Flame of Aaerna (\'/'\`/)

[Elrol]

Ok, the RP now begins, my say goes, not to sound like a butthole. Please play by the rules, don't godplay, or act as if you are the unstoppable invicible, all powerful character who can be done no harm. Stay to the rules and we'll all have fun. I'd also like to add that i'll be playing my character Elrol along with you all, but i'll keep things fair, and play him as if he knows not much more than the rest of you, you have my word. Remember what I said in the sign up thread, and have fun! Here we go!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

---King Ronan suffered another night plaqued by the same forboding nightmare, one in which he chased the same illusive flame only to see it exstinguished as he neared it. Waking in a cold sweat, he shot straight up in bed, still panting from the dreadful ordeal. When woud he stop?, he thought. He was growing so very weary of this tantalizing event that came upon him every night as he lay down to rest; hoping for a peaceful, nightmare free, night. Now that he thought about it, it hadn't been this bad a fortnight ago, occuring randomly through the week, but lately it had been happening everytime he dozed off. With such a lack of sleep, he was growing ever so tired, and ever so longful for just a bit of uninterrupted sleep. Just the previous morning he had dozed off while listening to the new taxation policies and their reprocutions, only to be prodded awake by a very disgruntled looking advisor. He had refused to admit it for a long while, but this problem's growing intensity was beginning to interer with his responsibilities as king of Mryn. Something had to be done and soon, though he had been very reluctant to come to this conclusion since the odd dreams had began weeks ago. Tommorrow he would call the town Seer to his halls to try to make sense of it all, and perhaps lay rest to this nightly event. Yes, tommorrow, it would finally come to an end, he thought.

 

He lay back on his pillow and stared up at his bed's canopy, as it slowly blurred away, and he was off asleep yet again. Moments later, he shot up in bed again, but this time not from a nightmare, he had heard something. There was a sound, and feeling coming from outside his window. He lept from the bed, still in his night gown and marched over to the window, his senses tingling.

 

Below Myrn was layed out like a tapestry of twinkling lights, all intricately weaved into their place over the years since the reforming of the Procurian Empire. The city seemed well, King Ronan could find nothing amis, nothing out of the ordinary. He gazed down the ivy strangled wall below and saw noone within on the castle lawn or on any of the nearby turrets or ledges. He made way to go back to bed, but just as he did something caught his eye. It was not a gleam or a glimmer. It was instead a bit of darkness, precariously out of place.

 

Along the east wall, there was nothing but dark, but a full moon glowed brightly above. There were no trees, or obstructions to stop the moon's rays from striking the east wall, yet as he looked harder it was as pitch as the bottom of an ale barrel. And he stared at it, with curiousity, wondering how such a feat was being acheived, and at the same time a pit of fear arose within him. He watched it carefully, eyeing it with interest, and then just as sudden as he had spotted it, it grew. It overtook the east guard tower, and the guard lamps went black. Then, yet again it grew it was now over the East wall and inside the city walls, lamps and lights being snuffed out in its path. The King spun to the the West, scanning for any signs of entry by the mysterious darkness on that side. Another patch of darkness now closed in on the west side aswell, yearning to meet it's brother on the east side of town. Torchlamps continued to go out, making a darkened pathway toward the town's center, and then mergin in the center and heading south, toward the castle gates. And although every inch of his body told him to run, he was rooted to the spot. He gazed, unable to turn his away from the ominous scene unfolding before his eyes. With every moment it grew closer the castle gates, having overtaken half the city by now. And just as it came within 30 yards of the castle walls, a shriek rang out through the night air. A shriek of utter evil, and despair; ne of defeat, and warning. The frist rays of twilight swept over the horizon, spearing the oncoming darkness with it's neverending rays of sunshine. With this the mysterious darkness receded just as quickly as it had appeared, shrinking back behind the city walls and dissappearing into the wilderness beyond.

