Remembered : Celia Sullas-Windsworn

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

Remembered : Celia Sullas-Windsworn

Death

Raindrops could be heard from outside the Sullas tower. Celia sits in her her study with three jugs of Dwarven ale. One of them already empty. Celia's eyes have begs under them and are red. It's been an elven day since her family has been dis-honoured by Thelmaras. This isn't the first time either. A knocking is heard on the gate from a familiar voice that sounds gentle and smooth.

"Who is it?" a slightly drunken Celia yells.

"It's me.. Delonna." the peaceful voice calls.

"Well don't just stand in the rain. Get your arse in!" Celia says roughly as she opens the gate. Delonna looks confused for her rough behavior which is usually somewhat tame around him.

"Yes, well ... I came to talk to you about your son's behaviour. Thelmaras, namely.' Delonna calmly asks. 'His behavior required me to call in some of my lliran. I was greatly displeased..."

"Oh yes. You mingle with the dark scum, eh? Well, even Thelmaras is out of his league! Could you believe it? He said he wanted to become one of those bloody whorehawks!" Celia says as she snorts.

"You may be fairly suprised but those -Warhawks- are much more tame then you think they are. You act quite roughly around them if I do say so myself... I suggest you hold your tongue." says Delonna looking at his scar that either Yuln or Celia gave to him.

"I'll talk about those bloody whorehawks I as please! Are you one of them too? Explains how they don't starve to death..." Celia snorts.

"I assure you that I am not one of these "whorehawks" Celia. That claim is preposterous!" Delonna says, looking offended.

"Eh, suuure. That's what they aaalll saay. Aaaanywaays. I heard the love of your life was taken away by Master Whorehawk! Pathetic!" Celia chuckles, becoming more intoxicated each second.

Delonna's face twitches and he begins to get angry. "I suggest you shut up, Mrs.Sullas..."

"Dunnae tell meh to shawt awp in mah own hawsehawld!' Celia says while taking a large gulp of her heavy ale. Celia slams her mug down and twirls a dagger. 'Mebbeh I shawd pewt yeh awt of yeh mizery!" she says.

Delonna's face begins to boil red and he bites his lip trying to restrain his anger. He's never been one for killing. "I. Am. Leaving. Mrs. Sullas." he says as her begins to slowly stomp out of the tower.

"Aw, naw yeh dawnt!" Celia roars as she flicks a dagger that hits Delonna square on the shoulder. Delonna howls and quickly reaches for his scabbard. He draws his sword and turns around in an undying rage.

"You insult me for the last time, Mrs.Sullas." Delonna roars as he takes a smooth hack at a charging Celia. A dislocated head with long brown hair falls to the floor. Delonna pants heavily. Slowly he comes to the realization of what he's done. He quickly checks outside the gate quickly to see that no one is there and that the night covers him. He quickly runs off to the farm and quickly melts his bloody clothing and sword.

"What have I done ..." Delonna cries.

[chaotikal 2392]

[[**** just got real, Mum.]]

As Thelmaras finds the body, he turns away discusted and then picks up the body, taking it into Celia's Bed.

"W-Whoever did this...Will pay"

Thelmaras, after saying this, rises Thelmaril ontop of her body, swearing to avenge her.

[Korvic 930]

[[CELIA NUUUUUUU!!!! -Sips any leftover ale- Mmm. Where'd you get this?]]

[Dohvi 622]

((very well writen Aspect, a nice job. I just want to point out that there were no witnesses, and i will react harshly to any meta.))

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

[[CELIA NUUUUUUU!!!! -Sips any leftover ale- Mmm. Where'd you get this?]]

Remember the trip to Mt.Ire? ^^ I bought quite a bit.

[El Ricktador 1394]

Chieftain Ereinion sits cross-legged in Warhawke camp. He sits in the small tent that acts as a storage for books. He feels a great burden suddenly lift off his shoulders. He breathes in deeply, his eyes closing. The smoke produced by the fire hovers into his nostrils.

He can not explain the sudden feeling of.....triumph.

" A fallen enemy? A loss of a friend? Perhaps even the death of my dog, back at the camp....any one of them could explain what I am feeling..." Rei says, closing his eyes once more and returning to his relaxed state before the feeling of triumph had washed over him.

[gabriel101x1 463]

((This was IG after Ionia found out about Celia.))

