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Freedom Forsaken

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Sun Dec 05, 2010 12:49 pm

((Argenti))

The wolves appeared, swarming like scarcely visible ghosts about the eclectic trio, and Argenti very nearly stepped forward to greet the imposing Bran. Though he made no move, the alpha snaked over to regard Argenti from beside the wan faery-woman, friendly recognition gleaming in his solemn wolf gaze. Argenti’s attention flickered back to the whole of the group, impassive features belying an internal sense of urgency which snapped at the sweet-eyed woman to move faster as she fumbled in her pouch, though his own fingers twitched defensively around the belladonna extract he held and when she finally withdrew a small bottle, he very nearly exhaled in relief. She unstopped it and carefully showed the man that all it contained was a coiled slip of parchment, no poisons to be detected, and timorously extended her shivering, nervous little hands to him.

The mage’s eyes flickered over her face and for the first time, Argenti saw that little tearlets pricked the corners of her eyes, moving a sympathy he promptly steeled against. The greatest asset of the Rau-lass was their ability to manipulate. But the clotted sadness in her unsteady, frightened whisper seemed too real to fake. “I have been asked,” she timidly spoke, supported by the man beside her “To deliver this to you by another who... who would be protected by the shadows, though- though it is not wanted.” Argenti accepted the vial, heart hammering behind the closed curtains of his mind.

A note, tightly coiled on itself, fell from the vessel and onto the faery’s palm. His eyes skimmed over the short script once, quickly, then recursed to read Phoenix’s carefully worded, well-coded letter a second time. It hurt, and that hurt must have accidentally broken the surface of his studied façade, for the sweet-seeming woman’s features were suddenly washed by a deep, familiar compassion. The small creature stepped towards Argenti, her male companion looking on as guardedly as Argenti would’ve were it Phoenix, and her own little hand reached out to cover his—timorous, mouse-like. Fae words slipped from her lips, attempts at comfort that didn’t heal the lacerations and fears festering within the tall man but which were, for a brief moment, a soothing balm for his heart.

Those last words were desperately sought after, though. They, more than anything else the wan female had murmured, caught the faery’s heart “I promise you, on the soul of my own beloved, that she is in safe hands for now. I know it is a poor substitute for her presence but I hope it can bring some form of comfort to you.”


Argenti should have given better reply than a scant “thank you”, but he didn’t. Whether it was protocol, lingering suspicions, or a stopper of continued grief, he neither knew for certain nor cared to probe into; and these travelers, sent by his own dear love, had little enough concern for courtesy to care.

That imbalance which had nagged since the start of their exchange, that the motley group was more strange to Argenti than he was to them, was next mended—again by the woman, who he now knew to be Connie. It is a name that suits, he reflected. Iosif, the grizzled watcher, he wasn’t ready to trust yet; Argenti couldn’t help the perception that the shifter had a touch of undesirable caprice, a mild abuser of powers. An individual who didn’t exactly lord his strengths over you, but took some pleasure out of using it at your expense. Neither Connie nor Dannon looked entirely aware of what the shifter meant when he confirmed Argenti’s suspicions were “correct about me”, for despite its public statement, the discourse was wholly private—half of it was in the faery’s head.

Though the two undoubtedly were aware of their group-mate’s telepathy, they were likely in the dark regarding the many details of strength, prowess, and ability; Argenti would reserve the privilege of judging Iosif’s character to Signum, but he would relay his observations to the swan-wing all the same. Though it was easily forgotten, Signum bore the burden of youth’s inexperience. A leader such as him could earn the love and loyalty of those pledged to his cause—provided that Signum didn’t forget to be open and communicative, as was his wont—but such an abundance of forgiveness and lenience as was manifest in the Northerner could too easily be his undoing.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to ensure my wife is safe.” Dannon interrupted, ” I would ask you to leave your pleasantries until later.” A bitter smile tugged at Argenti’s lips, for had he not said much the same thing when he and Phoenix had finally finished the first chapter of their roaming?

“With all due respect,” he replied, “I’m going to have to temporarily deprive you of your senses; the risk of knowledge concerning our precise location is a dangerous thing, once embedded in your memories.” To many people, a number of them barely plucked from death though still in the bud of their childhood. Argenti added with a more empathetic tone, “you must understand that there are more lives at risk than we could afford to lose for the sake of premature trust; I will simply administer a drug common in healing practices to numb your senses while it is in your blood, and a mydriatic to temporarily reduce your visions. Both will be lifted by me when we are safely situated.” A mydriatic alone would be ineffective in the dark. If anything, the dilatory effects on the pupil would enable their vision; he had a wealth of phosphorus on hand, though, and the volatile element would provide enough light in a controlled combustion to either force their eyes shut or fill their vision with nothing but a painful whiteness, if they had the fortitude to bear it.

Each vial was magically connected to as Argenti spoke, though he didn’t physically reach for them; the motion would seem possibly threatening—as though he’d reached his own private conclusion without waiting for their assent. Of course, the band had no choice: they would have to undergo the experience one way or another and the means to that end would make scant difference.
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Alacer Phasmatis
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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby WindOnFire on Fri Dec 10, 2010 10:26 pm

As Fiala strode towards the kitchen area, she heard small, quick footsteps right behind her. Turning, she smiled softly at Hylas, before continuing on her way. The kitchens were right next to the mess hall, so they arrived in a few seconds. One of the cooks turned to her.

“What d’ you want?” He asked, his voice thickly accented and scornful. Fiala tensed. Not only were the kitchens uncomfortably small and hazy with smoke, he was clearly not happy about the intrusion.

“We have guests...or possibly new recruits. They just arrived, and need food. Enough for two people.”

“I’ll see wha’ I c’n spare.” He snorted, before handing her a single tray with some bread and two bowls of soup. He grumbled under his breath, but caught sight of Hylas and unexpectedly bent down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Well, now, yur a fine little lad, ain’t ya. Are you one of our new r’cruts?” He looked at Fiala, and gave a half hearted grin. “Me own son wud’ve been jus’ abo’ yur age. Here, I’ve got a treat wiv yur name on it, me lad.” He turned and produced a warm, delicious smelling pastry from some hidden container. “Now ‘ows tha’? And somethin’ ta wash down the meal. He added two mugs of milk to the tray.

Fiala fidgeted. She wanted to get out of the cramped kitchens, which were even more cramped, and filled with smoke and smells. The cook caught her glancing at the door. “If ye want, I c’n take this back ta where yur friends are.” She nodded abruptly, and turned to Hylas.

“Sorry, Hylas, but I’ve got to get out of here. Just stick with Selan and Eadmar. He can tell you where everything is. I’ll see you later.” Without even waiting for his answer, she fled, seeking the cool air and the feeling of the wind on her skin.

When she felt the first stirrings of the air, she sighed in relief, only to hear raised voices. With a frown, she burst into the open. “What is going on?” She asked, quite cross. She had been hoping to get a few moments in the air, and didn’t really want to get tangled up in anything. Why was everything happening to her at once?

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowWake on Sun Dec 12, 2010 2:52 pm

((Aerain))

As she watched the group of elves disperse – some still muttering bitterly – Aerain’s sharp gaze noted a movement from the corner of her eye. Turning to see Altair’s approach, she smoothed the frown upon her brow back to its normal impassivity, tucking her spear into the crook of her arm with one hand and her wayward hair behind her ear with the other. He looked as frustrated as she felt as he called her name, inclining his head in greeting, and the faery gave him the same response, her face schooled to its normal stony cast. It looked as if it was going to be one of those days...

“Dian Aerain,” the nobleman said softly, gesturing placatingly with his hand once they were away from the milling crowd of elves, “you have helped my generation enormously. Therefore, I beg you not to think I make light of your contributions, or the selflessness with which they were given, when I ask that you be more considerate of the elves you’ve trained to fight—especially today, of all days, when our spirits run highest.”

More considerate? Aerain’s wings stilled as her jaw set in indignation. “Forgive me,” she said, equally as soft, though she couldn’t help the trace of an edge to her tone, “But if these men were soldiers, I’d have given them much less latitude than I have. Considering our situation, I felt it was more appropriate to get as much efficacy from our current resources as possible.”

“You work with proud, desperate people...” Altair responded quietly, and the warrioress noted traces of both reprimand and despair in his tone. With an inaudible sigh, she gestured for him to go on. “To upbraid a pair of men before fellow nobles and subjects, when you’re neither a dignitary nor even a legally present foreign ambassador
 it won’t do well for earning loyalty.”

Aerain had to bite her tongue to hold the sharpness of the retort. “I do not ask these things of you for my own benefit.” Altair continued as though he hadn’t heard, illustrating his reasoning based on his own race over hers. Folding her arms around the strong hardwood of her spear, Aerain was reminded of her youth among the military and the endless lectures given on culture and its effect on behaviour. How many times had she stood as such, musing with confusion upon a matter that should be so simple, but was actually a convoluted mess of tactics and discretion? Not for the first time, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Nearly every night since his departure, she had been kept awake with Lysander’s parting words and, despite every effort to stop them, the nightmares that always followed. They were the same: she was flightless, surrounded by enemies or ropes or twisting vines that held her in place as the elves sought to attack or flee or fly over the edge of the precipice and the enemy beyond, her vain attempts at warning falling on deaf ears. And waking held only the faces of those she had come to care for: Trisha, Faedra, Caera, Altair... even – though she wished fervently it weren’t so – Lysander himself upon occasion. In those times – when she woke drenched in sweat and shaking as though a fever were upon her – she wondered at the strength of the elves who could withstand such emotions.

Though as Altair told it, even they eventually succumed to the stress of their feelings. With his finishing sentence, the elven lord met her gaze and Aerain gave a short sigh, relaxing slightly.

“I do not relish the thought of forcing you to be what you are not, my friend,” she responded bluntly, softening her tone as much as her pride allowed, “but there are times when we must put aside what is normal for us to enable a change that could save lives. I understand that this is new and goes against everything that is built into your bloodline. And I understand that due to that bloodline, you feel more keenly the cost of emotions than most; believe me, we faeries are not always as stoic as the stereotypes say. Our bond doesn’t allow any give when it comes to keeping our feelings in check, but the difference is that we are trained to know when it is appropriate and use it to our advantage, rather than letting it rule us.”

Running a hand through her hair, the warrioress looked away for a moment with a slight frown, the fingers of her left hand trailing the markings on her spear handle. “Altair, I am unused to this... reluctance. While I have led small groups before, they all were faeries and needed only a little encouragement to put aside past concerns and concentrate on the immediate problem. I understand that the faery bond makes it much easier to attract loyalty from those we command, but I do not even seek loyalty. I merely wished to provide a substitute for the faery bond: to connect you all in a way that the segregation of the elven families has not allowed.” Aerain looked up to meet Altair’s greenish eyes once more, raising an eyebrow subtly. “Clearly I still have a lot to learn about the elven ways. I feel I am going to need you more than I would care to admit – and I believe more than you realise.”

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Thu Dec 16, 2010 4:17 pm

((Darragh))

Red. It was all over his tunic; Darragh had thought it would inflict injury or danger, such was the vehemence behind the throw and the panicked look on Lilith’s aghast features when he’d raised his eyes. But no; the substance had landed harmlessly on him. Spattered him all over, true, but to no injury.

Ohhh
 The tacky, congealing quality of the liquid, the tang of the smell, the brilliant color
 It’s her blood. Damn, he was slow this morning. Lysander had told him of Lilith’s blood—warned him of it, rather. A pang of sympathy touched the dark man’s feelings, for he suddenly comprehended that expression of shocked alarm. Lilith had nearly killed him.

At this thought, a smile flirted around Darragh’s mouth; she’d been stunned at the concept of causing his death—had saved his life. As this pleasant notion registered and suffused the elf’s limbs with warmth, he realized that there wasn’t any point to delaying in rejoining Lysander’s group, for divided they were vulnerable and it was only through his doing that they’d ever been split. For the purpose of proving a point and asserting his will against the other lord’s, enough time had elapsed. That aside


This damned headache won’t lift so long as he’s got a bone to fuss over. Therefore, Darragh set off without another thought after ordering Aoise back to camp (it wouldn’t do to have her caught in potential crossfire); this matter was light in his 316-years-old heart, and pressed him chiefly for the weight it bore on Lysander. Arrogant he acted, vain and unpitying he liked to seem, but as one who’d witnessed the growth of the child into the man he was and had been a constant in Lysander’s life, he knew that all this contrariness was a reaction to adversity. Lysander didn’t confront his negativity, his sorrow, or anything painful; instead, he turned it into hurt that would inflict itself on others.

Caera called that a foolishly optimistic viewpoint.

In the time it took to walk a quart of a mile—not even five minutes, really—Darragh became aware of another presence. “Good morning, Niall,” he said, ever so brightly. “What brings you here?” Like a silent, rangy ghost the lean elf materialized beside him, looking more like his pre-Diarmuid self with the tunic and vest he wore. The much younger elf whispered back a formal reply, the courtly etiquette amusingly out of place, and then didn’t speak another word, but spoke volumes through his regard of Darragh. It unnerved the older noble that Niall should display such inexplicable wariness around him, when he was all openness and laughter to most every other person he met. It was almost as though Niall had caught onto something, or suspected something


“Get out.”

“Good morning,” Darragh murmured wryly, although mindful of his purpose, he accompanied the ironic tones with a bow and downcast eyes. Without discretion or due shame, the two—or more appropriately, the one and the unexpected companion—had wandered more or less into Lysander’s lot, and the Ælfher lord was the portrait of vexation.

If Lysander was the least bit mollified by this show of subservience or by the promise of an apology, it didn’t show.

Darragh cleared his throat as the other elf’s gaze bore nails into his head. “Lysander, mo chara,” he murmured, “I beg your pardon for the—“ a freshened wave of hot, steely pain in his head and the elf bit back a curse, eyes watering at the aggravation, “—the—the insult I unthinkingly invited on you when I—“ Speaking was impossible. Dots and blotchy light danced in the corners of the Unorian lord’s eyes; in any other situation he’d have burst out and either pleaded for or roared at Lysander to relinquish the agonizing, nigh unbearable magic, but the mage was beside himself with betrayal and bruised pride at the moment. His good humour needed to be courted like some thrice-cursed damsel. Darragh grit his teeth, fighting to hold back the bile rising in his throat and imagining Parthalán ordering him to straighten up and speak firmly, as any other Unorian would. Head swimming, the elf obeyed the internal demand, though he’d have sooner swooned.

“Lysander,” he ground out, vaguely aware that the mage looked cruelly amused—he wondered in a detached fashion how it was that they could still end up in such childish situations, because this was only the adult variant of twisting someone’s arm, “ I—acted rashly the day before, and I request, no, want that we be friends again. I had no—no intention of insulting you and have regretted it since. My only thought at the time was to our companions—“

DAMN IT. This time, Darragh couldn’t hold out; the pressure of Lysander’s magic inside of his skull escalated too far and he sank to his knees, briefly blacking out.

“You’re grasping at straws, Darragh,” Lysander sniffed, releasing the elf with the alacrity of a cracking whip, examining his splayed fingers as the other gagged briefly on air—the motions of retching weren’t so violent that his stomach actually heaved, though. Lysander thought that would be disgusting, so of course he didn’t exercise his power so far as to cause that. The concussion, though, was sure to last for a while.

“Alright,” Darragh croaked, rising too soon and nearly swaying back to his knees. “Alright, I admit I’m not contrite about the cause for our division. But Lysander,” he spoke in earnest, grey-brown eyes sparkling like watery winter sun, “I mean it when I say I regret causing this rift, and we must join again. We have known each other for over three centuries, my lord and friend; in those centuries, there have been hundreds of things we’ve argued over of far more significance than something so petty! I was defending Lilith because I know you, Lysander, and I know you to be level-headed, a pragmatist, and reasonable, none of which you were being last night!”