 

The King's eyes surveyed the city below, all seemed well, the darkness had apparently caused no damage save for killing more than half the towns streetlamps, and torchlights. His city was safe, he was safe, all was well. It was just a cloud, that's all it was a cloud must have floated over the city, blocking the moon, that's what it was, he thought encouragingly. And just has happiness, and relieve overcame him, his door burst open, one of his guards standing their bent over striving for breathe. "Sire!!!..........town........dark.........people........vanished", he managed to get out between breaths. "What?" replied the King, "Catch your breath first son." The man stood for a moment, seemed to catch his breath and attempted to speak again, "Sire, the darkness came, and when it left, we investigated the town, and everywhere we searched that the darkness had inhabited just moments before the people they...", at this he broke off. "They what?, out with it, son, out with it." "Sire, they're gone, they vanished, no sign of them. There was no indication of a struggle, nothing, everyone who was inside that dark is gone, not a trace. We can't find them." Panic overcame the King,

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes Sire I am, most sure of this."

"Very well, private, go to my study, open the top left drawer of my desk, you know the one I'm speakin of?", the soldier gave a curt nod, "In there you will find a thick roll of parchment bring it here at once. On your way alert my chief advisor to gather the remaining townsfolk to the castle coutyard, double the guard around the city, and send scouts into the forest, perhaps they can send a forewarning, should it return." Without hesitation, the he rushed out of the room, and returned minutes later, out of breath once again, and clutching the parchment roll.

"Did you tell my advisor?"

"Yes, Sire, I did indeed, here is the parchment you asked for."

The King snatched it, and began unrolling it. He strode over to his beside, grasped his quill and began scribbling away, using the castle wall as a writing desk. He handed it back to the soldier.

"This is a note, with list of names, exist the castle gates, turn left at the first oak you see, and you'll find a small cottage with shabby blue paint. Give this to him, he'll know where to find them, and what to do. Do not, lose this list, do not stop for anything. It is urgent he get this at once, though i do not doubt he suspects exactly as i do"

"May I ask sire, what it is you suspect, what is all this about?"

"There is a great danger awakened, an evil long witheld for centuries, and I fear it has been released upon this world, time is of the essence, now GO!!!"

The soldier flew from the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Now we must wait, the King thought, wait, and hope they arrive in time.........---

 

 

 

 

A tall elven man walked the length of the alleyway and steped into the streaming light of the lampost just feet away. His hair was long and black, highly untidy, the points of his ears poking out from long streaming mess. A solid gold hoop, with a red ruby in its center hung from his left ear. His skin, was a pale white, and had the appearance of almost being seethrough. A long streaming black leather trenchcoat trailed the ground at his feet. It had a few restiched spots, apparently holes, and a bit of wear and tear. At the back two slits started at about shoulder height and continued to the bottom creating a long handing section in the middle of the two slits.It was unbuttoned all theway down and revealed a dark brown shirt tucked into a bare of black hide pants. A thick leather belt looped it's way around his waist and held a small short sword on his left, and a crossbow on his right. The sword's hilt was a deep bronze, and the handle highly polished oak from years of use. It's scabbard made of a plain leather variety, and a small leather braid down the middle showing glints of blade through it. A bolt quiver strapped itself to his left thigh, and contained a tightly packed amount of crossbow bolts. His feet were glad in soft hide boots, blackened by the dirt of the wilds. Protruding from the top of his right boot, was clearly the handle of a dagger. Both his hands were covered in leather hide gloves, the fingers having wore out of both of them. A solitary raven perched on his shoulder.

 

He took a left and continued down the street, took a right at the next alley, and into a dead end. He paused for a moment, took a solitary glance around, and walked straight through the wall before him, only to emerge seconds later in a dimly lit corridor. To his left was a dead end, and to the right a door, he opened it and proceeded down a narrow staircase and atlast emerged into a rather large dome shaped room, piled with books, odd looking black instruments, and bird cage(the door open), and piles upon piles of yellowing parchment. In the very center of the room stood a table with an odd shaped three-dimensional map with little figureds moving about it's surface. He walked over to the far end and sat down at a desk, barely visible through the piled mess. A window set in the wall behind him showed a view of a waterway, though which a rather large passenger ship was now travelling. He gazed experessionless out at it, and then turned his head to peer around the room. A mirror hung on the opposite wall, except that it held no reflection but a slivery vapour of smoke. He reached inside his cloak, and his hand emerged with a piece of parchment, sealed with wax. He carefully opened it, and leaned back in his chair as he did so. It folded open and he began to read, his expression growing a bit more interested as he went on.

