indestructible. With this technique, he had no need of his arms, and in time was even able to create a Gate, though without his arms free he could not open the door.

One day the boy, now an adolescent by his people’s standards, created a small Gate, the rotating circle floating above the door to his cell. The plate from his dinner lay on the floor, cleaned of all it had sported. His mind snatched the plate into the air, splitting it into twenty different slivers, all varying in size. Not sure what would happen, he pushed the pieces into the Gate and watched the surface of it vibrate for a moment, then meld around the slivers and pull them into its embrace. It was then he learned of the ability to store things in that other world. Every other day he would break a plate and send its particles into a Gate, storing them for a time he never knew would come.

The decades passed him by like sand through an hourglass, each day seeming but a minute, as he was prodded and poked. They had given up on the chance of his Way powers being transferred and instead seemed to be focusing on turning him into something entirely different from the boy they had taken.



Cultivating a Killer.


The next fifty years was spent learning various Arts of the Body, the fighting techniques of the Dark Elves, which involved and consisted mainly of kicking, dodging, and possessing superior agility to any enemy one would come upon. What made this task slightly more difficult for him, was the fact that his arms were always encased within the apparatus, meaning that everything he learned was learned solely by utilizing his legs and feet. In so doing, he became a master of strokes and balance. What the young elf didn’t know though, was that his watchers knew of his Discipline, and the fact that his arms were unnecessary when one could create ten arms from nothing. They believed the time had come for his secret to come to light.


“Four warriors. Tell them to kill him.”

The wizened Spell Weaver looked to his Lord, his silver eyebrows rising slightly, but that was the only sign of surprise he would allow to show. With a slight nod, the lithe elf turned and gave the command. Soon Alixaendar was surrounded by four seasoned warriors, each holding a bladed weapon of some sort.

Instead of attacking one at a time, they each rushed in at once, causing the lithe youth in their center to bend at the knees and send his body jack-knifing into the air, legs bending as he rises, then striking out at the closest attacker, the lightning-quick attack catching the dark elf on the shoulder as the man rolled away from the leg, bringing a small axe up toward the young man’s mid-section. The boy twisted as his other leg kicked out and caught another elf on his shoulder, using the body weight to push his own body higher, legs swinging up to pull himself into a backward somersault, landing several yards behind the knot of potential killers.

He knew then that these men were serious. Each begin that slow circle once more, murder clearly shining in each set of silver eyes. They came, and he fell into a dance that had been driven into his mind and body for the past fifty years of his life. His feet moved against the stone floor of the open cave as he ducked from swung blades, dodged well-placed strikes, and flowed through offensives launched unrelentingly against him. It was all he could do to land a well-placed kick every now and then; these had to be among the best in the Un`iliun army. It was then the thought struck him that if these four were truly intent on his death, then that had been an order.

They know.

The thought skittered across his conscience like a spider across its web. It was truth, he knew. During all of those years in training, he had always practiced with his mental arms as well as his legs, to the point that it was difficult not to produce those invisible arms.

Very well, he thought, ducking a decapitating blow and leaping backwards. At once, his mind calmed and he spread out the pattern of his thoughts. Around his body four images formed, only to his senses though. They were appendages, stronger and more agile than any fleshly limb could ever hope to become. As the four came on once more, for the first time in the fight they were at a disadvantage. Simultaneously they were struck in the throats, the force of his mind slamming against fragile cartilage to crush and destroy their only methods for breathing. As they lay on the cold ground, gurgling their personal lamentations, the young man turned to the two watching, a small smile shadowing his lips.

One of the weavers grimaced, the other smiled.

“Give him that blood. See what happens.”

“Wh-What?? But-”

“Just do it,” the elder said, turning and walking away as a plethora of guards came to take the youth back to his cell. From that night forward a weaver sat outside his cell, mumbling incantations that would dampen whatever power the boy possessed. Their mistake was thinking his power to control his own mind came from magic, and not from his own inner workings.

Over the next few years, the young man trained more, for what he did not know. Tests were performed on his blood and body daily, and for a decade now he had not been asked to make a single Way Gate. When he was asked to do so, he simply said that he could not, arms released or not. After a while, they came to accept this fact, and so during his Arts exercises he was allowed out of the apparatus and given the use of his arms. He learned a large variety of weapon usage, from lances to axes, swords to daggers. His favorite were a pair of short swords, both edges razor sharp and slightly jagged, perfect for tearing through flesh and bone.