He had said something—or many things—wrong. The Ælfher didn’t look reconciliatory so much as he looked quite gravely stricken by searing hate. “You told me,” Lysander snarled, ‘very pointedly, as I recall, that my brother—my kind, chivalrous, infinitely more worthy brother—deserved to die.” The last word came out soft, a menacing whisper.

“I—,” Darragh reconsidered denying it, for this was not the time to contradict Lysander. “Mo chara, you might be twisting my words somewhat—“

“I am NOT.”

“Yes, of course, you’re right.” Darragh bowed his head in submission and murmured, “but Lysander, I was too angry to fully consider what I was saying. I love Altair more than I love life, you know that.” It was a bit of a stretch, the elf knew, guilt gnawing at a corner of his gut; not because he was bending the truth for this, though. “But—“

“You don’t feel sorry at all, coward,” Lysander hissed ever so delicately, a king cobra contemplating striking. “You just feel attracted towards Lilith, stars help me if I know why, and that has clouded your judgment of her.” Darragh disagreed; he felt that Lysander was skimming over something vitally important, something that the incident with Lilith was just an external cover for, but he felt too ill and pulled in circles to quite put a finger on it; the conversation was effectively out of his control.

“Darragh? This isn’t about you.” Well fates, he knew that. “If it were, I swear that you’d be a charred, blackened corpse.” Guessing that a reconciliation was within his grasp—too easily, though—the elf simply bit his lower lip and had the grace to look sheepish and meek. Charred corpse or strangled, bloated body were always good signs of recovery, as the threats were so empty. “However, what I do is for the good of other individuals, and I fear to delay too long in returning to my faery companions, who rely on me heavily in perpetuating their subterfuge; they are infinitely more vulnerable without me.” Darragh’s heart skipped a beat; he wished he hadn’t heard that.

“In the interest of haste, we will temporarily join again. But we will form two factions; I wash my hands entirely of you and the faery. However, you will have no more right to intercede on Lilith’s behalf, do I make myself clear?”

But that went entirely against what Darragh had wanted, which was for Lysander to quit the act of being a bully! He had little choice but to capitulate now and resume pressuring Lysander in a fortnight or so, though. It would be easy, of course, to say no, but that would just underline in dark ink the fact that Darragh intended to keep on trying to bend Lysander into a more partner-like than dictatorial role.

“
perfectly clear.”

“Then we are at amends. And when you go gather your camp, tell Lilith that whatever the reason behind your bloody tunic, I thank her sincere efforts to eliminate you.”

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Tue Dec 28, 2010 8:02 pm

((Altair))

“I do not relish the thought of forcing you to be what you are not, my friend.” Altair looked aside, one hand trailing over the mail on his other arm. “But there are times when we must put aside what is normal for us to enable a change that could save lives
 but the difference is that we are trained to know when it is appropriate and use it to our advantage, rather than letting it rule us.”

The mage nodded stiffly, a dry smile pulling his mouth from habit rather than conscious urge, closing an armored hand against his breast. A deep, protective pang stirred in him for the little brother he’d just parted from; the image of Lysander in battle rose again to his thoughts and implanted itself there, unmoving. It must have been horrifying for him. Altair regretted not probing Lysander to see what the effects of war had been on the bewitching, vivacious young man he’d known—or how Lysander had coped with it. Dammit, he should have asked Lysander how he’d kept it from overwhelming him!

“ I do not even seek loyalty.”

Altair started in surprise; the faery’s words had suddenly walled her off. It served as a forceful reminder that he hardly knew the woman: all this time, he’d assumed that she would wish foremost for the loyalty of the men whose lives she would manage. “I merely wished to provide,” she continued, amber gaze trailing over the field, perhaps ignoring his start, “a substitute for the faery bond: to connect you all in a way that the segregation of the elven families has not allowed.”

“You would be trying to overturn a separation that has lasted since history began in Aduro: we were forming distinct oligarchies before the faeries had begun to join their tribes,” Altair remarked, perhaps more arrogantly than he should have. “However, I feel that we are not as divisive as we seem or claim to be; beneath the discord and veiled insults, which I admit are numerous, there is a sense of fraternity
 it is why we are so proud of our race and its achievements; you’re simply not so apt to see it amongst nobles who view each other more as political opposition or game pieces.”

Aerain return her observation to Altair, a dark brow rising in fairer humour. “Clearly I still have a lot to learn about the Elven ways. I feel I am going to need you more than I would care to admit – and I believe more than you realize.”

Altair smiled and bowed his head, lips parting to respond to her statement but changing intent immediately, as a scythe of wind practically tore at him. Sharply looking to the source, he saw Caera sprinting towards the two commanders, red hair flapping like cloth in a breeze; behind her was Caiseal. Breathlessly she drew up to them, blood pooling in her cheeks and flush forehead. “Al—Aerain,” she gasped, “They must be less than an hour from us.”

“Caera’s magic died at a certain range,” Caiseal tersely remarked. “It’s queer, uncanny: we suspect it isn’t telepathy, for she had contact with all the trees and shrubbery before that block. She didn’—“

“There was no sentience behind the force,” Caera smoothly snapped, brushing a damp red lock from her face, “just a smooth, blank motion. I cannot say that it’s like any telepathy I’ve ever felt before, if it is telepathy. I wonder if it might not be the infamous soul-magic of the Rau-lass?”

Altair glanced at Aerain, taking not of her expression, and murmured, “I do not know for certain; it seems like a different form of shield magic. Caiseal, where is Faolán?”

The addressed elf spoke through pale, tight lips. “He went to investigate, as none of the other mages had projectile magic that they could feel as Caera does. Our most experienced mages are here, mo Tiarna, but Bantiarna Caera wished for the matter to be investigated, so she let my brother go.”

Caera spoke before anyone could reprimand her. “Faolán can watch his own back, Altair, and he was inconspicuously dressed enough that he could be taken for a foolish noble in the unlikely event that he does fall into the Rau-lass camp. I doubt that will be the case, though, and there was no time to waste in wondering over the matter or heading back for a mage of greater caliber.”

Altair glared hotly at the woman and glanced at Aerain, asking her (for he knew that in spite of court pretexts, Caera was stronger-willed than he), “Do you condone this, Dian Aerain?”

“She couldn’t naysay it, Altair,” Caera snapped, “as it’s already been done. But look: he left towards the disturbance just as Caiseal and I headed back, and he’s returned himself now.”

“Faolán!” Caiseal exclaimed, cutting past the three to his brother; a nimble gelding drew to a halt as it drew up to the Ælfher mage and the rider Sionn dismounted, helping Faolán down after him. Altair watched Caera with hard, cold eyes, judgment pooling behind his gaze as the noblewoman’s breath hitched. Between his brother and Sionn—though attempting to divest himself of their aide the whole while—Faolán half strode, half staggered to Aerain. His fey visage was chalky and he seemed to intentionally draw his cloak near himself; Altair instantly anticipated that he was wounded.

“Dian Aerain,” he spoke, level voice contrasting with his pallid features, “The Rau-lass are less than a league away, but I believe they’re on foot, though I didn’t sight them. A sentry may have heard me, or sensed me—though I found I could not summon my magic once I was what I think was about ninety or 100 yards from them—and has given me a minor injury as a result. They’re moving quickly. We should assume our positions now.”

“Not you,” Caera snapped, her feminine jaw tensed and the sinew of her neck pressing against her skin. “You will go to Faedra and she’ll see to the wound, minor or not. Caiseal, take him and report back to me.” She reflexively glared back at Aerain and Altair as though daring them to defy her, then relaxed on seeing that this was not so. Noting her cousin’s glare, she shrugged and said thinly, “I’m sorry, Altair, but it’s given us useful information.” He didn’t respond, but took Aerain’s orders and relayed them to the elves under his command.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Fri Dec 31, 2010 12:47 am

((2 weeks and 3 days later; Niall/Lysander))

One could tell they were getting further north by the mornings. Otherwise, the forest had not changed to a significant degree, for all that the speed of the horses had allowed them to cover scores of miles with all rapidity. Niall knew—not from experience, but from maps and books—that noticeable changes wouldn’t occur until they were near the Ædellic province, where the deciduous trees gradually thinned out to leave tall, dark, imposing evergreens. Snow, it was said, didn’t fall on the greater portion of that northernmost province: the trees were too thick to allow more than a thin dust of white, at most. Where it did fall was supposed to be bitterly cold, as it was exposed to biting gales which, modern Elven astronomers calculated, came from a hypothetical north circle beyond the known reaches of Aduro.

The wind reached them before the trees did. After a morning of riding and a brief noon break, the steady air turned into a breeze, lonely and, though not cold, promising chiller weather ahead as it snaked through the forest. Soon the melancholy weather was joined by a haunting refrain from Darragh’s flute, which wove an insidious path through the lifting wind until the two were braided together, breeze and melody, rising and falling as the Unorian lord caught the pattern of nature’s movement and matched it. He just slides into everything, insinuates himself there until you can’t shake him off without bringing down a vital piece
 Niall shook his head fiercely, clamping a hand against his forehead; his fingertips must have whitened with the pressure they bore against the elf’s skull. There was no reason for the music to bother him so; it was the prejudice of his suspicions which made him steel against such a pure sound.

Then, nearing late afternoon, they’d reached it: the border of the Ædellic province. The pines truly were thick and enormous, needles blocking out sunlight so that the filtered green light of deciduous realms was now dipping in and out of shadow. Dappled spots of sunlight highlighted the forest bed or occasional trickles of water like crystal drops of remembered happiness
 and it was cooler now. The premature evening and limited sun combined with the wind to instill a soft, gentle bite in the air. Not enough for it to be bothersome, but a few of the children were suddenly cloaking themselves or pressing their hands under their arms.

Aoise was the first to fall. They hadn’t gotten more than half a mile into the darkling trees when the hunt-hound, heretofore trotting with a game expression beside Failbhe, began to drag her paws. Her head was dropping so low at that point that her nose quivered just an inch above the golden-needled floor. “Halt a moment,” Darragh commanded, raising a gloved hand for the rest to see—his statement had been mostly for Lysander, not all that loud. Dismounting with a brusque sort of fluidity, Darragh crouched down beside his weary dog, whining in his throat. The two exchanged information in their foreign language and then the elf quickly scooped up his dog, re-mounting Failbhe with Aoise draped across his lap and giving Lysander a quick nod. They resumed movement immediately afterwards. Diarmuid’s hollow eyes never left the shivering, sleek hound.

And it was only another half mile later that Niall left the beginnings of a reverie to suddenly kick Tanaí, his horse, into a controlled bolt of three strides: enough that, in the breath of a second, he was beside Darragh and gripping the older elf’s muscled shoulders, helping him stay on Failbhe. He'd begun to slip off of his horse. “Thank you,” the lord murmured with a half-laugh, “thank you, Niall, but I’m fine
 really. Haven’t any idea what made me so unsteady.” Niall respectfully bowed his head, murmured a brief apology, and steered Tanaí back to Aolani’s side. Now, though, he and Dia both kept their gazes trained on Failbhe’s living cargo. They had barely touched on the Ædellic’s territory: the Unorian portion of the expedition, however, was clearly worse for the wear. Darragh’s shoulder bowed in as though under a heavy burden. Niall wondered that the elf didn’t slide again, but then, his uncle rode beside the man; perhaps he helped his friend with the support of the air.

It was Lysander who called for a halt. He slid off of Brónach, back to the group, and found himself kneeling on the earth, boneless, nerveless, facial muscles screwed up in an expression of pain though nothing hurt. Sharp, short gasps were coming in and out of someone’s chest—his?—and a woolly, oppressive weight swamped his senses. Lysander didn’t feel the forest floor beneath his hands or the wind snaking through the trees, much like a person on the verge of losing consciousness. A vague, barely audible, now inaudible sound of breaking, crunching material and a fire-haired figure was beside him, calling him. Niall, he knew it was. A binding force, wiry and lithe, was wrapping around his shoulders and torso and Lysander knew he was snapping something, but it was growing too difficult to make the connection between his nephew and the arms and the figure


When he came too, it was with the strong, acidic taste of bile rising in his throat. Lysander vainly bit back the urge to vomit, but was in fact spared further blows to his great dignity—his empty stomach left him in dry heaves, the muscles of his abdomen cramping in several short bursts before the futility of the motion led to cessation of the action, and he was free to breath again. Which he did, in deep draughts of air. Between each breath he ground out, “What
 the
 hell, Niall,” maintaining a steady glare on the young man. When he’d collected himself, Lysander flipped back his loose hair and took assay of the situation with an imperial gaze, twin roses of moderate embarrassment blooming on his cheeks.

The mage’s brow came together in a sharp angle when he noted that Darragh, leaning against a tree with one companionable arm slung about the faery bitch’s shoulder for support, was likewise affected. Darragh’s expression lurked in concealment behind a curtain of blue-brown hair; the Unorian looked downwards at Aoise and beside the unmoving canine crouched Diarmuid. The young boy’s spidery hands were gentle as he lifted the dog’s head into his lap, crooning to her in dog-speak. It occurred to Lysander that Darragh was probably worried for his dog, but that really wasn’t Lysander’s concern right now.

Rounding on Niall, he demanded, “were Darragh and I the only ones to experience such adverse effects?”

“Um
 yes, uncail,” Niall murmured, mellow voice like a balm, “and
 Aoise as well.”

“I didn’t ask about the damn dog,” Lysander icily replied, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand against his temples, to ward away a lingering sensation of stuffiness. A hoarse, tenor exclamation oozing thanks came from somewhere in the general direction of Darragh, but Lysander really wasn’t inclined to care. Because apparently, every single one of the younglings and childish “adults” of this group were permitted safe entry into the lands of the late Ciarán Ædellic
 and only he and Darragh were barred.
Last edited by Alacer Phasmatis on Fri Dec 31, 2010 10:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Hedya on Fri Dec 31, 2010 1:38 pm

((Pyrei))

Pyrei kept walking through the woods, proudly wearing all the brand new stuff she had for this particular mission. That day was particularly cold, quite a lot more than it had been during the last weeks, which was important to note, because it meant that the people who were bringing stuff from Old Oestin would have to carry more weight due to wearing more clothes. Pyrei shook her head and rubbed her hands, trying to get them a bit warm, as she kept walking, always in a straight line.

The goal was to note down everything she was going to encounter when walking in a certain direction. This way, in a few days they would probably be able to have a simple map which should nonetheless be quite accurate. Pyrei kept her senses sharp, as she listened carefully to her own footsteps over the leaves. As she kept walking into the forest, she was surprised to see the place was becoming darker and darker, as the trees grew higher and bushier.

But what surprised Pyrei was finding a small tree-house on one of those high trees, with a rope ladder to get to it. She decided to mark, on the floor, the direction she was coming from and where she was going at, before climbing that tree thanks to the rope ladder, to see what she would find there. Even more surprised she was to find out the place was empty. In her mind, it shouldn't have been, but if she thought about it, it made sense. Someone escaping that dangerous zone would try to take all their stuff with them. She couldn't help but wonder who had lived there, and if that person had lived there long ago or not... Maybe they could have helped whoever was living there...

