Journals End.

[stormspirit]

*She opens the beaten black journal slowly, old charcoal writing can be seen peeking through worn and tormented pages, some stained with the red of blood others of tears.  She opens to near the end of the book, to one of the few blank pages within and starts to write.  No longer with charcoal but with quill, in a place called her own and a desk to sit comfortably at*

It has been years since we spoke my old friend, after I fled and you saved my life I put you aside, maybe carelessly, certainly without compassion.  Your unkind memories often haunted me, though your kind memories were often more painful. Reminding me of things lost and never regained, of family albeit poor who were taken out of hand, the small kindnesses of my mother.....

Yet that has passed now, the time long since gone for the the red dragon.  My service done for him, he was repaid in full for past kindnesses and cruelty. I would explain how, for you my ever curious book were one to have knowledge, knwledge of all that went on. Yet....relevance is small for today, I wish to close you forever, remembered as many old friends are, in only the final moments of your life or theirs.

Suffice to say I turned from the Dragon, and started on a new path of devotion with the Lady of the Weave, Mistress of all Magic.  This has been more than rewarding..she is a caring mistress and one I am proud to serve with all loyalty.  I feel old friend she is far more suited to my lunacy then even the Red was before her.  Strangely, her and I, I think we have several very similiar personality flaws.  That in itself however is of no consequence since I am not writing here to discuss such a thing.


Events of late have been far stranger, far far stranger.  They are bad in some ways, good in many others, but mostly they just herald a change in direction. Even now I can feel my path shifting, steps changing as all the things that now inhabit me mix and interact to form only a semi rational whole, maybe even semi rational is too strong, for at times I no longer know who I am, let alone what I am.

Elven, Human, Mage, Cleric, Thief, Scroll Bearer *wonders, or have I always been*, and so many others.  They pound the self relentlessly, seeking aswers that I often dont have, only to find that somewhere in me I do. To find that inside me now is more than has ever gone before.....let me tell you old friend of all that has changed, so in our final moments you will know why all you hold must pass. You see, my confidante, my comfort in the red darkness of the mountains slopes....even my past is no longer my own and you, I fear are no longer relevant.  Let me explain, for old companions need always know why they are passed on for new.

It started only a short time ago with a mage, whom told us of an item that was stolen...now I know it was not truly stolen but lost..and I know that maybe this mage had more knowledge of whom he was speaking to when he arrived than we gave him credit for. Random meeting it appeared, random meeting I do not think it was.

*mumbles something about a modified recall spell built to seek compatibility with the scrolls and scribbles some complex runic diagrams in the margin before continuing*


We of course sought the item stolen, this scroll that belonged more in legend in fact.  Thus it was I found my first admitted division of self...there was another but that admission old friend is not for you to hold.  The scroll...it was called stone...for it was the physical manifestation of the earth, the power of rock and soil, the endurance of the very bones of the mountains.  Yet it was more, it was alive, sentient and growing.  A small child he was when I opened the chest, it leapt to my pack in exuberance and joy, its innocence not bounded by the caution of experience.  I remember him differently now though my comfort, but that is of my second division...and I will tell of that later.

Stone and I talked much, he was a child in more ways than were imagineable...so much he did not know. Death was unknown to him, sadness and pain were lost on him. He did not know love nor hate...nor sorrow nor despair, he simply existed..a child in a vacuum of experience. He had no end and no beggining, nothing to tie him to illusionary concepts of value that tie so many of us.  So...I taught him of death so he understood risks, taught him of sacrifice and most importantly taught him of the love people bear for each other, I for him, for others.  He was a quick learner and did not need be shown twice.

*smiles into the space above her desk, remembering the first tentative steps she had taken with stone, shaping earth and rock...the images overlap with far older memories of her first steps....images of her on Voltrex, face slightly out of focus yet once more playing and learning of its abilities....she shakes her head and focuses once more on her journal*

Do those who opposed us matter in this tale old friend? I doubt it. Kelor...my brother the betrayer, bearer of fire...they do not yet matter as such.  More important is Kailia...is me.  We or now I.

I heard of *struggles a little to seperate Kailia* Kailia as stones first bearer, daughter of Melizaphai. Brother to Kelor and sister to Yamila. *the seperation fails dismally* I was raised in Voltrex, moved to Xantril to be taught by Ozlo and then finally ran to Arabel to follow the path of shadows..  Eventually I end in the Forest of Mists...*pain flashs through her eyes* where I  meet..a death?...at the hands of my sister and my brother.  Betrayed by family...new and old the betrayal was the same.


The search continued, I learnt more of myself as we went, filled in gaps and details ...before I was myself as I am now.  Finally we found my home, and thus the crystal, the start of me as I am.  The crystal that contained all my memories.  My storage device.  Serenity, old friend, she ceased to be as she was the moment the crystal gave to her the mind of Kailia.

I remember approaching it, Stone and I. There was little fear, the guardian was gone.  As we walked closer...shadows seperated from their brethren, and for the first time I met my old companion Blink...a creature of the land of shadow whom helped me with the ritual of awareness, the ritual that awakened stone to true life.  Blink told me of this, and of the path that I had walked before. The path of magic and shadows.  The path that I would soon walk again.

Then old friend..well here is the division that matters, the division that tells me I now must lose you as a part of my life that is gone.  I touched this crystal, this large emerald ...and my mind was assaulted by a dazzling array of imagery.....