 

DearMaster Elrol, the King of Mryn requests your presence, the time has now come

 

Sincerely, Spencer Kingsfield

 

He looked up from the letter and over at the raven who had now perched itself inside the birdcage hanging from the cieling. "Looks like We're needed in Mryn old friend. Come on Corvus, let us be off, wouldn't want to keep old Ronan waiting." And with this he started rummaging through the room gathering objects, and packing them in a small leather pack loaded with pockets........

[Kethruch]

(continuing in your past tense)

 

"By The Gods!" came a shout from the back room of a small building in the town. "What in heaven's name is going on!" The darkness that had snuffed out his light and had just as quickly gone away confused him, but only for a moment.

 

A tall man in a long hooded robe looked down at the pile of debris on his desk. He took a trembling hand and brushed a stray greasy lock of his dark hair away from his eyes and hooked it back over his left ear. "Eighteen hours straight, on the verge of success, and poof. What a waste." He mumbled some other epithets to himself as he brushed the remains away of another failed experiment. He checked the oil level in the lamp, and seeing it as ample, moved away.

 

The desk cleared, he moved over to his bunk, and slowly pulled out the case underneath. Whatever caused the problem, he sensed it was not natural. Lights don't just go out and come back on. Flames don't run out of fuel and then suddenly rekindle. He took a large package out from the case, and gently unwrapped it. He had hoped that this part of his life had been put behind him but in the back of his head he guessed he always really had known would never really be able to be put away forever.

 

Slowly he unrolled the pack, the scent of oil permeating the air. He always hated the smell, but it was the only way to keep the rings in good shape and free of rust. He held up the hauberk in front of him in a smooth motion that showed both a strength and familiarity that could only have come from long use. Slowly, he spread the hauberk out neatly on his bunk and slipped off the hooded robe, revealing a worn brown shirt underneath. The light now showed over his angular features; a long, narrow face, including dark, deep set eyes, reddened by hours and hours of close study over the experiment. Then, the brown shirt also came off, to be quickly replaced by the padded shirt. The leather leggings were next, stiff with unuse. Then, the hauberk slid over the shoulders, and laced with a new leather thong. It's going o be a while before this feels comforatble again he thought to himself as he finished the lacing, thinking of all of the new parts he had put together so carefully, but never thinking to size them properly. After all, he had really intended to retire this time, and the shirt and leather leggings were meant to be for no more than show pieces.

 

The last two items in the case, a wicked-looking flange and a well kept warhammer, fit neatly into their holders on each hip. The cloak once again put on, a leather pack slung over his shoulder, Caeleth Moonchaser was once again ready to face the outside world. He opened his door, and looked out on a suspiciously quiet street.

[Elrol]

(thought I'd add that your all supposed to be scattered across the land in various places, but I assume most of you have made that assumption already. And excellent post Kethruch ;D)

 

 

-The Raven-out

[Greywolf]

Undisturbed by the strange happenings in Myrn, a small hamlet on the corner of the empire was a home of riff-raff, bums and bandits. A popular hideaway of those not wanting to be found, its reputation was dark but its appearance less than impressive. A small collection of broken down huts, a muddy well and a solitary tavern. The only past times were watching your back, drinking and wenching. Needless to say, Kriss was a den of iniquity.

 

The Rat's Arse (RA) was always busy, being the only decent building in Kriss. A number of back-stabbers, cutthroats and bandits called it home. Its ale was sour, and its women free. The stained floorboards creaked, the door hinges creaked and the rafters creaked, but she stayed together. A couple drifters walked inside and ordered a couple ales. Ale was the only thing to order.

 

The dwarf, Heric Jacubson filled the two glasses with the RA's brew and tossed them down the bar to the newcomers. Heric owned the RA lock, stock and barrels. He was dirty, coarse and grumpy. Biting off a piece of fingernail blackened with grime he looked around, a couple wenches and plenty of customers to go around. He spotted his newest "employee," Tina.

 

"What a wench," Heric had thought when he first saw her, for a human anyway. She had a firm set of breasts and a tight ass, but she looked fit, strong and like she could give a few riding lessons. The men and elves liked her, paying enough to make him wonder what went on upstairs. Heric hadn't touched her though, he was in this for the money, not the pleasure, and he made plenty of it. Between pimping the girls and the booze he was pulling in enough to retire… once he found someone willing to buy.

 

Heric watched Tina go upstairs pulling an elf with her. That girl really got around. She was nice and naughty, and that was why Heric had hired her. Heric poured another drink as the couple vanished upstairs.