But it was useless, to think about such things, and so Pyrei again went down and continued her straight line. She stood in front of a grave marker, and prayed for the safety of that person's soul. Maybe that death had been the cause which had made the person or people on the tree-house leave? While walking onwards, Pyrei wasn't actually finding anything remarkable, but she kept noting down everything she saw; from zones with lots of trees to zones with less trees, an opening in the woods, a small river that went along her way for a while until it crossed in front of her -fortunately there was a small bridge-, and some rotten trees.

Pyrei was also happy to see some small animals running around the place. It meant that the zone was not terribly unsafe, or at least it meant life was still possible. It was not long after that, when she heard some sounds which could not possibly belong to small animals. The way she heard those, they could belong to something bigger, be it a human or... something far more evil. She knew it was possible that it was just her imagination, but she decided to be careful, nonetheless, and so just tried to move forward as quickly and silently as possible, just in case.

The young girl realized by then that this was not a game. She could run headlong into an ambush, a trap, or a number of other dangerous things. She had taken this mission only as a field trip, writting everything she saw. But what she had to do was a lot more than that. Being careful not to be ambushed, noting any sound she would hear, too, so other people would be warned when they walked through that zone. For a second, Pyrei pitied herself for realizing of the nature of her job only that far ahead. But "better late than never", she thought. And it was exactly like that.

Now that she knew for sure what she had to do, there was no way she could fail. She would be absolutely ready for anything, and would have eyes on her back, if needed. After some more time, she made it to a small pond. In order to continue straight forward, she would have to walk around it, but before doing so, she decided to wash her face. After all, even if it was cold, the feeling of fresh water on her face had always been a welcome one. Her eyes opened wide as she saw something she would have never imagined.

As she kneeled in front of the pond, she saw a reflection of her own self. Or rather, a reflection of who, logically, should be herself. Pyrei hadn't used a mirror for quite some time now, and when she saw herself on the pond, she was surprised, since she thought she looked quite different. Her hair was longer now, and while she obviously knew that, she had to admit it looked quite cool on her. She was also happy to see she didn't look as skinny as she had looked like some time ago. As they were now eating better than she had before, she was starting to look a bit more healthier in that sense. There was one thing that hadn't changed, though. Her eyes looked just as they always had.

So astonished she was, that she almost forgot to get some water on her face. After she did that, she felt a bit more awake, too, and was ready to continue her way. She walked around the pond, after writting down where it was and the approximate size of it, and kept walking. The sun was lower, now, although it hadn't started to set, yet. There was still time to move forward.
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Strength is not the answer, I can tell you that.

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Hedya
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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowPhoenix on Sat Jan 15, 2011 9:18 pm

((1 week and 2 days previous; Lilith/Niall collaboration))

Lilith tumbled off her horse as they stopped for the night, soundly cursing the beast in her mind. The creature itself wasn’t all that ill-behaved and, in all honesty, treated her much better than she reasonably deserved. It merely had had the misfortune of being born as the wrong species, and she had had the misfortune of being forced to ride it. Why anyone would choose to ride was still something of a mystery to the albino. Granted, it made travel a lot faster and less energy-consuming—for the person riding, that is; the horse might choose to disagree—but it was so
 so frustrating. At the very least, things would be much more entertaining afoot when you couldn’t zone out quite so easily. Or, she admitted to herself, if you had companions you could actually talk to.

Not that she was feeling a need for socializing. Simply having someone to talk to would just give her something to do. Anahita was still entirely out of the question; Lilith had turned an icy shoulder and would continue to do so until the faery realized what an idiot she had been.

Darragh had been avoided since the incident at the stream, and Lilith would still feel an embarrassed flush catch her unawares. To counter this, she had simply continued to wear the black cloth tied around the lower portion of her face, which had the added benefit of helping prevent sunburn. Caelen had more or less stopped voluntarily talking to her since she had started wearing it, though. He was under the impression that she was “mad at someone” and didn’t want them to realize it so she could “sneak up on them and kill them.” How he got that idea she wasn’t entirely sure, but she didn’t really care too much. She kept teaching him what she could and brutally grilling him to ensure he wouldn’t be too far behind when he got back to Déneco. In truth, though, he was quite a ways ahead of everyone else in most areas; he would need to work hard to catch up with the rest of his classmates in areas like physical combat and stealth, but he’d have the time. So the child, for the most part, chatted brightly with Fionnula and whomever else was within earshot, a situation which left both of them happy and made nearly everyone else miserable.

The other children were more or less ignored, with the exemption of a few shifter children. Every now and again Lilith would ask them how to say a few words, or how to conjugate a few verbs. These conversations were always very short, given that they got bored quickly and, merely by existing, managed to make her feel uncomfortable.

Niall was pretty much out of the question, which was a pity. Lilith had the feeling that he had an impressive amount of information crammed into his brain, and that he could—no, should—share a bit. But he was quiet, which wasn’t a problem, and deferential to the point of distraction, which obviously was. But, even if he had displayed more independence, Lilith couldn’t quite forget their first meeting and what she had said. She hadn’t really meant it
 quite
 and had had a valid excuse, which was being exhausted to the point of death, neither of which helped to remove the comment she had made. So she didn’t seek his company and he kept to himself whenever he wasn’t with Diarmuid or kissing the ground at the Idiot’s feet.

For awhile, she had mentally reviewed various codes and logic-puzzles she had been unable to solve and tried to sort them out. After a time, she had progressed to various mathematic and linguistic problems, and had ended up working out the stems and roots of various words in different languages, a true testament to her boredom. Now she was attempting to play chess in her head and develop a winning strategy broad enough to work in almost any situation. She wasn’t getting very far with it, which only increased her general irritability.

Dinner more or less followed the new pattern that had developed since Darragh went crawling back to the Moron. Lilith would eat as much as she felt was appropriate for someone of her height and general activity level and leave the rest. The b*stard would then use air magic to force the rest down her throat, which practically made her retch. Unfortunately, air magic could keep things from coming up just as easily as it could push them down. Besides, Lilith had the vague feeling that she’d be forced to re-eat anything she vomited, just so It could discourage her from doing it again.

After Lilith had stopped gagging, she moved away from the loose circle around their campfire, sitting further in shadow. To her surprise, Niall sat himself down several paces away, just close enough to indicate that he might actually want to be in her presence but far enough to where she couldn’t directly hit him.

Lilith ignored the other elf, and only glanced his direction when she heard a soft snarl. Diarmuid, his entire body tense, stalked in between them and sat down well within arm’s reach of the albino. Lilith eyed him warily, recognizing the open hostility in the child’s face, but not knowing what to do about it. She hadn’t even done anything to begin with and thus had nothing to say. You also couldn’t just wander around and randomly hit children; they couldn’t really protect themselves. And, even if they could, it was just plain wrong.

Further movement caught her eye, and Lilith suddenly wondered if she should reconsider her world view. Diarmuid’s lion curled up around him, its slitted eyes fixed upon her. The wolves slipped into a nearly silent ring around her as she firmly grasped the poison in her vials with magic. At the very least, she could drug—or kill, if need be—the animals, and then figure out what to do about the kid.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lilith saw Niall blush pink and cast a quick glance at his nephew, reprimanding him with a tsk and a reproachful expression. When Diarmuid feigned ignorance, Niall rose and approached them, the boy growling under his breath. Lilith barely registered the apology the man gave, keeping her eyes trained upon the creature in front of her. Diarmuid was hoisted into the air and then deposited beside It, and the beasts reluctantly dispersed and gave her some space once more.

Niall crossed the clearing once more, his rather unobtrusive form and handling of Diarmuid causing no comment amongst the others. On returning post-deposition of his charge, he crouched back in his original position and cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “I'm deeply apologetic, Lilith-eolai, that Diarmuid insisted in intruding on you; I would care to make amends for it,” he said, honestly looking embarrassed for his relative’s actions. Lilith made no comment, other than a quiet humming sound in the back of her throat, and returned her gaze to the trees on the other side of the clearing.

A blur of motion brought her to her feet, and Diarmuid tackled Niall to the ground, snarling and attempting to do at least some damage. Almost without thinking, Lilith pulled a mild sedative from her stored blood and let it vaporize and become inhaled by the odd child. Almost immediately, he went limp and slid to the ground, an oddly blank look upon his face.

Lilith gave Niall a defiant glare, only her eyes visible enough to convey that expression. At heart, though, she felt vaguely sick. She didn’t know Diarmuid at all. How was she to know if he had merely been engaging in some form of play with Niall or not? And, despite his hostility, he was still a child. Even if he was more than capable of killing them all—a fact which Lilith did not doubt—it still seemed
 unfair, somehow, to attack him.

Fortunately, Niall didn’t see her look and demand an answer. Instead, he cradling the wiry form in his arms much like an overgrown baby, the upper curve of his ears absurdly rouged. The man tipped up his nephew’s head, gingerly feeling for a pulse, and while his expression wasn’t exactly hostile, it was inescapably concerned. A soft hiss escaped from between Lilith’s lips. Did he truly believe that, because she was an assassin, she automatically killed everything around her?

His eyes now turned towards her, warily. In a soft voice the Idiot might have called poetic—though what that actually meant was still beyond Lilith’s understanding— he asked her what she’d done. Feeling her spine stiffen, Lilith coldly asked, “Do you truly think so little of me as to believe me capable of poisoning a child?”

Quickly, Niall responded, “I do not suspect your motives, Lilith-eolai, nor intend to impugn you,” with a natural pause between his sentences before he picked up again, “but I wondered what you... did or use, to subdue Diarmuid so.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “He's dear to me, you see. And he doesn't like to lie in someone' embrace or be held too long,” as the lad did now, “so I just wondered if he is in... pain, or his right mind.”

Lilith snorted. “If you ask me he wasn’t in his right mind to begin with.” Darkly, she continued, “Explain to me how it is possible for you to ‘not suspect my motives’ and still believe he’s in pain.”

“Pain and ill motives are not the same,” he carefully stated, seemingly unaffected by the sharpness of her words. “I have calmed him a—well, a few times before, when he was far younger, less composed, through restraint on earth and twisting back his arms. It would be natural for him, as natural as it is for a dominant creature to inflict the painful reprimand of authority on its subordinate.” With this, Niall flushed and cleared his throat, looking down and away from her with his teeth catching on his lip, as if to berate it for being so vocal.

For a moment, Lilith eyed him skeptically. If what he said was true—and he did seem to be telling the truth—then his assumptions weren’t in any way unnatural or insulting, from his point of view. Storing away what he said—it was worth reflecting on, should she find Diarmuid trying to intimidate or threaten her again—Lilith caved in. “I gave him a mild sedative that, in the small dose he received, will induce nothing more than lethargy and mellow out his feelings. Some people also see odd flashes of color or hear various tones, but,” she remarked with a small shrug, “this appears to be random and disappears once the drug has worn off. In other words, he'll be able to molest you again in two to three hours."

Eyeing the only Ælfher she’d ever be able to tolerate, a sudden question popped into her mind. “Why do you blush all the time?” she asked, mentally noting the unbelievable whimsicality in the query. Niall simply turned several darker shades of red and mumbled a string of unintelligible words.

Moving on, Lilith asked another question that she had been half pondering for awhile now. “What does eolai mean? Both you and the elvish children have a tendency to add it to my name as if it is some sort of title.”

Niall rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, finally raising his eyes from the earth. They didn’t quite meet hers, though, wandering instead to a position slightly to the left of where she was standing. Lilith fought the urge to step into the space he was staring into as he answered her question. “It means ‘guide’,” he stated, a shade of reluctance haunting the edge of his words.

Lilith’s eyelids dropped a fraction. Seeing a way to possibly probe him for more information, both about the meaning of the word and his surprising avoidance of Darragh, she asked, “But doesn’t Darragh also count as a guide? In fact, it could be argued that, for this part of our journey, he is more qualified than I given that he is more familiar with this territory than someone who has memorized several maps. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you call him eolai.”

Niall’s face screwed up—eyebrows, cheeks and nose all engaging in the act of formulating a response—and his lips moved a bit, not forming words but merely a syllable here and there. Finally, he said, “His title is Lord.”

Lilith waited for a moment, but it looked like that was all he was going to say on the subject. So
 there had to be more to ‘eolai’ than simply guide and that something, whatever it may be, wasn’t applicable to Darragh. Given Niall’s rather obvious dislike of the man, it was most likely that ‘something’ was at least marginally complimentary.

On the off-chance that she could get him to speak more of his relationship with the elf lord, she continued the topic, in quite serious tones, “Yes, you do address him as such all the time. But tell me, is it so offensive to call someone Lord-Guide? Among my people it is considered an honorific to have such a double title.”

Niall’s eyes suddenly darkened and cut a sweep towards Aoise, where she lay cross-pawed by Darragh’s feet, silver fur bathed in orange from the fire-glow and tail wagging laconically as her master stroked her head.“That is difficult for me to answer,” he murmured. Lilith observed him from beneath her eyelashes, but made no additional comment. She would just make this another thing to remember and contemplate later.

It was quite amazing, really. She had been speaking with another person for no more than twenty minutes and she already amassed substantial findings to review while they rode endlessly north. If only most conversations would yield this sort of valuable material
 she thought wistfully. If it did, she might actually try to socialize more instead of always drifting away from everyone.

Suddenly aware that silence had settled, Lilith rediscovered why she so disliked talking to people. Struggling to find something to say to fill the void—which was quite often a horrible thing to do that ended up revealing all sorts of secrets—she suddenly remembered why they had started talking in the first place. “You mentioned that you feel you need to make up for your nephew’s actions,” she said. “Why?”

Niall stroked Diarmuid’s hair, a smile in the words of his soft reply, “He has done so much for me, and yet cannot be understood by me or his family. I've raised him ever since he was rejected by his mother, Fionavar, and... he is different. Sees things differently, like an animal, but acts human when the whim catches him. I want to understand what's going on in his mind, but I don't want to change it; it's the weird in him that has influenced me to be unlike the rest of the Ælfher family. They cannot understand how embracing a mind like Dia's can help them see the world as it is. They would change him, lay strong blame and anger on him, which I think he must understand and be hurt by. So I would rather take their blame for him.”

Lilith stared blankly down at the two, trying to comprehend how Niall had come to such a decision. After vainly groping at threads of mist, Lilith admitted, “I don’t understand any of that, and I don’t mean in terms of a language barrier.” Though, she thought, it could be a sort of language barrier, depending on what was defined as a language. “Not really, anyway,” she added, as a means of clarification.

Niall shrugged. “Nor do many,” he remarked. Smiling wryly, he said “Nieander tried to separate us four years ago.”

Lilith shifted her weight, suddenly made uncomfortable. Niall had no reason to tell her any of this, especially things that seemed to carry such
 such powerful emotion. Interrupting what would probably have been a very sappy story, Lilith asked, “Is Nieander the one that had twenty-four volumes dedicated to his life history and still keeps writing more
?”

Niall suddenly looked skeptical. “You read them?” he asked, his tone conveying a sense of disbelief Lilith found hard to understand.

“I started reading them,” she corrected him. “I wasn’t able to reach the most recent one before we got thrown out.” Niall gave her a sidelong glance, which reassured Lilith that he realized she was still there. “Sorry,” he said.

Lilith gave him a slightly exasperated look. In a marginally annoyed tone, she said, “You’re not the one who had the dream, so it isn’t your fault. You really need to stop apologizing for things you didn’t do.

Niall blushed again. He was really starting to remind her of her old roommate; that girl blushed and apologized and started at her shoes every second she wasn’t sleeping or unconscious. To add to the connection Lilith was making, her roommate had ended up as a librarian and Niall, from what she could gather, might as well have been one. “S—um,” he paused, correcting himself. “I—
 Right,” he concluded.

