Oof

[_Elrith_ 4525]

 

Tasting Forget

[!]

“I’ll keep your contempt for me while I’m livin’, but don’t you forget forgivin’ me when I’m dead!”

-Elrith  Circa 1601, at the grave of Boris Ruthern

 

-=<@>=-

 

“No… No.. No… NO!” A firm voice exasperates, finally ending their repetition with a shout. A number of books lie on the floor strewn out oddly, torn pages accompanying them. Many of the pieces were large collections of studies, documentations, and organized research papers, filled with copious amounts of skeptical information. Title after title, there were enough books to fill every shelf in a small library. Most, if not every document would be related to Alchemy and Herbs in some way, there being a few exceptions such as Forging.

 

In the corner of a room, a rather tall man stands amid a disastrous mess of books, papers, and small boxes. The tips of his fingers are pressed against his temples, slowly grinding them in a rotating motion. He lowers his hands down, glancing over the confusion that was the floor. An agitated look dominated his appearance, only amplified by the gloomy setting and the dim lighting from a multitude of candles. A shallow sigh escapes his lips as he crouches to grab a rather peculiar book. It was thin, light, and was bound together by a thread. Not exactly eye-catching or out of the ordinary, but it held a unique purpose. “Why.. Why is this here...” He’d mumble a somber voice. He turns around on his heels and slowly paces over to his desk, stepping over many documents in the process. He drops the hardback on the lectern without a care, resulting in the book cascading open. An array of sketches fill the pages, some being incomplete, others being guides and a few simple finished pieces. Overall, none of them could be considered made by an expert's hand, or a student's. Most were poor and sloppy and lacked any consistency, yet a few were of ‘acceptable’ grade.

 

However, perhaps with a tad bit of divine intervention, the book’s pages cease unfolding on a specific page, one that he would soon either regret or perhaps find some sort of solace in. A soft drawing of a face was on this page, that of an elvish woman. The female had long flowing hair that was tied up into a bun, which seemed to be the leading feature of this drawing. Her face was thin and nose somewhat short, but a defined jawline and high cheekbones made up for it. Not an entirely accurate representation of what he had hoped to capture in the picture, but it still made his heart twinge upon seeing it. He takes a seat in the available chair, leaning back as he stared at the work of art from a distance, arms folded across his chest. His face flushed with heat and his chest grew tight. Sitting silently in the chair, the only noise in the room being the cracking of logs from a fire.

 

Most people don’t consider poets and philosophers to be evil people, rather the opposite. This was not the case here, the words ‘your first love is the hardest’, does not sit well. Slowly but surely, he eventually cracks under the weight of his own thoughts and actions. He begins to cry, only shedding a tear at first but quickly becoming a sobbing mess. The man tucks his face into his hands, holding his head up as he now sat leaning forward in the chair. His gaze was focussed away from the drawing, it being the cause of his distress made him feel wired. He hated this feeling, knowing that he had ****ed up. He had made a simple mistake that screwed everything for himself. He couldn’t get over the feeling that he needed to accept what he had done, yet was not able to do it. She was no longer here, and he was left alone. For one last second, the elvish man looked up from his hands to the drawing. “I-I’m sorr-...”

 

Alas, he was always a forgetful person, never quite clearly remembering to follow through with obligations, even if they would drastically change his life forever. Perhaps this would be the last time he forgot to do something, the last time he would regret not doing something, and maybe the last time he would not forget to love someone. Some say that crying heals the soul, but wouldn’t you have to finish crying to have that wound mended…? Well, maybe he shouldn’t have forgotten to attend to what he was brewing. Every alchemist knows that you must pay diligent attention to the brew, else it may spoil or possibly worse will occur. A lesson learned, never leave your alchemist’s fire unattended.

 

 

OOC:

Wrote this at 2am please no hate :^)

Am bad writer ik

If any spelling or grammatical errors PM me over Discord

Hyperthinking#7561

Have a good day.