Ionia Sullas lays curled up in the fetal position in Liethia's bed, Liethia and Barbu are downstairs, thinking that Ionia is asleep. She thinks to herself.

*Sobs quietly*

Why did mummy have to go to sleep?

I miss mummy...

*Whispers under her breath to no-one in particular*

Please wake up mummy.

*drifts back to sleep*

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

A mysterious breeze flies gently towards the child. It seems to say "Peace, little one."

[Eleatic 1033]

Before his fall Ikur had stayed alone within his room. A tear in his eye, wondering why /anyone/ would kill such a kind woman.. He stops, frowning as he hears the gushing of water downstairs.. He ignores it for a moment. And sighs, a tear still in his gaunt eye..

"Such a fate.. For such a kind woman." He murmurs.

[Dohvi 622]

Upon returning to his home, still mostly in shock about what he had done, Delonna wasted little time before removing and burning his bloodied clothes. "I have to stay calm and think rationally or i will be caught for sure"

Upon inspecting his injury, he comes to the decision that it isnt as bad as he previously feared...more of a gash than an actual stab, so after washing his wound, and the rest of the blood on him, he makes a poor attempt at bandaging it, before finding some clean robes.

After carefully washing and cleaning the blood off his prized elven saber, he sheathes it before dumping the blood coloured water into the ocean "I have to be careful here...too much on the line to mess up and...I cant believe im doing this."

Whilst still under the cover of night, he sets off for the warhawke camp, still not fully aware of what he has done. Its morning by the time he arrives, and the gate is opened for him when he calls out, and he heads straight for his tent, without speaking another word.

From where Chieftain Ereinion sits, he looks up through his long hair, watching Delonna, noticing both the bandaged shoulder, and teary face. He speaks up, "What seems to be the problem, Delonna?"

Delonna quickly turns to face his friend, somewhat jumpily, before looking back to his tent and making a slight gensture towards it with his head. Rei stands, understanding that Delonna wishes to speak of it in private. He walks over to him and joins him, his steps crunching on the gravel of the camp's roads as he does.

Delonna looks around, checking to be sure that their conversation is not being listened to before entering the tent, and taking a seat across the table from Rei. Delonna looks at Rei, with a look in his eyes that his friend had never seen from him. "I was in Haelun'or...and i...i" He finishes the sentence with a whisper, "I murdered celia...she was my friend, and i killed her. She was drunk and started insulting me...i just lost control and before i knew it i had cut her head off" Delonna weeps as he says it, finally coming to terms with what he has done.

Rei says nothing, his face shows no sadness nor pity for the death of Celia. He nods however, mostly to himself to ensure he understood, "Did anyone see you, Delonna?" Delonna shakes his head. "Everyone was asleep, and few people even knew i was in the city"

Rei nods, his eyes closing slightly, "Good, good. As long as you left nothing connecting the scene to you, all is well, Delonna." The Chieftain never did like Celia anyways.

[Mithradites 1168]

Are you going to fall, Lucion? Only the stupid fall.

Old words. Very old.

His father had spoken them on Lucion's tenth birthday. He took small boy to the mountains out in the wilds of Aegis, and had said the phrase as he pushed Lucion towards one of many precarious ledges. Lucion did not understand the point of his father's excursion. He had always presumed it was to prove a point, though what point it was remained elusive to him. It was most likely pointless cruelty that was trademark of the old family. Illogical.

Lucion's arms were pulled firmly behind his back as he stood upon the mid-section walkway that spiralled around the eternal College. His ragged eyes stared un-blinkingly out to the horizen as the cool ocean breeze gently brushed his face; coiling and twisting around his body, as if he were the stonework itself. The world was still and silent where he stood, broken only by the soft fluttering of his bone-white robes. By his left foot sat a simply light-grey urn; all that was left of Celia.

