Kyrrn

Flames. Scorched white tiles and bustling voices. Chaos incarnate. Time turned in a slow march as indistinct voices called and shouted at each other. Everything around was a blur of silver tones and huddled bodies. On the edge of hearing a call which broke through the cacophony of voices, “Stop the mage!” Distinct from the clouded obscurity and the commotion was a figure, an elf of elder years draped in blue. Blue eyes held steady in focus. “. . . For mounting inaction posed on your behalf which led to this trial?” Flames. Beyond the periphery of vision and to the left, a torrent of flame shot through the open space. Chaos and disorder as the forms of the figures flee the fire’s path. Yet everything but the elf begins to fade into the fog. “. . . You are a disgrace to Silver Law and maehr’sae hiylun’ehya.” A haze, distinct from the background blur, began to creep at the edge of vision. Silver wisps lit in a glow which further clouded all but the elf. Embers swirled through the air, circling and coalescing into small burning shapes. Fire building and growing in one uniform ball. Chaos. Time sped and the movements in the haze drifted like shadows across a screen. Where the world had once lagged, events now turned at an excessive pace. The fire which consolidated and burned bright pushed forward suddenly towards the elf. Set upon a careening course for destruction. Darkness. — A pyre lit the center of the small church where a middle-aged Hyspian man stood near to it. A flamboyant, joyful aura spilled from the man as he beckoned one to follow him. A path was given which could only bring salvation and understanding. Hope. A path which saw trial and triumph that wound its way through life’s purposes and the meanings of that which surrounds. Pages and scrolls, poured through with literary reading and practical analogy. Times which brought joy and times which brought sorrow. Times which restored a heart to love. Order. Fire poured in two columns down an aisle. The Hyspian, a Santegian, and an Oyashiman man stood ready at its end. Two elves upon their knees moved between the flames. Heat. Warmth. Light. Words spoken now, clear as day, would ring through the hall. Blades were drawn by those who stood at the end, struck and lit aflame. “Benedicat Tibi Dominvs Et Cvstodiat!”

Skin: Kimono Bid: 200 minas Discord: Xerma#3621

The light ebbed away from the Maelnyr estate as the sun set across the rolling hills and forest that surrounded the domicile. Such short-lived in its life upon the lands it was erected on, and with nary its share of inhabitants who came and went. The guests who once arrived and departed in changing fashion just the same as the changing of seasons. As twilight overtook the vista, a pale, misty silver aura would vaguely illuminate an upstairs window. Barely visible for a few seconds before the dull glow of candlelight took over... The blond-haired elf known as Saoréan Maelnyr sat in his study upstairs this night, working over several documents and a journal as he collected together in working research. Penning down its consensus into his own work. Quill to inkwell, Quill to paper. “Ullran!” Uttered in quick acrimony as the inkwell was tipped from its perch and spilled across the pages. Silence soon returned to the estate. This time, however, it was far more apparent as the dark ink stained everything it touched. The shadows cast hauntingly from the flame of the candle danced upon the walls in the periphery of the elf’s vision. His eyes trained on the ink before him but his mind was quickly cast elsewhere. “Sao?” a feminine voice seemed to call. “Nessa?!” Saoréan responded with. The elf’s head snapped to a shadow that seemed to scurry away as the flame’s dance continued. “She won’t return.” another lower feminine voice called. “You left me at that grove!” Saoréan snapped in return, palms hitting against the desk’s surface as he rose to his feet. Once again, silence returned to the estate. Perhaps even more amplified by the dull creaking of it’s timbers as the wind picked up outside. The noises of the estate seemed to stretch onward and bring its own deathly chill to it’s last lone inhabitant. “And what about me?” an almost much-too-real masculine voice broke the silence of Saoréan’s mind. This last illusion seemed to break the elf’s will as his shoulders slumped forward and his head lowered. “It wasn’t meant to go that way.” Saoréan’s own voice answered. “Never to that end…” “Did it ever bring peace?” the voice asked conclusively. Did it, however? The question ringed within the elf’s mind as many voices and images flashed past his consciousness. Many years worth of memories culminated into his very existence at this moment. How the halls of his home felt barren to him. Kileath, gone to the world. Nessarose, gone to the world. Talia, gone to the world. The unnamed voices he heard, lost to the past of his conscious choice. Did it ever bring peace? The front door of the manor clicked closed as the elf known as Saoréan pulled it closed behind him. Footsteps on gravel and dirt as the figure moved away from the lone, solemn estate and off into the night for the final time. Soon the only noise that disturbed the night were horse’s hooves on cobbles that faded away into the distance.

Interesting ‘end-game’ for voidal. Good work.