 

…

 

Tina pulled on the belt of Jack Black as she entered the crummy bedroom. She turned back to flash a smile with her white teeth, peculiar to a heap like the Rat's Arse. Her deep blue eyes looked at the elve's lustfully, and yet something lurked there … something cold. She brushed a few strands of her golden hair out of her eyes. It had been recently washed and the shoulder length allowed her customers a good grip.

 

A simply tunic of leather was all she wore, tight fitting to show of the goods while pliable enough to move easily with her. It was slightly faded from use and had been repaired at one time, but it was still decent clothing enough for a wench. She flashed her naughty smile again and pulled Jack in the room closing the door, latching it.

 

Jack pulled her roughly into a clumsy embraced and kissed her. His breath stank of ale and tasted bitter in her mouth, but she kissed back with ferocity. Jack slipped the shoulder straps of her tunic off and pushed it down to the floor. That was when Tina reacted.

 

A knee to the groin caused the elf to double over gasping. Tina grabbed his head and with a swift movement broke his neck. Tossing the body aside easily, her lithe developed muscles glinting in the moonlight, Tina replaced her tunic. She pushed her bangs back on either side out of her eyes, then walked to the window. Her mission here was finished; no more seducing morons and outlaws. Black was dead, after weeks of waiting for him to let down his guard, to get away from his muscle, and to pick her for the night. She was a silent and efficient killer, the target had been Black, and Black was dead.

 

Jack Black, notorious outlaw and bandit, scum. He had a dozen murder warrants on him and finally someone had the sense to hire an assassin. Unfortunately, the clan had chosen her because of her … skills. She hated parts of her job, but she wasn't about to contest the Grandmaster's judgement … well … not again.

 

She opened the window and scaled down the wall, dropping silently into the grass. She snuck through the small adjoining stables, half rotten, to where a couple horses were eating hay, half rotten. She took one and led it away from town, the noise of the tavern left behind. She mounted and road away, leaving behind the body of Black, the tavern of slime, the dwarf Heric, and the alias Tina. Alisia Silverlock rode into the night.

[ThetaOrionis01]

It was a night made for flying, A few beats from her powerful wings took her higher, out of the valley itself, into the thin air where the moon kissed the mountain-tops. In the silvery light she bathed, a dark silhouette before the moon to anyone watching from below. A shimmer on the mountainside caught her eye, and she folded her wings into a dive, laughing with the exhilaration of the cold air streaming past her body - a chill embrace, an icy caress. Above the waterfall she pulled out of her dive, steadied herself, watched her own shadow glide across the moon's reflection in the pool below.

 

She knew this pool, formed by the falling water high above the valley which had been her home for so many years. A glimpse of silver in the pool made her shiver briefly - silver, the colour of cold death - before she smiled to herself. Her wings folded tightly against her body, her arms outstretched before her she plummeted, down past the cataract, down into the face of the moon on the water, down into its silvery depths. Down, down, down - the pool was deep. She knew it well for its secret treasures.

 

Her fingers touched the rocky ground, and systematically they began to search until they encountered something. Nearly out of breath she kicked downwards, propelled herself to the surface, and found a shallow ledge. She smiled when the moonlight revealed what she had found - one of the white crystals that the water washed out of the mountainside up above, and carried over the falls into this treasure chest.

 

A shadow fell across her, and she frowned. Who dared intrude upon her solitude?

 

The cloud passed, yet the night seemed less bright. Faaerlys breathed in deeply - sensed a change in the wind. And more. Something else had changed. Faaerlys shivered, and launched herself up into the air again. Above the pool she paused, scanned her valley for anything unusual. There was nothing.

 

Clutching her moonstone in one hand she let her wings carry her on the wind, until she was far enough out from the mountainside. Then, once more, the steep dive down to lower altitudes. Her stone tower rose from a promontory of rock, its roof above the tops of the trees lower down the hillside. There she landed gracefully, and touched the carved stone by the slanted door set into the stone.

 

After the chill night air her home was warm and welcoming, and the soft glow of lamps greeted her as she walked down the stairs to her living quarters. But something was wrong. The wards upon her tower had been breached - someone had entered her home.