He slowly began to scan the horizen. He wasn't entirely sure why he was in this spot. It was no more significant than any other area of the city. He required time to himself, and the place was deserted. He tilted his head downwards, and his eyes wandered towards the grey urn laying near his foot. His eyes rested upon it for a moment as he re-examined it's roughly curved shape. He bent himself over haltingly, and placed both his hands firmly around the lip of the container, just below the lid. Holding the urn with his left hand, and propping it up against his chest, Lucion removed the lid and observed the ashes within. Grey and nondescript, the powder of his wife lay bare in front of him. He dropped the lid upon the ground, watching the frail pottery break into several pieces. He stared at the shattered pieces for a few moments before taking his right hand and, steadily, pushed deep into the dust, almost halfway up his palm. Running his fingers through the grey sand, he clenched his fingers, and pulled a handful of of Celia beyond the lid. Slowly, Lucion brought the dust to his eye, and relaxed his grip. The dust trickled through his hand, and became caught upon the wind, spreading it through the air in an instant. For many minutes, Lucion looked to the air where the ashes had disappeared; a blank expression adorning his face. However, his brow slowly furrowed, and he shook his head. Again he dug his hand into the dust and threw it into the wind. Now frowning and shaking his head vigorously, he took yet another handful of dust and tossed it into the wind. His brow eased and his mouth opened in bewilderment. He gestured towards the air and looked around himself; almost as if addressing an audience. He spoke to his crowd in an almost pleading manner.

"What is this absurdity?" He continued to look around himself, and his mouth extended into a nervous smile. He walked further towards the edge and peered over it, still smiling.

"What is this world I take so seriously?" He swivelled himself around, facing his non-existant on-lookers.

"How can this woman, the woman I loved and cherished, being so full of life and energy, be reduced to dust in a matter of days?" He flung his arm up lazily and a huge grin spread across his face as he shook his head in dis-belief.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!" A nervous giggle escaped from his lips as he looked down upon the ashes in the urn. Slowly, the giggle became a audiable and defined chuckle. The wind became stronger, as Lucion's chortling became louder. Soon, he bent over, holding his stomach as he roared with hysterical laughter, tears dripping from his eyes. He fell to his knees giggling madly, struggling to breathe and hold the urn. Finally, he fell on his back; the unsettling guffaws being blown away on the wind. As his merriment receded, an appearance of calm overtook Lucion's face. An almost serene smile spread across his face as he moved himself into a sitting position and smiled. Once more he gazed upon the urn and its contents. He tilted his head and whispered to himself hoarsely;

"My wife is dead. And I don't need a flask of dust." He placed the urn on its side in front of him, and with a light kick sent it rolling of the ledge; falling to the rocks and water below.

Picking himself up slowly, Lucion dusted off his coat and pulled his arms behind his back. With a slight smile and peering up at the sky, he spoke plainly and joyfully.

"Only the stupid fall, Celia." Old words. Old words with new meaning. He tilted his head towards the ocean.

"How could anyone allow themselves to die, when the end result is nothing but blood and ashes?"

Sighing deeply, Lucion turned, and began to meander down the path. But not before whispering one last sentence to the empty walkway.

"Goodbye, darling."

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

Are you going to fall, Lucion? Only the stupid fall.

Old words. Very old.

His father had spoken them on his Lucion's tenth birthday. He took small Lucion to the mountains out in the wilds of Aegis, and had spoken the phrase as he pushed Lucion towards one of many precarious ledges. Lucion did not understand the point of his father's excursion. He had always presumed it was to prove a point, though what point it was remained elusive to him. It was most likely pointless cruelty that was trademark of the old family. Illogical.

Lucion's arms were pulled firmly behind his back as he stood upon the mid-section walkway that spiralled around the eternal College. His ragged eyes stared un-blinkingly out to the horizen as the cool ocean breeze gently brushed his face; coiling and twisting around his body, as if he were the stonework itself. The world was still and silent where he stood, broken only by the soft fluttering of his bone-white robes. By his left foot sat a simply light-grey urn; all that was left of Celia.

