[PK] A rainy day

[Mr. Etan 2865]

[Drowning by Pretty angel]

 

The streets of Lurin were empty due to the downpour that overtook the city winds howling loudly. Within its back streets laid an old Mali'aheral glasses shattered in a pool of his own blood that was mixing with the puddle under him. He found a defeated smile on his lips - the mage turned himself over to look up to his would-be killer the world around him starting to fade. He didn't feel pain and he could not even feel the cold rain anymore.

 

The only thing possibly audible was shouted from the last deep breath the man could make. "Tell my daughter I said goodbye."

 

... "I will."

 

A short exchange of words passed the two the words lost to the winds and to time itself. Only one will ever remember the mages last words and soon he laid back accepting his rest. The weapon came down and the cracked road under him ran red as the mage laid there in the rain finally getting rest without nightmares or the guilt he had carried for centuries, no longer needing to watch history repeat itself.

 

 

A bloody grimoire that always never left Sarrions side was delivered to the Divadri Estate with a single unsigned letter not in Sarrions handwriting. "Goodbye."

 

 

The passing of Sarrion Divadri would be announced for those who cared to mourn and those who did not to celebrate.

[CombatRolePlay 1729]

A tall elf clad in black armor sat silently in the middle of his make-shift camp with a letter in hand, a moment of silence given to a friend now lost.

[HazelWazel 448]

It is often said that a child will take after their parents. Their mannerism, their looks, their skills. The apple never falls far from the tree after all. Elenora Divadri was unique in that only her looks matched her fathers, but even that was cultivated, created and crafted for Sarrion  and forced into his life.  Elenora became all that he was not out of spite of his disinterest. Sarrion was charismatic and civil, while she turned to wrath and bluntness. A powerful voidal mage, a founder of practices beyond comprehension? She became a druid who found her footing within the wilds.  Yet the further her path strayed from his, the closer they got. A bond of genuine care formed.

 

She soon loved her father, to the point where when it was demanded by her fellow druids to kill him, she denied it without hesitation. He gave her advice, sat with her when she needed it the most, and loved all of her, even when she did not.

 

 He was a constant. Even when he left, she knew he would come back. 

He promised he would not truly go without saying goodbye.

-=-

 

The Scorpion Druid sat within her fathers  room, filled with books and notes which were already beginning to gather dust. Within her automation hand her father himself had crafted, the foreign letter and faded grimoire held weakly. Her head slowly thudded against the bed frame, sleep unable to find her as her mind raced with emotions of anger, grief, and the pain of the unknown.

 

The Silence was deafening, yet in the back of her sleep deprived mind it came as clear as day. His quiet voice during her  most restless of nights filled with terrors;

 

“Get some sleep. Dad will keep you safe while you do.”

 

A small choked laugh left her lips at the memory, her eyes finally closing as she pulled her fathers things closer to herself.

 

“P-Please.. A tiny.. Voidal mage is going to protect me?”

 

”. . . I miss you.”

[Creete 432]

The elfess stood silent, holding a missive that alerted her to the news. Snow fell around her, and the dim glow of her mage-light lantern was all that there to illuminate the page. Her hands would start to tremble, for but a fleeting second, before she folded the parchment to tuck it away.

 

"So few of us are left," she muttered. "Fewer it feels by the day..."

 

The pale haired woman turned away, trudging through the darkness and the cold towards her keep. The hundreds of years she had known the man, their friendship and their struggles, raced through her mind. She had just seen him in her tavern, they had spoke by the hearth - and now he was dead.

 

Her warm breaths rose in a misty fog from the bitterness of the north, unseen in the darkness that ate all. He made mistakes, plenty that she could think of easily, but she had not wished death on him for them. The old idiot was one of hers, one of the few from her time left -  and now he was gone.

 

The woman made it into the walls of her home, sliding down the heavy wood doors before slumping there on the ground with a dull thud.

 

"You drove me insane, Sarrion, you idiot.. but I'll miss you and your ramblings. Your end came too soon, but who are we to say when death will claim us? Perhaps soon I will join you, old llir."

[Lirinya 2664]

24 minutes ago, Mr. Etan said:

Sarrions handwriting. "Goodbye."

 

Spoiler

I wish I still had alive characters to rp to this with. But they're long gone. Much love to you and sarrion though.

[MeteorDragon 2853]

A behemoth of stone remained sitting upon his Throne, arms resting against his knees. He breathed out, a blue-green smog flowed out of him as he stared at the other side of his cavern. A new soul had joined the realm of the dead.

 

"We can sense you, Sarrion. You brought anger to us when we lived... but it seems you now join us in death."