It wasn’t great, Lilith noted, but it was a start. “Discussing your apologizing issues is a nice transition back to how sorry you are that your nephew is out of his mind, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Now, normally I would be discouraging anything related to apologizing—unless it’s for something important—but if you truly insist you could share some of your knowledge. And if you feel that’s unfair, then I could try to teach you something. Although,” she admitted with a slight frown that he couldn’t see, “I really don’t know what I would have to teach that would actually be interesting
”

Niall stared in her general direction, again not looking directly at her. It was amazing how unsettling such a simple and inconsequential action was. Lilith still couldn’t make up her mind if he was doing it out of some incredibly misguided perception of respect or if he was insulting her by refusing to make eye contact. Given that it was Niall, chances were it was the former, which meant that Lilith would simply have to help him see reason. “I
” he began, “an exchange would be unfair to you
 You owe me nothing.”

“And, in my opinion,” Lilith said, “you owe me nothing either. And even if you did, you haven’t even the slightest clue as to how many questions I’m going to ask you. I’m not from anywhere around here and will literally question you to death. It would be entirely unfair for you to put up with such pestering for nothing.”

There was a moment of silence before Niall slowly began. “Well
” his voice dropped significantly, “Perhaps a foreign language would
” he mumbled.

Lilith simply shrugged, a motion his averted eyes didn’t catch. “Do you have anything in mind? It’d be best if you want to know a language I can actually teach you, and one that I don’t have a terrible accent in.”

There was stunned silence from Niall. “I
” he began. “No, whichever you want.” Lilith sighed. “Give me either a list of languages you want to learn or languages you don’t want to learn. If you don’t, I’ll smack you,” she threatened. This was generally the point her roommate would start crying at, whilst desperately trying to force out a semi-coherent answer. “Um,” Niall said, obviously racking his brain for something. “You don’t have to, actually
” he concluded, choosing what was almost the worst possible answer.

Lilith casually reached over and smacked the top of his head. Niall’s surprised face was quite humorous, and the only flaw in it was that it was directed at the ground. “Whichever language is easiest for you,” he finally determined, “the most innate.”

Although Niall had meant well, Lilith truly believed he did, the albino wasn’t entirely thrilled with his decision. It wasn’t that she couldn’t teach her first language to him, unlike Cetairiacelosian, but it had the potential to raise several questions she didn’t want to answer. He might feel comfortable revealing his life story to her, but she wasn’t about to start talking to him about her past. Especially the bits that marked her as really, really strange. “Do I have to explain why it’s my easiest language?” she asked.

Niall looked surprised (again). “No! No, of course not,” he said in what was his most decisive moment in all the time Lilith had known him. “Alright
 then does it have to be a language you would ever have any practical use for?” Niall simply shrugged. “No,” he replied.

A small glimmer of admiration flickered in Lilith’s soul. There was just something so satisfying about people who loved knowledge for knowledge’s sake instead of what use it could be. Keeping this momentary happiness to herself, she said, “Alright then. I’ll teach you a non-Adurian gypsy-shifter tongue. For obvious reasons you had better not mind only learning how to speak it, and for the same reasons you had better be able to learn things orally. Unless,” she sarcastically added, “you can procure either a slateboard or paper.”

Niall remained silent, only bending his head in a quick bow. Reaching down again, Lilith poked his forehead. The man jerked back suddenly, and she said, “Speak more when an answer is expected of you. I make it very easy to tell when I’m being rhetorical or not, so you shouldn’t have any trouble determining what’s expected of you. Understood?”

“Alright,” Niall replied. “Good,” Lilith said, turning around and stalking off. “We begin tomorrow.”

*********************************************************

((present; Lilith))

The further north they travelled, the better Lilith felt. The landscape and climate began to feel more like her homeland, and almost relaxed her. Almost.

That wasn’t to say that the part of Ædónï they now traveled through was exactly the same as Cetairiacelos. For one thing, it wasn’t nearly cold enough, and Lilith highly doubted it would be, despite the recent decrease in temperature. For another, the evergreen forest they now traveled through was too thick, at least to her knowledge. She had never truly explored the forests around Sanusiér, though, so it was entirely possible that the deeper parts had more in common with this Southern forest than she knew.

As they began to close in on evening, the temperature dropped from being a miserable experience to quite pleasant. Some of the midgets grabbed additional clothing, but Lilith (and most likely Caelen) were more than content with the way things were.

As they were riding, Darragh’s dog suddenly ran out of energy. It was rather interesting, actually. One moment it was trailing Darragh’s horse, the next it looked on the verge of collapse. Darragh stopped the party to pick it up and carry it. Tentitively, Lilith extended a thread of magic in the dog’s direction, but found no poison. Not long after, Darragh was caught by Niall as he all but fell off his mount. Again, Lilith could sense nothing amiss with either of her magics. Then It slid to the ground, face screwed up as though It were in extreme agony. Niall grabbed the moron as it passed out.

Once they had retraced their steps, the afflicted elves (and the dog) began to recover. To Lilith’s vast amusement, the Moron’s first move was to try to vomit. He failed—which was quite unfortunate seeing that she would have been able to hold that against him forever—and hissed at Niall.

Under ordinary circumstances, Lilith would have been perfectly fine with leaving It alone and worrying about why two members (three if the dog counted for anything) of their party had spontaneously fainted. But they were obviously alive and not hovering near Death’s door. It was just too tempting.

Tugging down the cloth around her face, the albino ghosted over to It, a malicious smirk slowly taking over her typically-emotionless expression. “Have we been skipping meals?” she asked It, not bothering to lower her voice. She was being petty and childish and would probably be punished for it later, but that didn’t—couldn’t—stop her. “No,” she murmured, “we wouldn’t be vomiting after regaining consciousness if that were so. Perhaps we’ve become bulimic,” she mused, eyeing him wickedly, “that could possibly explain the impulse to vomit. Aaaaaaaaah, mage-y, you’re such a hypocrite. Or,” her eyes glittered, “maybe our little noble mage-y-ness simply isn’t strong enough for so much travel. You should have said something, then, and we’d have gladly stopped. Isn’t that so, Darragh?” she asked, sparing him a quick, equally mocking glance before returning her gaze to It’s face.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowWake on Sun Jan 16, 2011 10:35 am

((Hylas))

Hylas beamed happily as the cook handed him a nice-smelling bread-thing with a friendly smile. Surreptitously giving the edge a nibble as the large chef turned to speak to Fiala, the young shifter gazed through to the kitchen area, using pastry-covered fingers to flick his tousled hair out of his eyes. This was a nice place, he reckoned to himself, a proper family place like the village used to be back home, before the demons came. He frowned a little, trying to ignore the nagging mental image of his grandparents as he left them. He wondered how many other shifters weren’t so lucky: after all, he had found another family. Some, he reflected with a voice that sounded more like a grown-up’s, may not have got even that...

“Sorry, Hylas,” Fiala said, turning to him with a strange expression on her face (he wondered whether it was her illness again), “but I’ve got to get out of here.”

Smiling, Hylas nodded. “That’s ok,” he replied brightly, trying to make her feel better, “I like Mister Eadmar too. You can come back when you feel better, ok?” He waved as she walked away fast towards the exit and then turned to follow the cook back to where Eadmar was sitting. Selan had gone to change, but he didn’t mind: he’d always liked meeting new people.

“Cook gave me a pastry,” he said proudly, waving the item in indication, before taking another bite. He swallowed looking around at all the different people. He’d never seen so many shifters in one place. “How many people live here?” he asked the guard next to him, “There are so many big men – do they fight often? Some of the older boys in my village used to fight. Nana said it was too much tes-testorone but Granda only laughed and said it was because there just weren’t enough girls. I don’t get it but they didn’t fight very long anyway.”

Finishing his pastry, Hylas gulped down his drink and then smiled at Eadmar. “I had a girlfriend once,” he told the man with a shy grin, “Millie, she was called. We used to play in the trees ‘cause she was a Sciuridae shifter - squirrels and things.” Checking around him to make sure no one was listening, the little shifter leaned in closer. “Don’t tell anyone but I actually used to get a bit scared. But I went up the tallest tree in the wood, because she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” He beamed suddenly. “All my mates was jealous ‘cause Millie liked me so much. How cool’s that?”

Hylas sighed and, turning back to the plate, finished off his bread. “Mister Eadmar?” he asked thoughtfully after a moment, “Why did the Rau-lass come here? Didn’t they like their home? ‘Cause I miss my home and I know I’m far away, but I’m not as far away as they are. Are they jealous like the big boys ‘cause our home is really lovely and we have the Lady and all that and they don’t have nice things? ‘Cause that would explain why they’re being mean to all of us.” He shuddered and looked up at the older shifter with a worried expression. “They don’t have the Lady. I’ve seen her,” he whispered with horrified curiosity, “The lady they say prayers to. When they first came to our village, one of the demon ladies said a name and held up a necklace with a picture on it. She said that she - the lady in the picture - had chosen to spare us an eternity of... of something – I can’t remember what it was. But it must’ve been bad because Old Man Max (we used to call him Mad Max; he was a pig, you know – a bearded one), well he said that no hell bitch Goddess was going to tell him what to do and that the Queen could do something to his chicken. I didn’t understand that last bit but the demon lady got really angry and she-”

Hylas bit off the end of his sentence. He didn’t want to remember those bits. Suddenly spotting a familiar white dress at the other end of the hall, he sprung up out of his seat and waved. “Hey, Selan, look – I saved you some food! Eadmar and I were just planning on how to kill the demons.” He noticed that the room had gone quiet and though some people were smiling, other looked worried. Sitting down abruptly, he asked Eadmar, “That is what we’re here for, right?”

-----------------------------------------------------

((Shifter Guards))

Kim tried to stifle his laughter and failed. Beside him, Bellus was already snorting his own hideous variation of the noise, his great grey hide trembling with the force of his amusement. The feline shifter hauled the unfortunate visitor upright by his bag’s straps one-handed, slapping his thick-hided companion on his back with the other. “Stop it, man, you’re going to kill me. Hey, go take Darling-“ (“Screw you, dude!” came the faint shout from behind them) “And scout the perimeter – just in case.”

Once the rhino had wandered off, followed by the starling shifter – who made a point to dive-bomb Kim’s head on the way past – Kim put an arm around the newcomer’s shoulders. “So, Kirkan-yaro, you’ll probably need some refreshment after your little chase there. If you hold on a moment, I’ll-“

“What is going on?” came the sharp remark from the tunnel entrance, and Kimber lifted his head with a shiny white grin. “Fiala, huce, dan 'yar'uwarsa!* It’s all good. Our little gibbon-friend here has just evaded his own death with legs quicker than the Lady’s own. Just so happens he’s lost all his worldly possessions in the chase. He needs a friendly face to greet him, not eyes like steel and a voice like glass. Have some pity for the poor soldier!”

Kim rolled his eyes as she continued to glare. No one ever had a sense of humour these days... “To, ƙumbuna,” he sighed, thankful at least that she had enough understanding of his native tongue that they could speak in private. After all, the poor bloke had already been humiliated enough... “Wawa kuma sun firgita, sun gudu.** We’ve seen no sign of enemies all day. I’ve sent the rhino and the bird out to scout, but I don’t expect they’ll find anything other than monkey-boy’s mess. I was going to take him downstairs but my shift’s not over yet. I guess now you’re here, you can take him to Lord Kariff instead; they should be done with the stock now and they'll want to see him.”

“Actually,” he said, in the common tongue for Tek Tek’s benefit, as he saw her face change expression, “I thought I heard Lady Nala’s still in the garden sanctuary, overseeing the last of the harvesting. Why don’t you take our new friend Tekket to her first. I have no idea where Tarron is, so you may as well.” Kim winked with another dazzling grin. “Don’t forgot to come back to visit, eh fulawan zuma***? The air’s not as sweet without you!”

*roughly translated as “chill, little sister”
**”All right, Talons. The fool must have scared himself and bolted.”
***honey-flower

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Hedya on Mon Jan 17, 2011 5:59 pm

((Selan))

As Selan walked through the narrow corridors she had grown to 'love' in such a small time frame, she kept thinking, and for the first time in months, she was thinking of the future, rather than thinking of the past. She had to think of what she would be doing in the coming days, weeks, months, and years. Why plan so far ahead? Well, because she was planning on surviving, of course.

The next few days should be days of preparations, that she knew it well. As for the coming weeks? Probably fighting; battles, healing, and all those sorts of things. She felt ready for it. She was stronger than she had ever been before, because her physical strength had never left her. It was her mind that had faltered, but everything was fine now. As for the next months... Selan had to admit she wasn't sure of that. She knew that the battles could last for some months, and she was ready for that.

But she decided that the first thing to do after the war was over would be to search for her friends. She had so many things to tell them... she had to find so many important people for her; as she was sure they would all be alright. What about the following years? Well, she did have one goal in mind, one which was so clear. Selan thought that, so far, a little part of that goal, that dream, was starting to be accomplished, and that made her feel warm again.

After a while, Selan got to the big room where everyone was eating. It hadn't been a very long way, but it had been long enough to surprise her again on how big that underground base was. The shifters really made an incredible an impressive group of people, in her opinion. If only they were all able to work together, using the abilities they all had, thinking of beating the Rau-lass would not be an utopy. It was with this thought in mind, that she arrived to that room, which was quite crowded. As a matter of fact, she hadn't seen as many people in the same place for quite a lot of moons.

She stood on the doorway, looking an amused Hylas talking to Eadmar, so cheerfully. It was always so interesting to see little Hylas enjoying whatever he did. He was pure and innocent, despite everything he had been through. But what was more important, this didn't make him less clever. He was definitely very sharp for his age, and Selan was sure he could grow up to be a very competent man in whatever he chose to do, and she wanted to be there to help him, as his new family. She observed the little shifter still talking for a while, his face changing emotions, and as he went on, people in the room started to go silent, as if they were listening to him.

In the end, Hylas noticed her. Hey, Selan, look – I saved you some food! Eadmar and I were just planning on how to kill the demons. That is what we’re here for, right? He motioned her to come, impatiently, waving as he jumped out of his seat. "I'm coming I'm coming!" She walked swiftly towards the two shifters, and sat next to Hylas. "Thank you so much for that! You didn't have to save anything for me, you should eat so you can grow up strong and healthy!" However, she didn't want to deem the boy's efforts as useless, so she decided she would eat just a bit of that food. "I'll eat a little bit of this, because you've saved it for me, right? But you eat the rest, okay?"

Selan smiled softly at him, and then looked at Eadmar. "So, planning on how to kill the demons, hm?" She gave Eadmar a serious gaze for a moment, which warmed up a bit after a few seconds, and then looked back at Hylas. "So, any ideas on how to finish them up?" She then whispered in a loud voice, as if she was fakingly telling a secret. "You know, I think I stand a chance against them, with my magic and my sword!" She winked at Hylas, and started eating. She was surprised at her own confidente. It didn't seem like her recent self! But she was glad, things were looking quite good, even if they were still in dark times.

Selan was amused at seeing some of the shifters started talking in low voices after hearing her words. Was it the mention of magic? Or perhaps the sword? Ah, of course, she wasn't carrying the sword with her, and she didn't exactly look like a swordswoman. At least her body didn't seem to be built like that of a soldier. She had never been all muscled, and her best ally in battle had always been speed, rather than strength. That was actually something she was proud of!