Furious now she dropped the moonstone on the ledge of a narrow window looking out into the trees, prepared for battle. But she found nothing in her bedchamber, nor in her living quarters. Her glance scanned the many shelves and ledges - nothing had been taken. If any of her books had been touched she would have known it at once. None of her gems or her gold had been taken. And yet - someone had been here, she knew it.

One level down, to her kitchen and her workroom - nothing.

She descended the final flight of steps, down to the entrance hall of the tower, armed now with a crystal dagger. There was no one there.

 

But someone had been. On the small table in the hall a scroll of parchment had been left.

 

She read it, and breathed deeply. So the time had come, to redeem old promises and pay old debts. Absentmindedly she reset the wards upon her door - it would not open to any now, friend or foe - door and wall had become one.

 

Deep in thought she ascended again, to pack what she would need. She did not relish the thought of having to conceal her true form, of having to endure the company of others not of her kind.

 

She gazed long into her mirror. Her leathery skin, heritage of her kind, looked black, but in the sunlight it shimmered with deepest, darkest red. Faaerlys Shadow-wing sighed. Even that she would have to change, forsake her shimmering dark skin for the pallor of an Elven face. And to give up flying while in the human lands - that would be hardest of all.

 

From a cupboard she took a pack that would strap to her back without hindering her wings, packed some garments, a few things she would need. Her glance fell upon the new moonstone, and with a sigh she placed it upon the table by her bed. No time now to cut and polish it, and unlock its secrets.

 

She touched another stone in the wall, and it opened to reveal a small chest. What it contained she would not leave for anything. Carefully she lifted out the necklace of white gold and moonstones, wrapped it into a silken cloth, before that, too, found its way into her pack. White gold also was the armring she took from her treasure chest next, carved with many flowing lines and symbols. It was long since she had felt the need to arm herself with this, and yet - she feared that she would need whatever magic she could summon. Only a ring was left now in the box, and this she slipped upon her finger.

 

From another chest in her workroom she scooped a handful of gold and gemstones - those humans knew not the real value of such things, but would accept them greedily in exchange for food and shelter.

 

With a last sigh she climbed back to the roof. The wind had risen, and clouds were streaking across the sky. One last time she turned back towards her home, spoke a soft word, traced a shape upon the carved stone. And beneath her feet, the tower became part of the rock - none but she would now find their way inside.

 

"Mryn," she whispered, and spread her wings.

 

A first flicker of lightning played about the Bagrin Mountains as she climbed out of the valley - a storm was about to break. With a cry that carried upon the night she turned, and raced before the wind to meet the summons.

[Elrol]

Elrol continued to dig through the room, looking for necessities for the journey ahead. He packed a few odd shaped satchels, food and drink, a whetstone, a small wooden flute, a dagger, a few rolls of parchment scribbled with odd symbols and runes, and then reached to take a map off the wall, gazing at it momentarily before hurridly rolling it up and cramming it into the pack.

http://216.77.188.54/coDataImages/p/Groups/132/132860/folders/129980/1089264Legaria5.gif

 

"Well Corvus, that's it I think, we must be off, if we head out tonight, we should get there in no time. Come let us be off".And with that, he threw the pack over his shoulder, motioned at the raven, and stepped toward the misty mirror. Glancing back at the room for one last time, he double checked his belonings within his mind and stepped through the silvery cool surface or the mirror. A rush of cool cold air swept about him; in moments he was standing out in an alley, his back facing the wall he had mysteriously stepped through hours ago, the raven sitting alert on his shoulder. He steped into the dark street, and vanished into the night.

 

 

(SIDENOTE: a note to all each square in the grid is Approx. 100 square miles, that's 10 miles to each side ;D. That way we all have the same view of distance on things)

[wesaynothin]

The old tree trunk reflected off of a pool of fresh blood. A man was putting on his shoes, avoiding the blood. His hair was black, and short. He was tall and gaunt, his skin pale. His green-twinged eyes looked up at the foggy night sky. Then they glanced down at what remained of the deer. The meat was torn off of the bones. The man calmly strolled out of the tree-covered area into the town. The last drunks were being helped out of the pub as he darted back to his cottage.

 

He remembered eating three deers and four rabbits that night. He hadn’t eaten in a week like that. He had been hungry. Of course the townspeople knew there was a werewolf in town. But it didn’t bother the people. It stayed with forest animals.

