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It was a draining exploration, a lone soul seeking to find himself through the thick and thin of the troubles that grounded him. In the end, he did not find what he was looking for, instead found only the tree that left him bitter and alone. Forcing a remembrance of not the good times, but rather the bad. A plume of flame being the only thing left from the venture. And a bitter elf.

 

The day was hot and humid, the rays of sunshining beaming down upon the Silver State of Haelun’or, the city of Asul’hileia. It was when the times were saturated and abundant with trials of just about anyone, one for a petty argument, another for aggravated assault. Yet an elf, freshly victim to one such trial only for standing up for the justice he believed necessary to better the city. Stripped of his role as government official, his family turning their backs upon him in his time of need. On a bench, he sat tightening his boots with a grim look scouring over his visage. Left to rapid scrutiny by other citizens and ex-family alike, he felt at a loss and filled with melancholy and a dour gait in his move set.

Outside, the humid city did he set foot to journey to a long, almost forgotten place. Dressed in a dusty, old set of blue robes and a traveling tunic of red that did not at all quite fit together, yet worn still they were. Not a person batted an eye at his lack of position in the city, finding his way out the gates that were never open did he walk towards the nearest harbor, that being the ruins from a recent undead dragon attack, being Cloudbreaker. Yet he did not care to search the ruins as other bandits and rats might, he only sought a boat, which ultimately he did find. A boat for one, large enough for the cool breeze and the deep blue sea. The wood groaned at the weight of the elf stepping upon the dusted surface, beaten yet still sea-worthy. He fastened a few ropes, raised the anchor and soon was set off, angled to the Northeast of Almaris.

The sea was rough, waves high enough to topple the boat at any moment, yet by some outside factor did it stay erect. The wind billowed, pushing the sail forth which in turn propelled the rigid boat the elf rode upon. Days had passed, the nights calming the waters enough for the elf to sleep, if only for an hour or two. The food that sustained him only being dried jerky and hardtack that was swelled with sea spray.

In the midst of night did the pessimistic high elf attempt to catch a few winks of sleep, yet the waters were not calm for that he was in the middle of the ocean. They were calm because he was close to his destination, a guttural, grinding sound having cried out as the bottom of the ship scraped against stone and sand alike where he beached. The Elf had been startled awake by the horrific, scratchy sound. Quick, was he to raise the sails and drop the anchor so that the boat would not float away, though it was unlikely it would ride the seas anymore. Upon the edge of the boat did he press a boot, leaning forth to look out at the greenery he found himself upon, a nod of approval showed as he recognized it almost immediately, though perhaps a bit overgrown if anything. It appeared to be the Silver Isles, home to the ruins of Karinah’siol.

Ah.. My home, gone and ruined..” A grumble sounded from the scornful elf, a robust sigh huffed out as he made his way through the overgrown brush. The coos and skittering of the local wildlife appeased him, atleast for a moment, bugs having done well to bite at his form as any tropical isle might house. Yet it was still familiar to him, nostalgic in a way, like a mother tucking in a child after serving them a warm cup of milk to aid in the process. The nostalgia shattered though when the high, silver walls were shown to him. They stood tall but were addled with holes, chunks having been worn out of them due to lack of upkeep. Crumbles of marble littered the outside, many an entrance littered at the base where no doubt that nothing good lived within. His resolve strengthened, as once again, that was not his goal. Instead, it was for something else, so his boots scraped upon gravel roads as he ushered himself forth towards the city ruins.

Charred ruins of buildings such as the tavern or the soldier headquarters, the Sillumir, littered either side of the street. Such being the goal of the previous ruler in an attempt to leave the city unlivable in case of outsiders taking over. A sneer, distasteful as the sight was, covered the face of the else as he trekked through the ruins, up an old set of stairs with holes or crumbles. The gates that separated the esteemed ‘thill of the older land from the lesser' were raised. Perhaps a symbol of the integration of the old city's inhabitants joining the lesser in the horrid atmosphere of Almaris, rather than in secluded isolation on the Silver Isles. Or it was simply but a gate that no longer had a purpose, condemned to rotting and gathering rust whilst idle bandits or ruin-explorers wandered through. Such thoughts filled the mali’aheral’s head as he passed through, though soon to come to a stop as he saw what he came for. His old home, where he spent most of his time.

Sweat from the trek stuck to the neck of the ‘aheral as he was quick to enter the home, still standing tall and regal as can be, yet worn with time and intruders. The windows had busted in, the sills of such were littered with shattered glass, the door having been taken off at the hinges and simply missing. And so he had no door to open when he entered to find many books, unlegilbe strewn about the floors, the carpet having been ripped and torn, notes scrawled onto the wall via dagger or blade. None of which held any coherent meaning except for perhaps a love feud or otherwise between two distinct lovers. Again, he passes by, leaving it to rest, to not overturn the dusty items that did remain. Instead, the high elf made his way to the room in which most of his time had been spent, studying, conducting experiments, or otherwise. Apart from a broken mirror or a bed with a missing mattress. The only tell-tale signs of it ever even existing were the feathers that had flown from it after it had likely been shredded.