"Eadmar, thanks for the information before... as you see I came back quite quickly... I dismissed the idea of 'playing with swords here'. We'll have plenty of time to do that, in the future, with people who deserve our iron, instead of friends, so I didn't talk to the head guard... but still, thank you for your pointers. On my way there I was able to realize of a few important things about myself, so that was very welcome. Oh, by the way, I haven't seen Fiala here, where did she go? I thought she would be with you two here. And do you know anything about how the preparations are going? All I know is that they're taking place right now, but obviously I am a newcomer here, so I would not be informed of everything. I don't know how things are going, and I was wondering if you would... well, know anything about that?"

That had been a long one-sided talk towards poor Eadmar, who was probably a bit overwhelmed with all those questions she had just asked him in such a short time. In the meantime, she pushed Hylas against her, and was hugging him tightly. She could only wonder if she was doing this for the boy, or for herself. Perhaps the truth would be that she was doing it for the two of them.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowWake on Tue Feb 01, 2011 4:56 pm

((F’ntr/Arden))

Quick... yes, that’s it – run, run as fast as we can... no, get up! ...don’t trip and lie there! The demons, remember, the demons come...!

Tiny, weak little legs pin-wheeling, the faery child fell again, stubby little toes tangling in the undergrowth and casting him to the dry litter, shins grazing on the deadwood. Biting his teeth, the dusky-haired teen yanked the motionless blonde toddler upright, tattered wings fluttering with irritation. Y’sfralista help me... get up! You keep running until I say – that includes after a fall. V’akra d’in! Do I need to tell you everything!

Forcing a heightened sense of urgency into the boy’s mind, F’ntr grasped the child’s sweaty palm, tugging him onwards as the drone’s legs started pin-wheeling again in automatic obedience. How could the faeries be so reliant on such pathetic appendages? Despite the fact that his current looks were a mere illusion, he was finding it difficult not to imagine himself sporting the ridiculous things; it seemed, while sapped of all knowledge of his being, that the faery child still held an awareness for his body. And while the Rau-lass mage had known Arden was a new addition to the Queen’s experiments, it was clear the boy’s body still didn’t realise that his wings were a tattered mess. Thus, the continual unbalanced stumbling...

As he poked and prodded and ordered his small puppet into obedience, ignoring his stinging legs (one of the drawbacks with linking so closely), he realised that the clatter of feet upon cobbles was forcing its way into his attention. Cursing softly – it was so damn difficult for his mind to listen and talk at the same time at the moment – F’ntr put on a last burst of speed in the direction of the noise. Beside him, the brat’s breath began to hitch in his chest: all the better for their grand entrance. As they stumbled into a softly-lit stone courtyard, the Rau-lass gave one last command before staggering to a stop. Cry, damnit!

-----------------------------------------------------------
((Aerain))

Less than an hour... Aerain froze, anger and trepidation creating a knot the size of a fist in her chest. As though on instinct, her mind seemed to flash through previous scenarios; never had she heard of the Rai’alssa blocking magic before, nor could she remember it being used among the human mages who aided them. Then why did Caera’s words strike such a chord in her being? Altair flashed a sharp look in her direction – presumably at Caera’s tactics – and snapped, “Do you condone this, Dian Aerain?” Face impassive, she returned with a bland look as his kin retorted rightly, saying after her, “Do you believe Caera had any other choice, Altair? She did as the situation demanded: we are all aware of the risks involved.”

“Look,” Caera exclaimed, colour still high on her cheekbones and Aerain watched carefully as the man dismounted unsteadily, aided by his brethren. His already pale elven skin was ashen, making his wide anxious eyes stand out clearly, and while he protested at aid, it was obvious that his wounds weren’t just psychological. Nodding soberly, Aerain listened to his report, fighting the urge to comfort him; Gods – what had happened to her composure! Her brow furrowed slightly, the only sign of discomfort she allowed herself to show, and taking a deep breath, she extended her wings in determined readiness.

She just wished they were ready...

“Caera,” she began decisively, “distribute the mages. I want a few from each battalion – split the ranks so that each gets a high-level mage – and set them at the retreat points with a pair of archers. Altair, you can help in this: gather the rest of archers and one or two swordsmen and put them at defensive positions around the household for the second stage of retreat and mix half of the remaining mages among them. The rest will need to be spread as you and Caera see fit among the front lines with the mĂȘlĂ©e fighters under my command.”

“Altair,” Aerain rested a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze, “If it is required, I will need you to organise the retreat. It is not always easy in battle to maintain loyalty in the wake of fear; your people will trust you and listen to you better than any of the rest of us. If the enemy hits the central courtyard, you must find a way out of there. You know the routes. Just keep going: I will join you if I can.”

The warrioress smiled slightly and then turned to her fiery-haired friend. “Caera, I need you to command the inner defence and act as messenger between battalions: take a few others with you and use a couple of horses if possible. We need to communicate any weaknesses back for support from other areas. If the Rai’alssa breach the household boundaries proper, retreat back to Altair’s group and help him as best you can.” Laying a hand on the elf’s maid’s shoulder, Aerain sobered. “Above all: no risks. I just want to keep as many...”

Frowning, Aerain stopped mid-sentence, pushing Caera brusquely to one side and behind an outstretched wing, where the woman protested fluently. Pinion feathers bristling with tension, the faery hushed her friend with a glance, returning her gaze instantly to the two small figures before them. A quick assessment nearly undid her – the dear poor child, its tiny wings... – but she tightened her grasp on her spear, using the sensation of the hard lines against her palm to focus her thoughts. Caera asked something and Aerain was glad her face was hidden: taking a step forwards, she cast her gaze to the eldest of the two boys, noting the pale, strained expression on his cheeks.

“Where did you come from, child?” she asked, rather more sharply than she would normally, and immediately softened her tone as the smallest of the two began to cry, sobs hitching his tiny chest, “I mean, did you see anyone – any... bad men?” Gods, this was awkward. The teen was staring at her with a mixture of relief and anxiety, blue eyes flicking towards whom she could only presume was his little brother.

“They wanted to hurt him...” he whispered, tugging on the toddler’s arm as though to quiet him though the child only bawled further, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to... I-I mean...” His round eyes seemed to take in their armour and weaponry as though he hadn’t seen it before – did she see a frown of dislike flicker across his features? – and suddenly, he pushed his sibling towards her. “Please, help Arden,” he murmured chokingly, “He’s only little, he can’t run fast like I can. And his wings, they... they took... they’ll catch him if he keeps falling over.”

Feeling as though her heart would break, Aerain made herself look at the tattered remains of the butterfly’s beautiful appendages: one almost severed to the bone, the other dog-eared and useless. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she reached to place two tentative fingers on the boy’s blonde curls, suppressing a shudder as Arden stared at her with blank eyes. “What’s your name, child?” she asked the teen, mesmerised by his brother’s empty stare.

“Finn-Finley,” he stammered, “Will you help him?”

Removing her hand from Arden’s head, Aerain straightened and turned, releasing a deep breath. Meeting the Ӕlfher’s gaze as steadily as she could (though damn, it was hard to keep that hurt at bay...), she asked her companions softly, “I cannot make this decision: it is too close to my heart. I will go by your suggestion alone on this one.”

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Tue Feb 08, 2011 6:06 pm

((Niall/Anahita/Darragh))

In the mind of the faery, there was no greater testament to how strongly affected the two noblemen were than the fact that Lysander had required his nephew to hold him on the recursive ride—Anahita told herself, firmly, to under no circumstances think of it as being like carrying a damsel because damn it, it would combine too well with the femininity of the elvish race and then she’d not be able to withhold her laughter—and that Darragh’s nimbly-built, unexpectedly heavy frame currently leaned on her for support to stand. She and he were the strongest pair in the group regarding musculature and weight-lifting, and even so she wasn’t a fair match for the elf without her wings.

At the sound of Lysander’s voice going smooth with heat, the man in question clenched his jaw and pushed off of the faery, striding towards his brother and Niall just in time to hear Lilith’s inopportune jibe. Lysander’s face was frozen in unspeakable malice, outrage, and so forth, but Darragh was quite frankly not in the mood for any of it. Not at all.

“Yes, Lysander!” He burst, with an expression of fraternal impatience, “Yes, we would have gladly stopped, and no, you shouldn’t rise to the bait because stars know why, she’s provoking you with intent to draw ire, so I beg you to let it go so that we can find out why the hell you, me and Aoise can’t pass through.”

The air about Darragh deadened and Lysander’s high cheeks flooded rouge. However, the other lord’s opprobrious gaze was fixed on him in the white-lipped, hard fashion which indicated that although this would turn into a quarrel later, that for this space of time, Darragh would remain unmolested. He had anticipated such a reaction: he’d been raised with Lysander, for mercy’s sake. The mage knew better than to let loose his temper in a serious situation and if it came to suppressing the voice of an over-loud underling, he wouldn’t always check himself, but he would certainly be receptive to the reining of an equal or superior.

Not that this was what the Unorian had been thinking: he had anticipated, expected, but not thought. At this moment his immediate mental activity was railing in sudden panic at the straights they’d found themselves in, and he felt more sick with his frustration than with the lingering after-effects of Ædellic magic. Lysander folded his arms across his chest and paced a quick circle, brows furrowed in neat, bronze precision. Exhaling an impatient puff of air, he growled—voice and manner angled such that the discourse was clearly between the two lords, though not difficult for the rest to hear—“it is that wretched boy, evidently, though what grudge he bore you evades me
”

Darragh lifted his brows, appraising the crepuscular land they were barred from. “Hn,” he noncommittally remarked, reverting to Elvish. “And yet, Lysander,” he murmured, running a gloved hand over his lined, heavy brow, “one would think that if Ciarán had blessed his realm—“

“—let’s call it a curse, shall we?”

“Ensorcelled it,” Darragh compromised, “that our younger Ælfher companions would have had an equally difficult time traversing the border.” Fondling Aoise’s ears, he muttered, “you would really think that
”

Lysander scoffed and glared heatedly ahead, as if the force of his arrogant scorn would be enough to part the invisible barrier. “It’s because of who we are,” he asserted in a manner which was at once self-righteous and firm. “We’re the eldest of this lot, the only two who can wield influence over what becomes of Ædellic’s province. We could, perhaps, step in and divide it between the Mére and the Regneld, thereby erasing what traces were once left of that overall too-weak family. We might wield our influence over the people, or make a motion in council which would affect the land, and which Ciarán would be opposed to. It makes sense.”

“Aoise is no politician.”

Darragh and Lysander’s eyes went to Niall. “We speak with each other and she obeys me,” Darragh snapped, “which could make her my messenger—but don’t you dare impugn my dog.” Niall bit his lip, gaze drifting towards Diarmuid’s wolves as if to point out that those canines could speak with the Unorian as well, but were unaffected. However, he held his tongue. It would be unwise to press the case when the dark man was clearly not in the mood for opposition. Ironic, considering his family name.

Darragh set his jaw at the sentinel pines ahead, biting his lip once as his wintry eyes darted over the trees, plotting. “We should try again,” he posited. Lysander arched a brow at the tense look of the man, shoulders aggressively squared and resolute; what the Ælfher lord found amusing in the determined appearance of the other was unvoiced, but his lip curled in familiar haughtiness.

It was agreement as far as Darragh was concerned. On the first attempt forwards Aoise stood uncertainly, watching him, then barked a panicked yelp when she saw the path and sped after him. The elf turned about his horse with an oath and a sharp growl at his companion, but she hardly would listen and instead circled his mare, tail wagging nervously and a whimper high in her throat. The hound ended up in Anahita’s arms, then in Lysander’s magic when her wriggling and clawed paws proved too violent for the faery. Again Darragh faced his horse against the trees and kicked her into a bolt, as if speed could rush the pair through the magic, like jumping through the curtain of a waterfall. On impulse, Niall spurred Tanaí after them.

Five times Darragh turned about Failbhe into the thick, saturnine trees and five times Niall forced him to turn back, wan-cheeked and close to fainting, if his pride would let that happen. Anahita thought that Lysander would have followed suite had he the daring, but the Ælfher lord would rather save face than confront the barrier which threatened none but the two. Instead, he condescendingly observed Darragh, making a study of awaiting the Unorian’s successive returns with mounting contempt, although it seemed that internally, his heart clenched with hope that the hunter would return straight-backed and pronouncing a clear passage. She didn’t blame Lysander; a man that pompous set himself up for a heavy fall when his feet were knocked out from under him.

Finally, Darragh stopped on the sixth attempt, bloodless and gilded with a nervous sheen of sweat most often seen on the deliriously ill. He didn’t laugh or grimace, nor did his eyes brighten; the elf simply dismounted, or half-tumbled, from his horse with a swear, and would like as not have fallen to his knees were it not for quick intervention from Lysander. Not that Darragh would have missed the elf’s aid. He was regaining his feet with an expression more murderous than amiable, anger pressed into the planes of his prominent, ordinarily pleasant-seeming cheekbones and wry mouth.

“We’ll find another way,” he vowed to Lysander, at which the other tossed his head noncommittally—an action somewhat contradicted by a quick, tight smile. “In the future,” he murmured in a quick hum of words, sweeping by him to Niall, “do not lose face before subordinates, hm?”

Darragh shot the mage a cold, dirty look before catching Lilith’s eye and motioning her over—he’d intended Anahita to respond to the motion too, but she (more mindful of their charges than the rest) was soothing a number of the younglings and made that clear in returning a negative expression. What he wanted, though, was for all of the adults to be in the know about the Ædellic province, not just Niall—what Lysander has stalked off to tell his kinsman would like as not be known to him in the most part, anyhow. What mattered was that the two women, of foreign cultures both, were equally aware.

Striding over to Anahita and waiting for Lilith to come decently close, Darragh launched into a terse dumping of basic information before a child could start with asking if he was alright or what was happening (the faery could do it later). “You may have noticed that Lysander and I can’t cross the border into Ædellic territory,” he said, crossing his arms in a masculine fashion. “We suspect that this is in great part the doing of Lord Ædellic, the last scion of his line. Apparently he’s dead. We—by which I mean the Council families—were uncertain of this, though fairly sure the line had perished once the front your sister was at, Anahita, was reported to have fallen. Lysander confirmed it to Lords Evander and Nieander, so now the Council is bound to have been informed.” Not that such a thing would seem more than paltry now, when the very existence of the Elvish nation was being fought and bled for at their doorstep.

“Barely relative though it might seem, it turns out that this is annoyingly important, as our three oldest families—Ædellic, Féderne, and Blodsian—were all once rife with old magic. The constant conniving of the Council, in which the Ædellic family had the weakest voice, was as one might imagine a threat to the safety of their holdings; in particular, the doubt was high that a single lord and until two decades ago, his father, could manage a holding so comparatively vast. It’s more complex than that, to be certain, but brevity suits us better for just now. In long and in short, we believe Ciarán enchanted his land such that it could be protected from the political dealings of us after his death. There could be any number of conditions designed to lift it, and that is if it’s a spell; in any event, it feels a good deal like shadow magic. I’m not sure what it is entirely, though,” he frowned, “so be cautious. Shadow magic is cold, icy—this has no sensation. It’s a numbness that creeps up on you, and as such, may not even be Lord Ædellic’s doing at all.”

“We do not know what the state of the people in the province is, either,” Darragh admitted, “for in truth, the Council failed to trouble itself very deeply with internal affairs in the last year of the war, as you might very well imagine, what with things taking such a sour turn. If the nobility didn’t or wasn’t there to see to the state of its jurisdiction, then the people would have to fend for themselves until the Rau-lass were taken care of. I do not know, then, if they will be hostile to you—particularly towards Niall, so he had better keep his hair under a cloak’s hood until you’re all certain—and indeed, they may have all become completely degenerate or set up their own provisory government to tide themselves over.”