[MickMeist 175]

((Godspeed, Swimsuit Elf

[Valarin_ 170]

In her home, the news falls upon ears that once heard a beautiful voice say her name.

 

"We can't find him, Vanya... It's been years, you have to let him go."

 

In that home, now alone, she breaks. Tears flood, drowning emotions that had once brought her happiness. The man she had once held feelings for, the man she had once adored and considered her best friend now missing, gone for years, never again to grace her with his presence. 

 

Alone in her home, she allows herself to crack, and to those that lived in the homes aside hers, the shouts and screams pierce the night. Broken pottery shatters glass windows, flung from hands stained with tears leaking from weeping eyes.

 

Finally, she collapses, stilling on the floor of her home. Her silver hair fans out around her, purple eyes staring at the bookcase where, for many long years, she has hidden the items they shared. Standing, the elfess moves to the bookshelf and reaches in, pulling from it a small leather bound book. She stares at it for a long moment before sitting on the bed and lifting her head to stare out the window. 

 

She is speechless, unable to put into words the feelings that leave her soul raw and bare. Gentle fingers brush the spine of the book she grasps, and a soft sigh finally leaves her. She rests the book in her lap and closes her eyes, pressing her hands to her face. 

 

All is silent for the longest moment, before a soft, grief wrought voice finds wing again, "You were the first I loved, and while you were not the last, you were the best for me. A best friend that I never could have asked for, but received... I hope that wherever you have gone.... maybe somewhere you have found light and peace for your soul. This may be goodbye, but sometimes goodbyes are a second chance." 

 

She glances to the door and stands, placing the leather bound book back on the shelf, the silver trimmed words 'Not of I' gleaming in the firelight. She cleans her face, hiding the evidence of her lamentation and grief, before stepping out of her home and greeting her neighbor with a small smile and a neatly recited, "Karin'ayla, llir!" 

 

It will take time, but time is what she has. Wounds will heal, and memories last a lifetime. Vanya Damaer faces a new day with a heavy heart and a smile on her face, knowing she must carry on for those that are missing, in the hopes that one day they return.

[GDPR 014 48]

"What a sad thing." 

 

can you use him?

 

"Perhaps for something else."

[Ixli 1472]

Varen’thal cackles, the wind carrying it from the stone fortress resting on the reigning alps. A disfigured abomination chuckles with the lost elf, spit flying from both mouths.

 

”Cenwall, Elrith.. let us hope the next is that idiotic Arelion.. then perhaps Vanya.. mm, the delight. Time to go feast.” 

 

((OOC: by far a great character, sad to see him go. I hope you have fun RPing other characters!! Oh and don’t +1 this I’m at 420 rep.))

[rukio 8924]

Alice, locked away to study in a self imposed exile, would not receive the news at first. The young elf did not fully comprehend what she was being told at first and it took several minutes for the reality to sink in. She'd not seen Elrith since she was 10 years of age, almost half her life ago. Left hand on her mouth and a gloomy disdain in her eyes, Alice merely nodded at the news and retreated back to her studies. Door locked behind her, she could think again, let it soak in that someone she'd once known to some degree was gone. Her dove offered no comfort, cooing and staring from his perch, as he often did. By all appearances the disheveled elf needed no comfort: eyes dry, face blank now, and as silent as a mute. 

 

A heartbeat, and then another. Something we no longer have in common. What awaits you on the other side?

 

With that thought, her studies resumed, on a new topic. 

[Slayy 816]

"H-he can't be gone.... He has be come back.... He wouldn't do this... to me..."

The short howl of the tundra's wind was cut short with a shatter of a looking glass, shards began to pour upon the floor, circling the sprawled out maiden. 

"Yet all men do this... shatter the hearts of all." 

[iris1612 1780]

"its about ******* time" says boris ruthern "id beat the **** out of you, if you werent dead, and i wasnt also dead."

 

 

[gandalfo 1452]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.