Another Tale

[TheBareSheet 194]

Another tale that would fade, or perhaps never be heard...

 

The evening started with a lousy rain and the girl hurried along the streets of Alras hoping to find shelter and a warm meal. She had passed a inn, which had been named as "Chubby Harbringer", it was empty and the name had already ushered her to another direction where she heard voices. 

 

There was nothing much to tell, except the true action of the magical battle between the High Elves and another man who was apparently trying to protect a dark skinned elf. She had heard such kinds of story before, it had fascinated her much, yet until blood started to be shed, she only wished for a hot meal. 

 

It was a messy fight with the dark skinned elf and his friend greatly outnumbered, she only watched knowing it would bring great trouble if she intervened, yet the whole fight was chased elsewhere before she could truly process what happened. 

 

Sighing, she continued to wander aimlessly as the night grew darker, but under a dim torchlight of a wheat farm, she once more noticed the injured dark skinned man lying on the ground. He had total of three wounds, a bolt to the chest, a broken arm and a gash on his hand. 

 

Couldn't pass her conscience, she kneeled down and operated to remove the bolt from her chest. It wasn't soon as a towering armoured High Elf laid his eyes upon her, ready to purge the dark skinned elf. They had debated about mercy, about power and about fate. Yet in the end, the High Elf stood back, instructing her to save the dark skinned elf. 

 

The flesh was cut to remove the bolt, the wound was then stitched, disinfected and bandaged. All along she was rather confused, but she did what she did. The High Elf then took the dark skinned elf's gauntlets, then impaled the girl with his boardsword, shoved her on a cactus and wholly removed her head. Before he did so, he called the girl "Lady Fate", and told her that she saved one in the price of her own. He wrote his initial in her blood and after her death, he had proclaimed so proudly, "I am all that matters. I am fate and mercy." The moonlight shone on his bloodstained cheeks as if the haunt the world. 

 

Yet the girl tried to smile on her last breath, wondering if her death would make the book of songs she wrote about those many others who had tales to tell. After all, it was just a story, that came to an end, one that would fade and like all those others, would tell what bizarre things we can do...

 

If the dark skinned man woke up once more, he would find a lute case beside him, the leather battered and stained, yet inside a lute made of smooth dark wood, with one of it's pegs slightly loose. Crudely carved at the back of the neck, would be "Fiona Varodyr-Deathsbane". 

 

 

Thanks PiercingDarkness and GrimReaper for the great rp~ go have sleepless nights :D

I'm still debating whether I shall count this as an official pk, though it is very likely, or I might put this character as an ult.

 

[ScreamingDingo 20568]

Halinahr sighs as he sits on the gatehouse, the gauntlets of magegold resting in front of him as his light, blue eyes scan the surroundings. The night still young, with the moon's embrace flooding every shadow and crevice. "It has started again." His lips purse up into a slight grin, blood still staining his silver chestplate. As he unsheathes his longsword, "The Northern Wind", he runs his finger along the dried blood, it seeped into the strange symbols and etchings in the blade. 

"Fate has been decided."

His mind starts to flood with thoughts, many about the look of anguish on the woman's face as he plunged the virgin blade into the stomach. "Silver flows like the blood of the impure, into a pool of resolution."

He continues to murmur to himself, the ramblings of an insane, extremist Mali'aheral.

[Raptorious 1899]

((Another Varodyr bites the dust. Nice post, good read.))

[Rig 17581]

[[such freaky rp I couldn't sleep for another hour... it was really great, and scary.]]

Mythras picks up the lute case... he was reexamining the scene, albeit very sadly... it was rare people sacrificed their own lives, but he wondered why anyone would to save him, inwardly, he never even met the kind soul before then.. He balled his fist, he would get vengeance, he would burn the high-elf to a burnt shell if he could... though.. he may need to calm before so.. magic isn't fueled by passion, anger, or arrogance, but skill. He examines the case, blinking as he sees "Deathsbane", he sighs, beginning his travel slowly to the druidic grove, his body not fully healed, nor his soul. 

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.