A few more words were exchanged on the matter and Lysander made it clear that Niall was the leader of the group, and that Anahita was to help him when necessary, and that should the self-deluding foreign pasteling’s magic prove necessary, she might get herself involved, but only given such circumstances. There was a certain degree of vitriol present in his words that must have been born of Lilith’s jibing. The final farewells after that were brief and would have been sooner had the children not wanted to hug them both goodbye—and had a huge amount of them not been steadfastly against Lysander leaving, for he had been longest known to them and was in their eyes the most constant thing they knew since Signum and Foertis had stolen them away. Anrai wasn’t the only child crying, for Lysander had been gentle to all of them in a way no one older than Diarmuid could claim to know and so in part, their tears could be justified. However, Darragh was keen on resuming attempts to re-enter, so they parted ways without truly smoothing over very much at all.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowPhoenix on Fri Feb 25, 2011 1:29 pm

((Lilith/Caelen))

Lilith held back a small grin at Darragh’s ready agreement and the enraged look on Its face. Instead of rising to the bait, though, The Idiot began to speak with the Unorian about their predicament. This was mildly surprising, but in a way it rather made sense. The mage was too old to pursue trivial matters in the face of something much more serious. That wasn’t to say, though, that Lilith would be able to get away with her comments. In fact, she was quite willing to be everything she owned that she would pay in blood one day.

Only vaguely paying attention—she wasn’t included and had nothing to add—to the conversation between the Unorian and mage, Lilith watched as the former attempted to retrace the route they had just taken. Obviously, it had no effect, a fact that didn’t seem to dawn on the elf as he continued to try to pass through what Lilith presumed to be the border of the Aedellic lands. Niall had to drag the older elf back each time, bracing him upright in his saddle. To Lilith, Darragh’s display seemed very similar to a bird beating against the panes of a window in a desperate hope that it might get out, all the while failing to understand that it couldn’t.

When he finally gave up, the mage went to speak with Niall while Darragh motioned for Lilith and Anahita to come closer. Anahita, however, didn’t move towards the man, being too involved in comforting the children. Caelen watched all of the goings-on curiously, with wide eyes. For once he was quiet; Anahita was busy, he still didn’t know what mood Mommy was in, and the rest of the adults also seemed to be busy. So he had no one to pester at the moment, unless Fionnula counted. But she wasn't always a reliable source of information, so pestering her wouldn't be all that effective. When Darragh came to where he and the rest of the children were, the albino slipped within hearing range, but seemed reluctant to come any closer to either the children or Anahita.

Lilith listened to Darragh’s explanation, and found her mind wandering. Other than the source of magics involved, this border seemed rather similar to the one that surrounded Cetairiacelos. There were notable differences but it was an interesting thought to tuck away and re-examine at a future date.

After Darragh’s brief talk, which was a good deal closer to a short speech, the mage made it very clear that she would have as little to do with the group as possible. This was perfectly fine with the albino; she didn’t want to be in a leadership position and, if given the choice, wouldn’t touch any of the children with a 10 foot-long pole. At about this point, it dawned on Caelen that this was it: he wouldn’t be able to see Daddy anymore.

With a wail, Caelen wrapped himself around Lysander’s legs. “I’ll miss you, Daddy,” he said, watery sienna eyes fixed to the man’s hazel ones. “And even though I’ve never had a Daddy before I think you’re the best Daddy in the whole wide world, and I promise that I’ll write as much as I can and I’ll ask Mommy to give the letters to you.” Burying his head against the mage’s legs, Caelen realized he was very close to crying. Abruptly he let go and went to stand next to Anahita. He was too old to cry, especially in front of Fionnula. She’d probably kick him or something.

Lilith watched Caelen’s display of emotion with disgust. How the child had decided It was a good father-figure, she’d never figure out. While the other children were saying their goodbyes, Lilith ghosted over to Darragh. Flicking a silver coin out of her pouch, she handed it to the dark-haired man. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she didn’t really want to give it to him, and felt that it might be safer with the mage. But she couldn’t just give it to the Idiot. It was all a matter of principle. That didn’t stop her from making sure that the mage heard her, though.

“Keep this with you and don’t lose it,” Lilith instructed him. “It used to be your foster-brother’s before I took it and started practicing magic with it. I’ll be able to locate it easily, given how familiar I am with it, so if you hold on to it I’ll be able to find you when we’re done.” With that, Lilith started walking to the horse that had carried her so far. Pausing, she looked back at him. “If you lose that,” she informed him in an icy tone, “I swear that I will kill you the moment I find you.” Without another word she scrambled onto her horse and nudged it with her knees to follow Niall’s.

After a time, Lilith attempted to guide her horse so that it was walking next to Niall’s. Either she did something right (which she highly doubted) or she was just lucky (which was much more probable), because the horse did as she wanted. “What do you know about the Aedellics?” she asked him. If there was something that they needed to know, then it was best to find out as soon as possible.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Sun Feb 27, 2011 6:28 pm

((Ælfhers))

“Caera, distribute the mages.”

“Altair, you can help in this: gather the rest of archers and one or two swordsmen and put them at defensive positions around the household for the second stage of retreat and mix half of the remaining mages among them. The rest will need to be spread as you and Caera see fit among the front lines with the mĂȘlĂ©e fighters under my command.”

“Altair,” Aerain rested a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze. “If it is required, I will need you to organise the retreat. It is not always easy in battle to maintain loyalty in the wake of fear; your people will trust you and listen to you better than any of the rest of us. If the enemy hits the central courtyard, you must find a way out of there. You know the routes. Just keep going: I will join you if I can.” Altair responded with a quick nod, although the man’s high spirit seemed non-manifest beside his banner of a cousin and what might have come across as terse, collected pride became stern obedience.

Aerain continued her instruction; it was mid-sentence that they were interrupted.




((Faedra/Tréasa))

“Agh!”

“Hush, you’ll get us nowhere if you keep flinching back every time. A cup’s worth of wine must’ve just been spilt.”

“My apologies, mother.”

Trisha quietly continued to observe the diorama below, neither afraid nor brave. The discourse of FaolĂĄn and Faedra continued with domestic calm behind her, a weird sort of play: his wound was a foreshadowing of what was to come, like puddles before a flood. Only it was unnoticed, or ignored. She noticed.

Her world was reduced to cool stone, watery blue-pale light from the glass, and the men below. The necklace, which she hadn’t release from her grip, weighed on her neck as though it were a miniature replica of what she saw, a precise mimic of that world hung from her nape for her to carry—although the encumbrance was simply because her limp wrist added the burden of her arm to the taunt leather thong.

Caera and Aerain were talking about something intently; Trisha nudged open the window and strained to hear it. “Hush,” she interrupted her sibling and nephew, raising a solemn hand which returned to her lap, as she listened anew in the silence. “
No risks
” she heard, and then, “
keep as many
” Of a sudden the faery reeled back, wings outstretched against an enemy Trisha had to crane her neck to see—thick foliage obscured her vision.

Was that
? “Aerain, they’re just children!” Caera’s loud voice snapped. Trisha gasped when the sight came into her view. Her small sound of surprise caught the curiosity of her fellow nobles, and Faedra drew near without breaking the silence (bar the susurrus of dress fabric on stone). Again Caera’s voice was clearest to the ear, as she insistently demanded of Aerain, “why do you stand and do nothing?”, attempting to move past the faery even as a wing was cast in her path.

“She should know better than to take things at sight value,” Faedra whispered against the glass. FaolĂĄn strode over and peered down, expressionless. “She likes children,” he remarked pointedly. An unvoiced tension followed his words, hanging in the air like a thrumming wire—TrĂ©asa reached for his no-longer soft hand and squeezed it once, but reacted little beyond that. His long-term resentment against his mother, her sister, bore little relevance compared to what was about to take place and she didn’t wish to miss a word of the exchanges below.

The thin hiccup of crying, too far away to be heard but readily seen, left a pang in Trisha’s heart. Caera’s features reflected her sentiments, though she’d ceased to question Aerain. “
did you 
 anyone – any... bad men?”

“She’s no better with children than you,” Faedra laughed anxiously. There was seemingly no need to be tense about a pair of little boys, but the disruption was so
 arbitrary.

If only Niall were here, Trisha thought, not completely sure why. But he was a counterbalance, and although she would likely disagree with anything he thought needed to be done with such an interruption, the need for a degree of equilibrium suddenly seemed imperative.

The taller boy was speaking now, too softly, too quietly. A little play of the wind tumbled against the tip of Trisha’s nose, for now she leaned just beyond the frame’s casement in a further attempt to know what was going on. “
They’ll catch him...,” it sounded like, at which she very nearly cried. Drawing back from the window, Trisha shivered an impulsively grabbed a fistful of the fine sage curtains, clutching the pale green cloth against her face and curling up around it, like a child to the hand of an adult. Oh yes, it was incredibly weak, but as much as her heart went out to the thin little boys, so too did those words recall to her another dear being who had—without her knowing!—courted death at the very hands which had so debauched a faery child, and who courted death still. Nor was it an idle death, not when his family was about to pay the toll for his audacity—

Faedra and Faolán had both guessed at the cause for the young woman’s reaction and each had made a motion to hold her. “No, no-,” she shrugged them off with a weak little smile, as thin as the glass-filtered light they’d just been ensconced by,”- I’m alright.”

“Are you su—“ Faedra began.

“Hist, what else have they said?” Trisha interrupted, drawing both friendly faces back to the window—she cautiously re-joined them, trailing the curtains after her. Lysander would have teased her for cloaking herself in draperies, but he could hardly do it right now.

A whole tract of the discourse had been missed due to Trisha’s self-indulgence, and now the speaker was Altair who—though the straight, level tones of hi voice made themselves apparent as a hum—spoke too collectedly and quietly to be overheard. Whatever he said though, it appeared to have involved the execution of a decision: Caera detached from the group to fetch Caiseal, who after a brief word with Altair and Aerain, turned and departed for the main courtyard. “Faolán,” Faedra snapped, straightening, “Altair must want you—are you hail for travel?”

“Travel?” The other asked, moderately skeptical. “What makes you suspect anything of the sort?”

“He doesn’t hope as freely as Caera, I think,” Trisha murmured, watching Aerain’s awkward approach to the boys and contrasting it with Caera’s swift, motherly engulfing of them. “He would possibly find it safest to move them to another house, in the event that we fail.” Poor woman, she thought. Would she have been more confident if she hadn’t lost Luka?

A quick rap at the door, and Caiseal entered. In the flurry of quick, terse conversation that followed, he confirmed what Trisha and Faedra and guessed of Altair’s intent: given that the sixth generation’s home was about to become a war zone and the boy had just escaped the Rau-lass, he thought it prudent to have the children be borne to the fourth generation’s home. That generation, after all, would be hospitable even in such an event and that aside, those few who had remained following the exodus of Ælfher nobility would be those of Nieander’s generation most familiar with battle, and calm at the concept that bloodshed might follow the arrival of the two vagrants. As he was already too injured to participate in combat, Faolán might as well take one of the children and Caiseal could take the other, both elves on horseback. Moreover, Altair deemed it better for Faolán to recuperate in safety.

“So he’s essentially evacuating the three of us and making you our escort,” Faolan said bluntly.

“
Yes,” Caiseal agreed, “but you’re not in much of a position to argue. You do think you can ride?”

“Of course. Possibly. I was falling off half an hour ago.”

“Well, that’s not unusual.”

And with that final exchange, the twins departed, Caiseal pausing on the threshold of the door and quickly returning to give parting kisses to his aunt and mother. After a moment, the bright-haired men could be seen entering the courtyard on their mounts—Faolán was on Nieander’s Arawn, as his own Laoise was currently with Lilith—and he seemed to have a steady enough seat. As the pair each took a charge and clattered out of the residence at a brisk canter, it seemed that a new tone fell over the place. A sense of things having had finally been sorted and falling into place.

The Rau-lass made their presence known shortly before they were visible, for in twenty minute’s time, the brilliant world of auras and truth was suddenly erased, for the first time Trisha could ever remember it happening.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Wed Mar 02, 2011 7:53 pm

((Lysander/Darragh))

“
or what if she faints, which she would naturally do without a superior hand to guide her actions, whilst they’re in a combat situation?” Darragh bit back a sigh and focused on the task at hand.

“Believe you me, Unorian, it was a mistake letting them progress. Good light, what were you thinking?! The safety of the whole lot depends on the not at all reliable capabilities of a suicidal albino brat who refuses to even admit she’s a mage! And a foreigner at that. By the Lady, this whole blasted enterprise is going to crumble because Niall’s so incompetent that he never even developed his magic. Very well, he has Diarmuid, but that small savage is merely half-trained and only a little more useful, magically speaking, than yourself (pack of dogs, flock of passerines—the simple fact is that animal communication isn’t particularly resourceful).” For a moment Darragh considered retaliating, but ended up re-entering contemplation of their conundrum—he didn’t need to prove Lysander wrong, for the past already had a smattering of instances where that very magic had saved their skins. After a heart beat, the brilliant-haired elf paled in horrific realization. “Oh, dear fates, he’s probably going to expect something of Pardai
”

The pair drew rein before a waterfall. “I will bet you two gold pieces that whatever that guard is,” Darragh remarked, eyeing the body of water, “it’s more Aryanna than Ciarán. What say we see just how old their old magic is?” Lysander broke off mid-rant and exhaled in loud exasperation. “Darragh, you hare-brained little oaf,” he patronizingly and somewhat snidely replied, “has it not occurred to you that with the vast number of times you oh-so-foolishly ignored the blatantly obvious, and persisted in hurtling against that treacherous brat’s curse, you’re hardly physically competent to do much more for today?”

“Hhn,” The other shrugged noncommittally, urging Failbhe closer to the gushing deluge. “I think it’s worth a shot,” he stated, with the same plain determination as before. The grass and mud was water-slicked beneath his boots, and so he crept as close as he might to the falls in a wary crouch. Behind him, he heard the muffled clip of a small-footed horse approaching and soon afterwards, Lysander was breathing by his shoulder. “Too weak,” he scoffed, voice raised over the din of the cascade. “What, the waterfall?” Darragh furrowed his brows critically. “No, no, they’re a decent size. A bit above average, but the current is swift enough.”

What the two mages were discussing was the possibility that the sorcery guarding the Ædellic forests followed the nature-bound rules of the very oldest of old magics. Existing in a time before recorded history was begun, what was known of that period was so convoluted as to be in great part more myth than fact—the shifter story of Vaella and Fortuna came from such a time, as did a number of faery tales concerning such heroes as Asterias, or Ilias and his half-brother Ixetrias. Thus, very little was known for a certainty—one theory which was generally treated as fact, though, was that the laws of ancient magic were physically bound to the land. This different principle of interaction between mage and magic allowed for such fantastic creations as the blood-oath, or living forests and sentient magical wards. This also meant that magic could not hold in select places—such as over rapid-running water.

“Lysander,” Darragh suddenly said, turning wide, beseeching eyes on him, “would you please try and cross through the water with your air magic?”

“No!” The Ælfher exclaimed, aghast. “Of course not! The current is too weak. What do you want me to do, risk my life over something that I know won’t work?! Stars alive, Darragh!” Tossing back his hair, the mage added in arrogant afterthought, “anyhow, you do Ciarán too much credit in assuming that the little stripling had the magic of the land pouring through him.” The man’s lip curled, as if the very thought were pollution in his mind. “It’s normal magic, Darragh. Regular old magic, and it might be dying out, but it’s certainly not going to falter at a waterfall. Why are you so obsessed with this enterprise anyhow? You need to rest, you moron.”