 

Eaden’s cottage was small, shabby. He lit a candle as he walked in. There was a small wash-basin over in one corner, and little table covered in gears and knobs he had been tinkering with in the other. His bed sat directly across from him, its sheets tossed on the ground and it’s pillow lost somewhere along the way due to bites and scratches. He had never been a good sleeper. But that night he did sleep. It had been a while since becoming his proper form, and it felt good to do so.

 

Eaden woke up to find something on his desk. A note. He rubbed his eyes and picked up the note.

 

Leave werewolf. Leave now.

 

“Short and sweet.” Eaden sighed to himself, looking at the letter again. “Another move.”

 

Eaden picked up his pack and stuffed some clothes and food in it. He lifted up a plank and took a small pouch of money from the cavity and placed it in the pack too. He exited the cottage, and looked at the village one last time. He had begun to set up a life here too.

[ObsidianKnight]

Armiena was creeping through the woods, looking for her next meal. THe hunt had not been kind to her lately. Was it really true that a werewolf had taken up residence in these woods? The presence of one of those foul beasts would scare away the wildlife easily.

 

Finally, she found a sign--excrement from some sort of animal. It was fresh. Judging from the animal's tracks, it was a young deer, female most likely, heading towards the south. Armiena followed them, readying her bow.

 

Armiena continued to follow the tracks for almost an hour. A new set of tracks appeared parallel to the deer's. Armiena bent down to examine them.

 

She shuddered--it was a werewolf that left these. There was no point in continuing to follow them; a werewolf would leave nothing but a few gnawed bones behind.

 

Armiena didn't like the town of Myrn, but she was getting hungry. Perhaps she should visit the tavern hunt, and continue the hunt another day.

[Greywolf]

Alisia had been riding all night, and as dawn broke the northern tree line of the Pryn woods appeared through the morning mist. Threading her way along paths known only to the clan, Alisia went deeper into the dense forest. Riding at a reckless speed through unnoticeable gaps in briar and hedge, thorn and tangle-grass, she came to a stop as a solitary house came into view.

 

It was a single story house of simple fashion, with a thatched roof and wooden walls. The biggest difference was that a huge tree grew through the center of the house, the building built around it. Flora also grew over the entire building causing it to blend in with the surroundings. Alisia only noticed it because she knew it was there: home.

 

Alisia had called the low wide house her home for many years. Her uncle had brought her here when her parents had died to be taught by Grandmaster Thail Ravenwood. Her uncle had told her that she was a Silverlock … the last of the line and thus had a heritage to uphold an honor to maintain. Alisia had kept that honor.

 

She led the horse forward quietly. The birds were silent; a wry grin perched at the corner of her mouth, threatening to widen. Suddenly, she released the horse's reigns and brought her leg around in a high kick, stopping it right before smashing into the trachea of a young man.

 

The man didn't flinch, even with the pressure of her sandal against his throat. He was chewing on a blade of grass and just gave her a big grin. He was garbed in a brown robe, tied loosely around his waist with a rope. His feet were bare and he stood at ease, like he belonged there. His deep brown eyes had a sparkle to them and his raven black hair was cropped short, accented by a well-groomed goatee and mustache. His grin wrinkled his tanned face.

 

"Welcome home, Alisia," he said, a laugh bordering on his voice the entire time, "heard about your assassination. Not exactly a perfect accident."

 

Alisia released her foot; David could be so irritating … handsome sometimes, irritating always. True her assassination didn't look like an accident, Grandmaster Ravenwood would be displeased at that, but the contract didn't call for that. Alisia continued on, not answering David. He fell in step beside her.

 

"So Alisia, when are you going to try your "methods" on me. I'd be an avid learner," David asked, falling into the old sparring game they played.

 

"Not today David … not ever," Alisia replied bluntly, leaving the horse and stepping into the building.

 

"Ouch, guess you're not in a happy mood." David turned and walked away, Alisia watched him leave secretly then entered and began her journey down the corridors of the building. Two hallways and she was at her destination. She made not a single sound; no noise announced her arrival. She walked through the archways, missing any semblance of a door. Doors were not need here. Doors served to keep out things unwanted; here Alisia had learned to allow those things to enter into her life and how to deal with them.