Decades turned over and over, his days became a constant workout of both his mental and physical powers. It was forty years after he had been injected with an unknown blood that the effects were shown. He was involved in a fight against one of the larger Sun Elf slaves, a man that was told if he killed the young man in black, he would obtain his freedom. For this battle the youth was caged within the apparatus, keeping his arms locked behind him to give the elf a seemingly unfair advantage. The fight was into its fifth cycle of the sand when the boy cut his foot against the stone ground, smearing blood along the grey floor of the cavern.

He kicked at the elf, landing a solid blow to the man’s chest, and also leaving a thin line of blood from where his foot scraped off his clothing. The boy turned, his other foot stepping into the blood on the ground as it came up and connected a second time with the torso of his opponent, leaving a slightly curved half circle, or half moon, at the top of the first line of blood. At the joining of the lines, something within the young man sparked to life, as if someone had dipped his blood in lava. He kept his foot in the air and struck again, this time in a precise act. Another line crossed the crescent, and at once a power pent within his core was released. The Sun Elf began to glow, and then his flesh began to bubble, and after a few seconds he was nothing more than a puddle of evaporating liquid staining the ground.

The young man slowly brought his leg down and stood there, staring at where his foe had been moments before. From that time forward, anytime he was alone he wore a pair of heavy, leather boots, leaving no flesh exposed that could accurately draw a Seal. In the nights that followed that awakening, Sealss appeared to him in dreams, dreams that were always fresh come the morning after.

For several hundred years after that day, he compiled something called the Seal magus, his feet soon becoming scarred and tough. After a time he was allowed the use of his hands in creating Seals, but always they had to be with his blood, or the blood of another. Weaker Seals, he learned, could be made from water or other liquid, but nothing with the potency of life. Unknown, or simple overlooked by his hosts, he learned the technique of controlling liquid with his mind and creating runes-seals in that fashion.



Escape.


When the young man reached nine-hundred years of age, he thought it was time to leave the underground world of his youth, and explore what lay in waiting above. He knew he would never be allowed to simply leave, so one of the countless days he was taken out to work his mind, muscle, and magic, he decided today would be the last.

While he flowed through various forms, using his feet to carry his graceful body through the poses, and his hands to make the images of palms striking flesh with each climax of motion, his mind worked. The caverns the city was housed in were the largest in the area, the tops reaching well over five hundred feet into the dark air. At the pinnacle of that perpetual night something began to take shape, a purple shape that seemed circular in motion, tough alive. It took him an hour to complete the outline of the Way, one that would be large enough to swallow a city, his city.

He lifted his hands to the only sky he had ever known, just as purple light flared in tracing sigils of unknown and alien origin. The Gate descended, opening wide in the process. On the other side, instead of the lush meadows that it once boasted of, there was nothing there now but barren land, a river of dark liquid, and twisted bleeding trees, trees that quivered with life and the knowledge of life approaching. The Weavers tried to stop him, but before their first incantations could grace his ears, the Way fell, engulfing the city in its perfect maw.

The man, his name long forgotten, looked around as the Gate become the floor, and everything within became his. Never had control like this been granted to him, it was intoxicating to say the least.

Die.

The command was simple, and was carried out with all haste. Where people ran, they fell. Where men rushed with blades, they collapsed. As power raced along the fingertips of the Weavers, they crashed to the floor, though they managed to twitch slightly, retaining a small amount of their life force…

He stopped their death, and as the Gate lifted from the dead city, taking with it all of the weapons dropped, the bodies of soldiers and commoners remained behind to litter the caverns. Within the Way though, there remained the bodies of the Weavers.

He left the caves then, venturing into a world that was never truly his home. Over time spent in wooded and forest infested areas he learned that some of the blood forced into his veins must have come from a Sun Elf, for he could hear the voice of nature, and to some extent exert his will over it. As he had forgotten his name, he took on the moniker Alixaendar, which in his tongue meant ’Coming of Night’.

Widow's Story