Darragh tried to plead with Lysander longer, but his companion would not tarry and refused to progress when it became clear that the dark man honestly didn’t feel that any rest was necessary. Making a snide remark on some of the less positive correlations between the archer and Lilith, Lysander insisted on them settling a little ways away from the falls, promising that they could try skirting around the border to re-join the rest of their lot, if need be—but that it would wait until the morrow.




((Niall and Co. TBE))

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowWake on Sat Mar 05, 2011 11:06 am

((F’ntr/Arden/Nstif’ikta))

F’ntr shuddered, magic seeping through his blood with a reassuring warmth as he clung onto the elf’s waist before him. My Lady, he called softly through his mind with an ease he had not experienced since the start of their companionship with the wretched faery, We have reached the elven household. Melchios’ army is in place to attack and the boy and I are being transported to the fourth generation’s residence as we speak. What do you require of us? In truth, he was more than relieved to be leaving the Queen’s pet and his debilitating magic behind: for a start, it was far easier to maintain his illusion while continuing mental communication with his mistress’ puppet, without feeling like he was forcing himself against an ocean’s current.

With a mental caress of approval, Nstif’ikta responded, her voice thrumming with a passion that made the Rau-lass mage’s blood sing. Good, she purred, Relinquish your hold on the boy. Reading the question in his mind, she continued with a deadly smile in her tone. It is time for my little experiment to reveal its true purpose. Be ready to shed your disguise, my loyal mage; you won’t be needing it once Arden’s debut begins...

As his Queen’s presence left him, F’ntr shivered in anticipation, turning to gaze at the faery boy and his elven guardian as they rode. Believing him to be in distress, the man in front of him twisted in his saddle slightly, wording something intended to be reassuring in elvish, before remembering to repeat it in common. Unable to help a small smile of keen expectation, F’ntr nodded to make the motion more akin to thanks, his attention still focussed on Arden. And as the elf returned his gaze to the forest, their mounts picking their way carefully over a swift-running stream, the Rau-lass withdrew his mind from the puppet’s with a sudden snap.

Immediately, the faery slumped – not even a sound passing his tiny lips – and the other elven lordling shouted in concern, wrapping his arms around the boy before he could slide from his perch. For F’ntr, it seemed as though time slowed: he saw his own companion leap from the saddle to aid his brother, boots splashing in the shallow water; he saw the child’s head turn almost sleepily towards him, eyes blinking open to reveal blazing crimson cores; and he saw the small, slow smile of his Queen staring back at him from the toddler’s face as his rosebud lips moved with her words. ”Well, isn’t this nice?”

Time suddenly swung back into its usual rhythm, the faery boy grasping hold of his guardian’s arms in a death-like grip, blunt nails digging into the pale flesh. Did they not realise the imminent danger the child posed? The elf made another startled sound, jerking suddenly as the blonde toddler fixed his flaming gaze upon his, flaring with the telepathy of the Rau-lass’ mistress. Baring his teeth in a grin, F’ntr let his illusion slide from his form like molten glass, swinging his legs over the saddle’s pommel and slipping gracefully to the ground. Ah, he noted mentally, watching the panic suddenly sink in as the elven pair found themselves set upon by his Queen’s ministrations, So now they figure. Limbs twitching in clear agony, one turned to him, the small ‘o’ of his mouth accenting his sharp cheekbones as he noted the Rau-lass behind them. Delicate fingers shooting out with his mind, F’ntr gripped the lordling around his skinny neck, cupping the delicate shimmering spark of life carefully like a waning candle-flame.

“Thank you,” he purred, black lips twitching at the look of terror upon the man’s face. Dear Ys’fralista, but they were beautiful – even in death. “You have been very useful.”

Like the savaging of a rabid hound, F’ntr snatched at the elf’s soul, shredding it until there were was nothing more then ashes.

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Hedya on Sat Mar 19, 2011 7:46 am

((Pyrei))

Despite the sun being lower than before, which made Pyrei notice the day was slowly crippling towards its' end, she wasn't particularly worried about the time. She was supposed to be back that day, but if she spent the night outside, hopefully people would not get worried and she would have the chance of getting even more information about their surroundings, which is what they wanted to know.

Pyrei started feeling tired, though, and decided to sit down and rest for a while after all that walking she had been doing during the whole day. A whole long day on her own, which allowed her to think quite a lot about many things, about her time in the city, about her past life, which she tried not to think too much about, and so many things she remembered... but it was not the time to be weak, not now, and she was ready for anything, or so she thought.

While sitting down, she tried to carefully observe the kind of plants that were in the place, as well as any other little thing she could spot. One never knew which kind of information could be useful, in the future, and so she wanted to help as much as possible with everything. After all, she was regarded as a nice example of what young people should be doing. And if she was to inspire other youths, she would have to do a good job.

Pyrei had always thought of herself as someone unremarkable, living under the shadow of more important people and events, that made her seem unrelevant. But, after all, she was doing her work, and her work was significant to a number of people. That was a noble point of view; as her goal was not to be famous or well-known, but to help the higher number of people she could possibly do.

With that in mind, Pyrei stood up again and moved onwards, having rested enough, and as the sun was starting to set, now, the place becoming darker, she was now convinced she'd be staying outside during the night. That didn't bother her that much, and if anything, she rated this as a test of courage of sorts. That would help her become braver and learn to behave in dark situations, where she would have to be more silent. Sometimes, Pyrei had the feeling she was just being very imaginative, and thinking all those things were trials, and that they were good for her, but maybe she was wrong and all that made no sense.

For quite a while, the only thing that could be heard was the wind blowing softly on the trees, the leaves rustling and Pyrei’s own footsteps. Night was slowly approaching, everything was getting darker, and after a while, almost nothing could be seen. The girl stopped, and tried to force her eyes until they would get used to the darkness. After that happened, she was able to, at least, see a bit around her.

Pyrei kept walking, now in complete darkness, thanking the moon for being so full and showing some light to her, which allowed her to not crash into basically everything that was around the forest. From time to time, she would trip with something on the ground; roots, small bushes, and big rocks. After a while, she began to feel very tired, and decided it would be better if she just found a good place to sleep and rested for a while. She would wake up early in the morning and continue with her objective.

With that in mind, Pyrei kept an eye for a good spot to rest, and after she found a couple of trees that were growing very close each other, she sat down, her back against the trees, and closed her eyes. Soon, she would start feeling her consciousness slip away, as she was almost falling asleep. However, all of a sudden, she heard a sound, as i fit was right behind her. She looked around and saw nothing, but she still felt something strange. Pyrei was still half-asleep when she stood up, and kept looking around, confused, hearing that strange hissing sound.

Pyrei started running quite quickly, after hearing again that sound that scared her. She wasn't sure about that, and she didn't know if she was actually being chased by something, but just in case, she kept running. She felt a shadow behind her, and even if she did not know it, it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She had thought it was a test of courage, and she knew she was failing it, but couldn't help it. In the end, she tripped over, because of a tree root that was on the ground, and fell to the ground.

She was unlucky, as when she fell down, she hit her head, losing consciousness, just as it happened to Selan, her beloved 'sister', so many moons ago...

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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Sat Apr 16, 2011 8:28 pm

((Niall))

“What do you know about the Ædellics?” Lilith’s question snapped Niall out of reverie. “They’re old,” he commented. Out of sight—behind him—Anahita snorted and red coloured his cheek like spilled wine before he could think a moment to stop the blood flow (it wasn’t the faery alone; Lilith too had dealt him a blunt look). Fighting his blush, which came no matter how small the embarrassment, Niall amended, “Their line is over 3000 years old, predating the reform in recorded history, and new magic never reached them. They have long been isolated; their history is obscured by their own hand and they guard the extent of their family’s strength and province’s wellbeing closely. No other family was on a decline as sharp as theirs,” he continued. “As a child Ciarán was fostered in the neighboring Mére province to ensure that he was properly educated in all things courtly and proper, as that could hardly be learned in an aristocracy of two.”

A feathery limb thwacked his shoulder. “Please don’t speak in implications, lordling,” Anahita sniped, smiling in counterbalance to her tone. “What does that mean about this province?” Niall sighed in frustration, self-directed, and let silence settle as he mapped out how to convey his thoughts clearly.

“From what has been related to me, they’re quiet, strict people who cling to old ways; the customs of the court and province are far rather than a little different from those of the Ælfher. Because the ruling body was so small—just Ciarán, at the end, and then when he left we’d all assumed his father resumed ruling, for he had told no-one of the death of his parents and sister—because it was small, there must be a family appointed to stewardship, though none was ever announced to us. I cannot imagine how else he’d have managed it...”

Anahita had been intrigued by something he’d said, though, and she almost accusingly broke in, “how did you not know that the Ædellic family had been almost entirely wiped out?! That’s idiocy!”

“Because,” Niall mused to the air, in what would have seemed like sarcasm in another, “they didn’t venture to many councils due to the administrative constraints of their province, but instead sent representatives? A habit perhaps continued after the point where we now know the Ædellic line was ended?”

“Such secrecy is folly,” the faery groused, to which Niall raised his brows in an unspoken, such folly is diplomacy for the weakening. To allow one’s failing prowess to become apparent to the vultures that were the greatest families would be like lying down in a lions’ den and expecting to come out alive.

The branches above them rustled and, with a knife’s glint, Diarmuid’s mossy eyes flew to the spot, a loud caw croaking from his lips. His subject refused reply, causing a malicious look of ire to flash across the young boy’s face. Niall murmured, “Any ravens we see may well be tamed birds who respond to a specific man. The mark of the original three nobility—Ædellic, Féderne, Blodsian—were birds. Uncail Altair commented after his first state visit that he rarely saw Ciarán without a corvid on his shoulder, and that he thought they followed him when he went out in the company of another lord.”

“Very good, Lord Ælfher,” a sibilant voice murmured. “We thought the Council had forgotten us”.

Niall whipped Tanaí around, cursing his inattention. Out of the trees, on foot, like shadow melting into life, there appeared a tribe of men. Tribe seemed the word for it—for their eyes were haunted, close books that spoke silent fraternity, and their cloaks and tunics were worn cloth of similar weave, with a paralleled grey-sage, wood-blending dye. And they all looked like far cousins, on a closer examination: their mouths were similarly thin, although of different shapes, their expressions fairly uniform and their eyes—not long, but narrowed almond eyes, cattish as Ciarán’s, with the same apathy.

It had been an ancient custom. Long ago, it was discarded. The leading lord of a land slept with the every virgin in it when a new noble ascended to the seat of power, so that the elves under him would, theoretically, have an blood-bond of loyalty to their ruling family—as well as proof of the virility of the lord and thus, evidence that the line could continue. It had impacted the appearances in populations to some extent then, but the effect had gradually diffused. In Ædellic land, though, where little intercourse went beyond business and the primary people going in and out had been its own—the effect was startling. The lightest-haired man among them was still umber brown in his locks, and the entire silent host gleamed pale as corpses, gaunt in the cheek and washed-out about the eyes and mouth. All the elves in Lord Ciarán and his father’s retinue—all of them had looked distinctly apart, but Niall had thought it for show, primarily: the Blodsian attendants were flaxen blonds, after all, but not all their populace


The elf who spoke to them had reproachful, shuttered forest-blue eyes, like scree dimmed to navy in the evening dark. It would have been too startling had his eyes been oceans—none of them seemed to have the Ædellic eyes. Their eyes were all variations of dirt colors and reflections, none of the water or sky Niall had found in their ruling family’s gazes.

“What is your name and rank, to approach us thus?” Niall snapped—watched himself snap, with a dissociation between thought and physical action. “I apologize,” the elf murmured. His band continued their expressionless scrutiny like painted men, communicating to each other without words. “I am Lótharn Æd-Dréden— cousin to the reigning regent.”

“A steward.”

The elf bent his head. “My lord.” For all the susurration in his voice, it wasn’t soft or whispering; it was simply lowered in volume, in its own sense loud and very solid. What set Niall on an aggressive edge was that this steward did not lower his eyes or acknowledge Niall’s high blood through aught but spoken title; he was a quiet resistor and acted the part boldly. Well that uncle isn’t here, then, for we’d have quickly lost them to his temper.

Lótharn observed Niall from beneath his brow, almost hostile. “What is your purpose here, Lord Ælfher?” he suddenly spoke, gliding forward with a high-stepping tread as soundless as a cat’s. Allowing a high air to enter his expression, Niall coolly replied, “You forget your place, steward Dréden—your lord may have long been absent, but your people have not taken much care to concern themselves with the affairs of the world beyond the one you presently inhabit; as it is not my intention to remain long in these forests or to seek hospitable lodging, I feel no compunction to account for myself to you.” Diarmuid’s quick eyes glittered malevolently at Lótharn as he finally looked at Niall in the proper light, stepping back with a light bow.

To this, the young elf responded with a bare softening of his haughty demeanor, and with a sweeping indication of his companions, introduced them. “My companions are Líle Ælf-Eiryn-“ Lilith was not an elvish name in structure or sound, so he gave her the closest approximate to leap to mind, and a wholly fabricated family name- “and Aelia Chalybis.” More or less the same occurred with Anahita because her surname was too well-known—the faery averted her eyes briefly, perhaps because she recognized the word for “steel” even in Niall’s poor accent and was amused by his bluff—and her Eastern first name was simply too unusual for a west-born faery. It might be too much credit to assume that these northelves would know that much about faery culture, or that they’d even heard of the name Pardai, but it would cost more to take chances—or to assume that honesty would cost nothing at all and that these elves were trustworthy.

“Lord Ælfher,” Lótharn spoke with a slow choosing of words, “do you know where you intend to travel to? I see that there are children with you and will not give you trouble by asking after your affairs, but—have you any knowledge of a safe berth or how to get there?”

Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he firmly replied, “although I thank you for your concern, our course is established.” In truth, they would be winging it off of what he knew from maps—Darragh and Lysander, who had been through these lands before, were no longer with them and the only sure compass they had for the moment was to forge north. Lótharn’s shrewd, starved features lingered over Lilith and Anahita; like a bargainer wrestling over the price of horses, he remarked, “the trails have much changed, Lord, and in some places, this change has wrought treachery. The nights, too, can be cold and it has not yet gotten so far into the spring that there I no snow or morning frost—chill enough to kill, if one is not sheltered. You have younglings with you.” Tanaí shifted impatiently, hoof stamping the ground with a plaintive thump. Eyeing the horse a moment, Lótharn’s eyes flickered back to Niall’s and he murmured, as though speaking a plain and unignorable fact, “you need a guide, Lord Ælfher, or at least shelter. Although Lord Ciarán has long been absent, his halls have not fallen to decadency; allow us to host you and your party there for a night, at least, so that you may speak with our woodsmen and learn the trails before embarking deeper into the land.”

As frustrating as it was, Niall realized that if what the stranger said was true, then the group ran a great risk riding out as they were. Even if Dia were to scout ahead, he’d too probably run them in a long, meandering course and that aside, there was no Lysander to shield them from rain and cold or force wet wood into fire. And then too, there was the way these elves moved. Like men half-wild they must have become or been raised, to move so naturally and silently that not a one of the keen-eared elves in Niall’s party had heard the dissonant sound of bipedal motion amidst birds and trees. To earn their enmity, with the knowledge that they could move and follow them unseen and unheard—out of, apparently, little more than extreme skill—was not an appealing thought.

Niall graciously bowed his head. “I accept your offer, steward Dréden.” The pale man gave him a wan smile and slipped into the trees again, his elves melting away with him. The only difference now was that, as Niall wheeled Tanaí around and kneed the gelding into a smooth pace, the strange elves could be seen—flitting in and out of his vision, grey silhouettes of ghostly forms. It was eerie how well they reflected, without truly embodying, their late lord. He fervently hoped he’d made the right decision.