 

Alisia entered the circular room; a small old man sat in the center of the room. He was garbed in the same kind of robe as David, his gray hair hiding traces of black. They were alike yet different, one older and more experienced, the other younger and more impetuous. Thail Ravenwood, Grandmaster of the art of Shinaru spoke:

 

"You make more noise than a herd of elephants, and yet you are the more the silent of all the students here." He looked up at her his slightly high voice almost comical and yet serious. "I heard about you mission, not a perfect assassination."

 

Alisia bowed to the Grandmaster, "my apologies Grandmaster Ravenwood, but the contract asked for his assassination, not an unfortunate accident." Alisia was pulling a legality in the contract … fortunately it would work.

"Truth you speak … but a master of Shinaru must seek perfection in their actions at all times. A single snowflake is perfect in its loneliness. Meditate on this."

 

Alisia bowed and turned to leave, she stopped about to say something, but continued. Grandmaster Ravenwood turned and watched her depart, then shook his head sadly.

 

***

 

Alisia went out into the training court, the small court in the center of the building open to the air with the large tree growing out of it. There an elf was practicing archery with a multi-branched candlestick as her target. Each arrow she shot snuffed out the fire without damaging the candle. Eris Elmwey continued to practice ignoring Alisia … that was simply Eris' way with people.

 

Alisia walked over to a leather dummy stuffed with straw, hanging from a noose. She kicked it as hard as possible. It wasn't what the Grandmaster had said to her, it was what he hadn't. She had failed him; she always failed him. She stomped out of the courtyard, down a corridor to her bedroom.

 

It was a small room with a single window, a mat on the floor for meditation and sleep and a small table with quill and parchment. A small rolled up document sat beside it. Alisia walked over to it curiously and unrolled it. It was another contract. Alisia groaned.

 

She had just finished one, why was she always being sent. David hadn't had a contract for a month. Alisia sighed and changed. Throwing off the tunic of leather she donned a brown robe, tying it off with a rope. Grabbing a staff from the corner, she looked like a travelling pilgrim. She grabbed a water-skin and pouch to fill at the kitchen on her way out.

 

She picked up the scroll again and this time read it through its entirety. Alisia almost did a double take. The Grandmaster had to be joking. She read it a second time, then a third. She walked to the kitchens thinking, of all targets this was going to be the hardest she had ever encountered. She stocked up on supplies and threw the parchment on the kitchen fire.

 

Grabbing her newly acquired mount from the stables she led it out the way she had come in. She was afraid; the Grandmaster either wanted her to fail or had too much faith in her. However, she would not question his orders again and she would not dishonor her family name, or the clan of Ravenwood, or the art of Shinaru. At least she had a starting place to find this individual: Myrn.

[ThetaOrionis01]

By dawn Faaerlys had left the mountains behind, and with it the storm. Out over the plains the night was clear, and she flew fast. Daybreak saw her on a small island in Lascar Lake - she never liked flying over inhabited lands by daylight. And even she needed to rest.

She found a sandy beach overshadowed by tall trees, and there she slept, until voices nearby woke her. A couple of fishermen had landed their boat on the beach, and looked uncertainly at the tall she-elf who rose, and shook the sand out of her dark hair. Faaerlys swallowed her anger at the intrusion - she was no longer in the lands of the Aaerlings, and other customs applied here.

 

"Greetings," she said gravely, and nodded towards the men.

"Greetings, m'lady," the fishermen replied hastily, then one of them added: "Didn't mean to wake you, m'lady - there's never anyone here on this isle but us, and we weren't to know. It's our midday meal we have here, and maybes you'll share it with us?"

 

Faaerlys inclined her head gracefully. "Thank you for your kind invitation. I would be honoured to share your meal. And perhaps also what news you have - for I have spent long in solitude."

The men nodded - elves had odd ways. "There not much news as comes our way, m'lady," one of them volunteered. "It's a quiet life, ours - fishing, a bit of farming on the shore. But I've heard tell that over in the forest there's all kinds of creatures as aren't natural. Treg the hunter, now, he swears he saw a stag with two heads."

"Treg's a drunkard," the other grunted. "Don't you take his word for anything."

"Didn't say I believed him, did I?" the other retorted. "Now, there's one odd thing happened - couple of days past, maybes 3, there's a rider going past in the night. Straight through our village - riding like the wild hunt were after him. Didn't make much of it - not my business, like, until my boy, he found a horseshoe the next day. I tell you - that shoe came of no horse I've ever seen. Twice as big than any other brute that horse must've been."