And in a bout of rage, but also with purpose did he lift his boot and slam it into the floor, the loosened nails quick to unstick and sling the board up to reveal a hovel to hide items in. Quick, did he calm himself, even as the memories of the past haunted his mind. The times of strife with those who sought only his blood, and for no other reason that he would not join them. The times of sorrow when he felt at a loss on how to continue his works, the times of when he had an overly heated debate that left him ostracized and outcast, as he was now. A deep breath to calm, and another. The heated memories quickly flow away, though oh-so eager to stay. The tired, sleepless azure eyes cast themselves down into the hovel, relieved to find the sack was still there. Took to his knees as he knelt down to reach for the sack and pull it out. The tie that held it closed was withered and easily snapped away at what little force he applied. His hand fished within to open it proper so that he might get a better look. A few trinkets and memorabilia populated the sack, a few of his first letters to his initial, yet ex-beloved, and a sack of minae.

There you are…” He let out a sigh of relief as a folded yet crumpled piece of paper was pulled from the sack. The Elf flicked it open to reveal the image it held. And it was no art piece, instead it was but a simple crayon-like drawing of a stick man that wore something that appeared to be either blue robes or otherwise, and a smaller, shorter figure that wore something lilac, appearing to be a dress of sorts. The two stick figures held hands, and so the elf's fingers tightened on the piece of paper, wrinkling it ever so slightly. A somber feeling weighed down on the elf’s shoulders, a sense of regret at what could have been but never will be. Time had gone on and there was no way to change that which occurs. Time travel does not exist. In a brisk movement, the folded paper tucked away into his pocket and the sack tied with a new string. As there was just one more place to visit in mind. A scuffling of boots kicked up a bit of dust as he made way out of the house and up the ruined street, a tree or two having fallen to block his path but was easily overcome by climbing over.

Up a slight incline did he find himself walking, as the Silver Isles were a mountainous set. The travel was quick to wind his voidal poisoned physique, but with frequent breaks did the high elf make it up the path that led to a simple bench at the base of a tree, old yet still showing off intricate carvings. With age, moss and rust had taken root, saddling upon the aged piece of fine metalwork. This spot gave an overview of not only the ruined city but the rest of the isle, where a small Hyspian town has since been built off in the distance. He set himself upon the bench, an eerie feeling at the empty space that weighed heavy next to him. A sorrowful silence plagued his surroundings save for a few croaks from crickets or the like as it was perhaps four hours before the roosters crow. With the lights that were still lit within the ruins and the torches from the Hyspian town, the scenery of the island still held life though nothing like before. The silence offered him too much time to himself, a flicker here.. A flutter there. He felt eyes upon him, yet he knew none were there. But there were, for it was his memories and his thoughts that plagued him, a simple shadow cast over his form, yet incorporeal. The elf shifted forward and buried his head in calloused hands to let out a small sob, only when he knew he was fully alone, and that there were no peering eyes to take such a scene and gossip upon it.

There was no reason behind it, except that the sobbing soon turned to wailing and a fit of rage was to be had. A blade was snatched from its rigid sheathe, and aimed with a quick slice did the ponytail that held back golden, blonde locks get cut away only to fall to the grassy park that he populated. The elf flung the blade once the hair had been cut, and off the edge of the raised cliff did it clatter against stone, scraping upon its descent as he rose to his feet. The ilk of his rage had yet to subside, and so his eyes burned bright a mist of an azure, similar to the color of his eyes shimmering around his hands and otherwise, the aura of such pulsated with power. A guttural sound grew from his throat as tendrils of the aura collected in a ball. The bench had since been tilted over and a few meters had been given from himself to the base of the tree where so many memories had been gathered. The ball of aura flashed and was quickly replaced with a ball of blue flame that grew hotter and hotter, taking in all of the oxygen it could get to swell and grow. And grow it did, though no specific form did it take, as soon as the ball of dark blue flame form, did it blast out in the form of a flamethrower. Firstly pointed up towards the leaves to set them alight all the way down to the base, quick to char the outer layer of the tree and thoroughly set it up in flames. A crackling of flame stayed as the magi’s anger subsided, the residual effects of the evocation left upon the tree, likely to be a beacon in the dark of night upon the island as he let out a cool, silvery sigh. His hands stuck themselves into the pocket of his worn coat to ensure the folded piece of parchment was still there.

 

A turn of his heel, did the high elven mage depart from the scene of a burning tree, still as bitter and lost as can be. For there was no finding himself in the past, as he could only be himself in the present, as bitter and cruel as the one in the present might be. There had been little to be gained from the daunting venture to the ruins except for a piece lost to him and faded memories to haunt him, but an echo of the good times and the bad.

 



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Spoiler

Just a small writing piece. Nothing special.
Not a missive or anything, so respond as you'd like.

 

 

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(Honestly very well written and a good read. Nice work!)

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10 hours ago, RyuTheCoolest said:

Somber sounds on silver strings haunt that silver isle. Recalling tales of youth and lads and life of plenty

True.)

 

6 hours ago, Moribundity said:

(Honestly very well written and a good read. Nice work!)

Thanks.)

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Aiera Sullas sat in the square of Asul’hileia on one of the mornings Valazaer was missing from, writing away, when she looked up and noted his absence. The way he no longer darkened the corners of the place, which Aiera realized had been the case for a day or two now.

 

Her brows lower inward, and some old feeling clawed out of her mind, a centuries-gone confrontation that hadn’t poisoned her thoughts for decades.

 

The matriarch glances up again, and considers what now envenomated him. “heya iylenet ernae?”

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