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Alacer Phasmatis
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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby ShadowPhoenix on Mon Apr 18, 2011 10:59 pm

((Lilith))

Lilith listened as Niall began to answer her question, and then as he answered other questions posed by Anahita. For now, she was content to listen. If the faery missed something in her queries, Lilith would speak. Until then, she felt there was no need.

Thus she nearly fell off of the horse when a voice came out of nowhere. Whipping her head around, her eyes settled on several men that just... appeared. Even though this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened—and, with her luck, wouldn’t be the last—it still nearly scared the h*ll out of her. Especially given the rightly-questionable attitudes of these men towards their party.

They all looked like they had shared a common parent at some point in time, which wasn’t all that surprising given the nearly-cultish air Niall had been giving the people of this province. Seeing the men, Lilith was willing to believe it. There was just something disturbing about the way that they moved and the unnatrual edge around their dark eyes...

Lilith’s eyes nearly slid to Niall as he snapped out a question, startled by the man’s atypical harshness. She didn’t, though, and allowed her eyes to instead slide over the band that now confronted them, as well as the forest beyond them. She wasn’t expecting much, though. If the men had been able to get this close, then any others that might be with them certainly wouldn’t be reveiled by a curorsy glance.

Lilith remained silent through the rest of the brief power-play—including her unexpected, albeit wise, rechristening. She’d keep that in mind if the Rau-lass were slaughtered, if she managed to escape the bloodbath, and if she didn’t do anything to recieve some sort of punishment or restraining order from her government that would prevent her from coming South. If all of the above happened, she’d work more at developing a non-assassin identity for herself just in case she ever got entangled in something like this entire scenario. Then again, given her luck and the way things were going, she highly doubted that any of the three would happen. At least they can’t punish me if I’m dead... she thought. But, once again, with her luck there would be some sort of afterlife and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Lilith felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise a bit as Lótharn eyed herself and Anahita and commented to Niall, “The trails have much changed, Lord, and in some places, this change has wrought treachery. The nights, too, can be cold and it has not yet gotten so far into the spring that there is no snow or morning frost—chill enough to kill, if one is not sheltered.” If that wasn’t a threat, she didn’t know what was. All it brought to mind was arrows sprouting from their turned backs or throats slit in the middle of the night. The elf’s eyes now turned back to Niall and his horse as he continued. “You need a guide, Lord Ælfher, or at least shelter. Although Lord Ciarán has long been absent, his halls have not fallen to decadency; allow us to host you and your party there for a night, at least, so that you may speak with our woodsmen and learn the trails before embarking deeper into the land.”

Yes, let’s just mosey deeper into their territory, right into their home, in fact, she wanted to say, even the thought dripping enough sarcasm to drown a deaf rabbit. After all, it’ll just make it easier for them to slit our throats or shove us down stairwells or do something equally terminal.

Keeping her face devoid of expression, Lilith gave a brief internal sigh as Niall said, “I accept your offer, steward Dréden.” It made sense, though. Even if the man was telling the truth about the conditions ahead—a possibility which, Lilith was forced to admit, could technically be true—it would be wiser to stop for the night in someplace that would shelter the midgets in their party. And if the man wasn’t telling the truth, well, he and his men had shown just how easily they could move undetected, which made sudden arrows and throat-slitting quite likely. To be fair, she was willing, though, to spend a rather sleepless night in exchange for more information on the trails and such, provided no one died during the darker hours. If she could see a map, it would be worth several sleepless nights of constantly looking over her shoulder. The probability of actually obtaining one was unknown, so Lilith marked it off as not going to happen. Another thought occured to her: would the guides only speak with Niall, given his touting of his authority, or would she be allowed to sit in on the conversation? Marking this as unknown and giving it a small chance, based on what Niall would do and how they would respond, Lilith reined her horse in a bit to allow Niall to take the lead as they began to move again.

The men vanished amidst the trees again, though not so wholly this time as to be entirely invisible. For several hours they travelled in this manner, with Lilith taking the rear position after a handful of seconds. Anahita was somewhere in the middle, though her position varied as she spoke with the children. Once they stopped as Niall ordered and allowed the youths to rest. The men remained in the trees, a fact which got on her nerves quite easily and prevented her from relaxing even the smallest bit. She kept on imagining sudden pain and the sensation of something warm running down her spine before everything went black. Forever. Or until something happened, if there was such thing as an afterlife. She also wondered if anyone would feel anything, or if suddenly everything would just end and bam, that was it.

About two hours later, they came to what was presumably the Aedellic hall. Despite what Lotharn had said, Lilith could only view decay. Or, if this is what their hall looked like when it was well-kept, she would hate to see it after it had a few decades or centuries of neglect.

The hall was made of stone, and didn’t appear to be comprised of many courtyards as she had seen in the Aelfher complex, a fact which made sense if this area was subject to heavy and frequent snows. Why use all that space if it would only be available for a short time each year?

The gardens that she saw were overrun with briar roses and thorn vines. There were buds in lieu of the flowers that would bloom later in the year, and the leaves hadn’t completely unfurled yet. The overall effect was a mass of branches overlapping each other in a messy arrangement. Creepers and moss had begun their slow but steady way across many of the stone surfaces, seeking to overturn the current ruling order. In a few places, old and faded murals could be seen beyond the intrusive plant growth. Lilith noted a raven, chalice, and thorn vine near what was presumably the main enterance, all of which were also being worn down by the flora as well as the elements. The path leading to said enterance was lined with gray marble that, to Lilith’s eye, looked as though it had been white at some time or another but had become aged and dirty. What constituted the enterance onto the complex was a solitary archway surrounded by random outcroppings of worn stone blocks that had likely been walls, columns, and maybe even a roof.

Of course, Lilith thought. Why bother going through the trouble of killing us off when they can just stick us in a decrepit building and let the roof fall in and crush us? Much more efficient use of energy. Other men were there waiting, presumably for them, and three crows she had noticed earlier now sitting on shoulders, obviously having flown ahead to warn the men of guests—or prisoners. A man with hair that Lilith could only discribe as bistre came out to meet them—greet was far too tame and hospitable for the aura she was picking up from the men who brought them here and the general surroundings. A few thin men came and took the horses as they dismounted and were led inside.

Once again, Lilith let Niall speak. When they were inside, Lilith eyed the color scheme with mixed feelings. On the one hand, dark colors were everywhere, even the clothing that everyone had worn thus far, something that was hard to do wrong. On the other hand, these men currently weren’t in her good graces and didn’t deserve any sort of appreciation for anything.

As they were shown to rooms they could stay in, Lilith suddenly wondered where all the women were. So far she hadn’t seen a single one, even though she had seen many of the pale, thin men wandering about. The rooms they were led to were sparsely furnished, and there was dust in some of the corners as well as cobwebs. In fact, the only things Lilith had seen thus far that spoke of opulence were in metals and minerals; most of the surfaces were covered in silver or platinum as well as obsidian, hematite, onyx, black spinel, and black pearls. At various intervals, however, there were scratches and marks that indicated that something had been gouged out of the remaining material, and no one had bothered to repair what was left behind. Ignoring the elf who pointed out the room she was to occupy, she followed Anahita into hers and left her pack on a short couch near the fireplace. She was not going to spend the night in a room by herself; in fact, she would likely spend the night on the floor sharing a room with It rather than alone in a building full of the half-dead creeps. And, if she could do that, she could spend a night curled up on a small couch with the idiot faery.

Listening with half an ear as the elf that had led them here told them where to wash up, she instantly vanished as soon as he told them where the kids were. They were in rooms not far from where she and Anahita were, a fact that somewhat comforted her. Quite honestly, she’d rather drag everyone into the same room and keep them there, but that would obviously be an insult to their... hosts, for lack of a better word. And, since Niall hadn’t made a move to do so—or one that she could interpret as such—she wouldn’t either.

For about an hour, Lilith wandered the rooms the children and Anahita had been assigned (as well as the one she had been given, though she had no intention of using it) and the hallway between them. She would have liked to scout out all the hallways and find out what was on the other side of their walls (as well as ceiling and floor), but she didn’t have an answer if she were challenged. So she wandered and discovered nothing specific that could be used to either eavesdrop or allow unwanted access to the rooms. That didn’t mean that nothing was there though; an hour wasn’t much time to carefully explore four rooms and a hallway. During this hour, though, she began to do a modified headcount every ten minutes, using her magic to locate the iron in each child's blood and thus determine their location. Included in this headcount were Anahita and Niall.

After that hour of pacing, a man they hadn’t seen before invited them to eat. Before leading them to the dining hall, they were given brief instructions on the etiquette of the court, and then seated at a small table. The dark-haired man who had initially come out to meet (and presumably greet, though this was still an unproven point) them sat at the head, and, after they had all sat, introduced himself as the lord-regent of the Aedellic province. During the meal, women came and went, as silent as ghosts, only laying the settings or removing the dishes. They, like the men, were pale, but a paleness that bordered—and, in some cases, crossed—the line over which pale became sallow. The women also had an air of sickness and frailty, and wouldn’t make eye contact and, in general, acted as if the guests (if that’s what they were, though Lilith wouldn’t be hard pressed to believe them all to be prisoners) weren’t there. The women Lilith saw had thin hair, and lips so pallid that they had become tinged with purple. In contrast to the black-clothed men in the hall, they wore the same grey-green the band of men that had found them had been wearing.

Lilith ran a gloved finger around the base of her glass, eyeing the still liquid inside. If she had her way, she would grab the kids and leave. She wouldn’t have been bothered by the gloomy and decaying settings if the circumstances had been different. But the fact of the matter was that she didn’t have the slightest clue what the rules here were; she didn’t know anything about their culture, codes of honor (if there were any), laws, unspoken traditions, or motives. While this normally didn’t bother her, what did was that Niall didn’t seem to know too much more than she or Anahita, and he hadn’t seemed pleased to accept Lótharn’s... offer.

The question of conduct also brought up another one. How serious were these elves in giving the small party information and letting them leave on the morrow? It would be all too simple to refuse to give any information at all, or even just giving intentionally misleading information. And could they leave? If they couldn’t press forth because of weather/climate conditions today, what would make tomorrow any better, especially with the list of reasons that Lótharn had given? It could be an endless excuse to keep them here, if they didn't meet some end or another sooner...

Then there was the physical condition of the elves involved. Even the men, who had seemed far better off than the women, didn’t seem quite right. There was just something about them that implied their state wasn’t just one of undernourishment or malnutrition. And, even if it were, why would the women be so much worse if things in this province functioned in a normal manner?

All of which amounted to a huge unknown, which would have bothered her even if she had been by herself. But there were children that had to be taken care of, as well as a half-blind faery without any sort of magic. D*mn... she thought, keeping her face in its expressionless mask. She’d never have thought it were the circumstances otherwise, but she sure wished they had It around, as much of a b*stard and a bully that It was... or, at the very least, someone that could actually use magic.

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ShadowPhoenix
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Re: Freedom Forsaken

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Alacer Phasmatis on Tue Apr 19, 2011 10:53 pm

((Melchios))

Narrow-eyed, Morteza glared into the rustling trees, his hand still raised from the throw. Nostrils flared, he inhaled deeply of the wind, as though scent could tell him if the fiend were yet near. “Fetch your spear”, he snapped to the sentry whose weapon he’d accosted.

The underling leapt to obey.

He was finally getting somewhere with these worms, at the final hour when a banner of red hair in the forest meant nothing.

Which Ælfher it had been he knew not, cared not, felt not the weight of. The accidental sighting of an army—his lot was still unprepared to meet Morteza’s. Had the spy see—no, he could not have seen. The distance of that delicate little creature had been too far for aught but fae eyes to descry his lithe, tall body and quivering limbs, and even then, it had been but a flash of glossy hair. A savagely grim smile lit his features; let the mages quiver in fear now.

-----
Memory hit him again as they slipped through the forest, so treacherously smooth. It wasn’t—recent—it wasn’t—his—was it then a memory? The faery gnashed his teeth in fury—no doubt a few glanced at him because of it! No, not memory, something gleaned via learning and reading, an idle task of youth that had been useful but onerous. Not because learning was tepid dullness: let him gut the fool who decried the hallowed erudition through which power became a sword! But it had been useless education and self-flattery at its worst. The boast for which an entire line could pat their spindly backs and tell themselves well done, for something egregiously nonreplicable now.

Back then Morteza had enjoyed the capital, took strict appreciation out of the diverse culture of etiquette and restraint—he’d found it so foolish, too! But the warriors were fast and strong, and that was what mattered
 somehow, the past was clear today? Melchios shuddered, once, deeply. He did not know if this was deeper madness or a lifting madness, this iciness which was enveloping him as he prepared for battle, but he knew that he was not mad.

Stock-still, he stood, quivered, and addressed the poisonous whelps. “Kill no women or children,” he snarled, dire threat to those who dared disobey, “nor harm or maim them unless it cannot be helped. Among their number is TrĂ©asa Ælfher, the girl bound by troth to the elf this act intends to draw out. She is not to be harmed and therefore, until she is found, NO woman is to be harmed.” His eyes glowed brazier-bright as he scanned over each tentaculous warrior, until all had met his gaze. It had to be understood that ugly would be the end of one who disobeyed Morteza Melchios’s direction.


A shuddering breath. He remembered the sweetness of fraternity.

“Spare no men, none!” Melchios barked, inexplicably reminded that he’d cropped his tiger-striped hair short, by his own blade. “Spare none of them bar one, for whose death I swear the killer will be hung: Altair Ælfher is Lysander’s brother and beloved to his nation. Such a precious piece is not to be lost among the dead—and you MUST recognize him, for he is the only elf there who shall have dark golden hair, closer to brown than bronze.”

He remembered Lysander’s tender filial love for his brother, how arrogance was overcome by fawning condescension and a peacock-proud desire to impress, when he was near the high-strung politician. If he could but have that collected, high-bred horse, he would have Lysander: through hell and brimstone he could see the elf doing what rationality would scream at him not to do. And if he had Lysander—


HE had Sorea’s north angel.

SHE had her immortal bird.

-----

Arrows flew at them and slayed a man, for which Morteza slew the bright-haired elf who’d shot it—and he KNEW the face! He knew them. As the onslaught began through roared orders and division of troops, Truth pounced on him unawares and pinned him by his midnight wings, a smirking smile on her face. Somehow, the wicked cats had been forewarned, and he saw nary a woman among the helmed men.

But
 he had known these men


”They’re faeries, Pardai,” he laughed, sonorous warm notes. “You think that makes a difference to me Morteza?” She murmured, lips curving against her will. “I was an assassin and still am, in heart, more mercenary than military. Faery they may be, but I have more the killer guarding my empathy now than heart, or love. Let it bite as it will: promote me and I CAN do it.”

“It is only a little fey magic, after all.”


Perfidious magic, traitorous, traitorous FRAUD! It shrieked of another, it BURNED into his empty heart that another of his kind was here. A bellow tore itself from his chest, a cry at the pain of righteous anger blazing a molten course through his mind—searing brand of resolve! But it was no fool’s resolution, for here about him were dying elves attempting to fling useless magic! USELESS!

Then it was that he saw her, just as she saw him.

Blood-grimed, fatally beautiful, power incarnate: a soldier of Occalus crafted by his hand. Warrioress who knew what combat was.

“Aerain Luelia!” —he roared, taking wing, “TRAITOR!”

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Alacer Phasmatis
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