Zarith, Lord of Wrath, moved up to his feet, wading into the waters that rested near him. Yet, in this moment, it was Xavis' memories the dozens of souls shared. They were faded and mostly forgotten, though he remembered that old mage. It was a face he would likely never forget.

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

 

On the other side of the world, sitting before an obelisk, a different mage recalled that elderly fellow. Sulieronn Ashwood grew no smile and no frown as he heard of the death of Sarrion. With a disappointed shake of the magi's head, he muttered to himself, "And so the world loses another Archmage. What will we do now."

[sam33497 2821]

In a sanctum of the un-dead, a horrible once-student of Sarrion Divadri stirs with a strange annoyance, foreign and unexplainable to him.

 

"Tsk."

[TheBigBubbles 699]

A bubbly pink Mali'ker somehow heard news of her first teacher's demise. Olaurae hopped up from the chair and pointed her hand skyward, "Mark my words!!! He is not gone!!" the elfess tore up the note and threw it into the air. It all dissappeared in a trail of green sparkles, "I'll not see this act ended. It's too soon, grand actor"

[Lhindir_ 3439]

“Farewell, old friend.” Said Anordal, coming to take a deep exhale. “.. There is so few of us, now.”

[EagleEyeKK 47]

A lone elfess stood alone in a small room in the winery outside Celia'nor. Removing her silk gloves, her figure moved to a small mirror that she had placed on a small stand filled with jewels and make up. Looking into the mirror she could see the scars on her ears, wrapping around below the tips of her elven ears. Sticking her tongue out she could see the scar there too, a circular one closer to the back of her throat. These were scars of the limbs she had lost, ones she had thought she could never get back. But Sarrion had chosen to help her. Thanks to him, she could hear again, she could speak again.

 

Sarrion...one of her closest friends and one of the last friends that remained of her past, her childhood. Most had long died. Sarrion was there to talk to Ariselle when she needed, to share conversations about the world and the many curiosities that came with it. She could only hope she provided the same support he provided her.

 

As all the memories flashed in her mind, including her visit to Lurin where he had wished her a peaceful life and her to him, she turned to the wall, tears streaming down her face like a dam finally exploding. She slammed her fist into the wall with a screech, her legs giving out as she crumbled up into a mess of a figure, sobbing.

 

"Goodbye, my friend. I hope you find peace...maybe one day, I will see you again. In another world, another life. One day."

[ToodIes 1198]

"I don't believe it," is Faeryel's simple reply, as she folds the missive and places it in a pocket. Smiling, she rolls her eyes, remarking to herself-- "Old wizards never die. He'll turn up in a bar, somewhere. Give it a century."

 

That evening, clutching a bottle of wine, she'd again mumble 'old wizards never die', adding: "...Right?"

 

-+-

 

Far from society, wild and wooden, Ithuriel hears nothing of her old friend's death. As she twists animal sinew from the day's hunt into string, she looks up at the stars, and unbidden, the image of a telescope flits across her mind. It wavers at the edge of memory, but she can't quite grasp it.

[Lord_of_losers 957]

A blonde Wizard pours one out for the real one Sarrion, on some distant hilltop yet untouched by people. The sun was beginning to set, its honey coloured rays slowly vanishing beneath the horizon. She raises the glass in toast.

 

"We never really spoke... I regret that, I think. But it's too late now, right?"

 

"We can't visit the past, and those of us that are left carry on."

 

"I hope that your last day was a peaceful one."

 

A tired sigh escapes Sarah as she tips the glass, spilling the contents on the ground below. Come morning, a small mound of rocks is erected in Sarrion's name, and the explorer dubs the isle 'Sarrionland' before departing.

[Gladuos 857]

In a far-away plane, an elf with amber eyes thinks back to an old friend.

"Why didn't I say goodbye?"

A tear is shed.

[Vaynth 2965]

In the shadowed fringes of the bustling town, one particular woman with pointy ears and eyes like amethysts remained unseen, her years of seclusion following a storied tenure at The Enchantry. It was during a rare venture for supplies that she stumbled upon the somber news: Sarrion, her cherished companion, had departed this realm. Eirena, typically known for her impassive poise and thinly veiled impatience, lifted her gaze to the sky. Tears cascaded like silver rivulets, tracing the contours of her sorrow-stricken face. With a whisper carried away by the wind, she murmured;

 

“It seems the Void has finally claimed you, dear friend."

[UnBaed 8966]

Far off, a slender elf with milky-white hair scratched away at a book's parchment with her pen.  There were often times in her work that she'd wonder how that strange alchemist was doing, even after these unfolding centuries.  Unaware of his passing, she would be left to only wonder.