" A strange messenger, on urgent business, perhaps," Faaerlys said thoughtfully. "Bar your doors at night, in case anything pursues him."

The men exchanged odd glances. "Now you's mentioned it, there's been no door in the village left unbarred those last few nights. Don't feel right even letting the little ones out to play, my wife says - keeps them within sight all the time now."

"That may be wise," she replied.

The men shrugged it off quickly - it was a bright day, and the spooks of the night were banished by the sunlight which glittered on the still water of the lake. The meal they prepared was fish from the lake, with bread their wives had provided for them. Faaerlys ate sparingly - bearing in mind that according to those strange human customs refusing the meal would have been a grave insult. The meal over, the men offered to take her to the shore, but this the Aaerling declined with a smile, saying she required more time to meditate. The fishermen didn't question it - they all knew that Elves had strange customs.

 

She watched them row away with relief, but did not drop the illusion which concealed her true form. Elves they might find strange, but what would they make of a winged Aaerling? Their tale she dismissed for now - perhaps the rider in the night was connected to her summoning. Most likely not. She would find out when she reached Mryn.

 

During the afternoon clouds began to mass over the lake, and the air grew still and humid. The storms, it appeared, had found their way out of the mountains, and now gathered for their assult upon the plains. Thunder rolled in the distance, faint at first. Impatiently she waited for nightfall. It would be early on this day.

The storm broke before dusk, and Faaerlys Shadowwing decided to leave. None would look at the sky in weather such as this.

She hated flying in the rain. The lightning did not frighten her - she had long since learnt how to weave a little of her magic into a shield around herself that would divert the bolts away from her - but the rain chilled her, and made the muscles which powered her wings cramp and ache. The wind gusted, shifted in direction, and nearly sent her down into the trees on one occasion. With a curse she rose higher, her muscles screaming with the effort.

The rain lessened, and the wind eased as she drew nearer to the Falorn mountains. She rested briefly under an overhang of rock, allowed herself to dry off. Out over the plains and the lake, the thunderstorms were still at play, but over the mountains the night was clear. A good night for flying, again.

By midnight she had crossed the mountains, and reached the forests north of Mryn. She followed the course of the river Candine, skimming the treetops, until the river emerged from the shadow of the trees. Ahead lay the road, and Mryn was not far.

With a sigh Faeerlys landed, concealed herself once again in her Elf form. It was not wise, she thought, to fly over any human settlement, least of all a city like Mryn - those humans were ever too ready to attack anything and everything. She didn't relish the thought of becoming an archer's target.

 

By the edge of the forest she waited, rested a while. So close to the road she would not sleep, though her gold and jewels were warded with a simple spell. But the rest of the night passed peacefully, and the weather held dry, and as soon as the first light of dawn was in the sky she set off towards the gates of Mryn. She reached them with the sunrise, and was allowed to pass unchallenged.

 

Even at this early hour the city was bustling. She paid little heed to the noise, the shouts - she had an intense dislike of crowds, and had never understood how humans could bear to live in such close proximity to one another. Small wonder they were always at war with one another!

One of her wards was breached, and she glared at the young pickpocket who had dared reach for her purse.

"Go," she said threateningly, "go, and tell your kind not to bother me again. The next one who tries to rob me will not fare so well. Go!"

The child fled, and she continued her walk through the streets of Mryn. Perhaps it was the glare of anger in her eyes that opened a way before her, made people leap out of her way with a murmured apology, but she was no longer jostled and pushed.

 

The crowds thinned out by the temple, and she climbed the many steps to the top. She caught her reflection in the still water of an ornamental pool up there, stopped to look at herself how others would see her now.

A tall elf gazed back at her - her face pale as befitted one who loved the moonlight. Her true colour was in her hair - black in the moonlight, it shimmered with deepest red now that the morning sun was upon it. It was gathered in a small ring of white gold at the back, and cascaded past her shoulders. The dress she had chosen was of similar colouring - black, shot with red. White gold glittered upon her arm. The crystal dagger was concealed in a fold of her dress. None who saw her would have known that she had just travelled from the Bagrin mountains, or could have begun to guess what her purpose in Mryn was.

 

She sat down by a fountain in the temple courtyard and waited, to all who passed nothing more unusual than an Elven lady deep in meditation.

 

Those who had summoned her would know to look for her here.