He slowly began to scan the horizen. He wasn't entirely sure why he was in this spot. It was no more significant than any other area of the city. He required time to himself, and the place was deserted. He tilted his head downwards, and his eyes wandered towards the grey urn laying near his foot. His eyes rested upon it for a moment as he re-examined it's roughly curved shape. He bent himself over haltingly, and placed both his hands firmly around the lip of the container, just below the lid. Holding the urn with his left hand, and propping it up against his chest, Lucion removed the lid and observed the ashes within. Grey and nondescript, the powder of his wife lay bare in front of him. He dropped the lid upon the ground, watching the frail pottery break into several pieces. He stared at the shattered pieces for a few moments before taking his right hand and, steadily, pushed deep into the dust, almost halfway up his palm. Running his fingers through the grey sand, he clenched his fingers, and pulled a handful of of Celia beyond the lid. Slowly, Lucion brought the dust to his eye, and relaxed his grip. The dust trickled through his hand, and became caught upon the wind, spreading it through the air in an instant. For many minutes, Lucion looked to the air where the ashes had disappeared; a blank expression adorning his face. However, his brow slowly furrowed, and he shook his head. Again he dug his hand into the dust and threw it into the wind. Now frowning and shaking his head vigorously, he took yet another handful of dust and tossed it into the wind. His brow eased and his mouth opened in bewilderment. He gestured towards the air and looked around himself; almost as if addressing an audience. He spoke to his crowd in an almost pleading manner.

"What is this absurdity?" He continued to look around himself, and his mouth extended into a nervous smile. He walked further towards the edge and peered over it, still smiling.

"What is this world I take so seriously?" He swivelled himself around, facing his non-existant on-lookers.

"How can this woman, the woman I loved and cherished, being so full of life and energy, be reduced to dust in a matter of days?" He flung his arm up lazily and a huge grin spread across his face as he shook his head in dis-belief.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!" A nervous giggle escaped from his lips as he looked down upon the ashes in the urn. Slowly, the giggle became a audiable and defined chuckle. The wind became stronger, as Lucion's chortling became louder. Soon, he bent over, holding his stomach as he roared with hysterical laughter, tears dripping from his eyes. He fell to his knees and screamed howling, struggling to breathe and hold the urn. Finally, he fell on his back; the unsettling guffaws being blown away on the wind. As his merriment receded, an appearance of calm overtook Lucion's face. An almost serene smile spread across his face as he moved himself into a sitting position and smiled. Once more he gazed upon the urn and its contents. He tilted his head and whispered to himself hoarsely;

"My wife is dead. And I don't need a flask of dust." He placed the urn on its side in front of him, and with a light kick sent it rolling of the ledge; falling to the rocks and water below.

Picking himself up slowly, Lucion dusted off his coat and pulled his arms behind his back. With a slight smile and peering up at the sky, he spoke plainly and joyfully.

"Only the stupid fall, Celia." Old words. Old words with new meaning. He tilted his head towards the ocean.

"How could anyone allow themselves to die, when the end result is nothing but blood and ashes?"

Sighing deeply, Lucion turned, and began to meander down the path. But not before whispering one last sentence to the empty walkway.

"Goodbye, darling."

As Lucion leaves a peaceful breeze flies through him. "Peace, love." it seems to whisper.

[Dio Astóre 69]

Rain again. It had been raining often of late; crying eternally the muse of the Maheral. The falling grains of sand in the large, flamboyant hourglass provided a vivid spectacle as the water droplets echoed a tattoo over the city. Dio could hear a dirge in the air, and he hummed its somber tune, running his finger up and down over the glass. The simple sheets above the study were as he left them. The only sign of Thelmaras having had been there was the empty journal he left for him by the side of the bed being missing, nor was he at the Sullas' tower where he had went earlier to save others the macabre spectacle, though by the time he had arrived the body was not to be found.

"Where had the boy gone?", he thought to himself, paying little mind to the cacophony outside. The music had stopped, though the storm had not.

The canvas painting behind his eye was a morbid one; black, red, a little opaque blue, those were the brushes hues. Memory dyed visions in colours worse than the senses might, which Dio thought about as well. "Is the ice colder in the remembering?", so did it go. Deep lakes; abyssal depths that chilled more than the frozen shield that concealed its lack of light, of hope. At the bottom might yet lie treasure, if there were but a lantern to light the way. Light. Golden and silver light. Pure, never to tarnish, never to fade. A heavy wooden door swung on well-oiled hinges, and the Maheral's face met the cold downpour. He felt warmer outside, despite it.

On the horizon the clouds looked thin, rapidly dispersing. Dio wondered whether another Maheral, in another time, stood there upon that spot, gazing in the same direction, at the same rising sun. By the time the rays had been refracted and reflected into the perceivable spectrum - the colours of the Heial'thilln - it ceased to matter.

"karin'ayla, Asul", so he intoned to himself, breathing in the crisp air, scented by the morning dew. "Things still to do", though the thought was far from new.

[steelersfan1221 300]

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