    "Visions of home spring forth, her mother, pale amber skin and flowing black hair, green eyes filled with laughter and joy.  She smelled of lilies growing outside the tower and her embrace was soft and gentle, filled with care.  Visions of learning to cast light filled me and laughter...so much laughter as the spell failed time and time again...till finally I managed to get it right.  The delight felt in the sparse training room at the insignificant ball of light was immense"

    "Visions of my sister Yimiliara fill me, slim and graceful, short redish hair with freckles I always envied spotting her cheeks. I remembered the day, the peaks of Voltrex soaring high above, the two of us running along narrow mountain trails to a bridge over crashing falls and rapids...I tripped and Yimiliara pulled me once more to safety, her bright reflex and mind working in unison to supply my safety...a shame the next memory of her was my own demise."

    "A soaring spire of marble stone fills my mind and, elementals walking the outer the paths outside. The Tower of Earth, its greyish white marble facade glittering in the morning sun.  Images flicker and change to me learning there, learning of the past through days long since forgotten. Relics exhumed from a era gone and lost.  I watch as years pass, my hands become more steady and sure until finally I leave its sacred walls a master of my craft."

    "I recall the deserts of stone, land touched by rock and sand, sun blazing down mercilessly upon the earth.  My friends and I used to hide and play in the caves littering this rugged terrain while watching gnomish experiments, experiments the gnomes were not allowed to practice within the bounds of the city.  *smiles softly*  We watched many of these, my friends and I, not a one succeeded but it certainly appeared as if the gnomes had much fun trying."  

    "Memory follows of a journey by sea the the continent of Xantril, were I was to learn the basics of spellcraft from a mage called Ozlo. Our first meeting did not go well, a stuffy old creature he was all rules and hard for my young elven heritage to accept.  He taught little at first, rudimentary rules of magic and I see myself quickly bored.  Yet over time as light and sound unfold into dazzling mystery, my talent with magic quickly becomes clear, the training intensifies and becomes far more serious. I watch myself grow in the arts and become proficient..I watch as friendship grows with the old man, Blueberry pies and happy childish laughter drawing him from his dried shell of musty research."

    "Images change, and once more reveal Saida, Mother greeting me gracefull as always, the odour of lillies still clinging to her.  The images flicker and change to her study, her voice flickering rapidly over the properties of the four scrolls she presented.  I was surprised as she handed me a tablet of stone...i remember her words like they were spoken at my ear at this very moment:
      
   "They are safe as long as I remain, or at least my conduit. They are             powerful Kaila and many will seek them for that.  Kaila, protect             this one, it has the primal key to the others, it is no easy                responsibility, it will test you in many ways and I fear that it             will take its toll on you. You see my child I've placed a defense             around the others. They're somewhat protected from their users. I do             not want to get into detail so early for it will probably confuse             you. All you need to know now is that you must seek your cousin in             Arabel, Felimian has established a link with the locals and the can             lead you to understanding. This is my gift to the world, within the             end of this passage I will what may come in useful in the future. I             have linked our amulets so that only the two of us can open this             place, although you would need the other three scrolls to open them"

    "I see my confusion, and even more so as the tablet spoke to me. Childlike and questioning it asked many things, so many that were common sense, some that were simply uncommon.  Our bond grew quickly and he grew quickly..my Stone, my Laanela.  By the time I watched the return journey to Ozlos's home we were firm friends."

    "The scenes fade again, replaced with vista's of the city of Arabel, me following a halfling friend of mine as he introduced me to the many societies that hid in shadow, the groups who had dealing in the darkened places beneath where the law touched.  Hours of training come into view, of traps being set, lessons in striking fatally to the body and of moving unseen from shadow to shadow. He also taught me of the use fo the shortsword, though soon my skill with it exceeded his own...I see us dueling in our cave, time passing as I grew and became talented with twisting shadow around me, and twisting my blade. We formed a group in the darkness, became one with the society that permeated the cultural depths of Arabel.  Eventually I see myself meet with a larger group, The Shadow Theives and convince them to take as as a branch.  The path of shadows was begun"

    "Memory chrurns and the final scene of the initial contact arises, the edge of the picture framed by the red and black of fear.  Everywhere I walk twisted shadows of things I know, things I have seen rise and jeer around me. I see forms known, and yet unknown to me.  The dreary scene pushs against me, against my will to survive, it wants me the same as the rest, a mere shade of myself.  I walked and walked..I was here for purpose, to find a place of hope in this desolate land, to find the crossroads, the binding point between three places...earth, shadow and positive.  Finding it took dreary weeks...yet it was worth it, for as I watched I met Blink...a shade...guardian of the path to shadow.  It was he who deciphered the secret ritual of stone and he who aided me in its completion.
    For days the ritual went on, in this dark place where I could see pieces of myself fall free as we worked...melding shadow and earth together...At great cost, yet still, it was done.  I see myself return home, stone complete, alive and aware. It was here I gained my second true calling, and my new friend Blink. I watch as he teachs and deepens my understanding of shadow."


*She seems to return to herself, her writing ceasing, the last of the pages in the journal now filled.  She stands after so long sitting, so long at the desk and replaces the quill stretching briefly.  Picking up the journal she walks to the fire and looks deeply into the flickering orange and red flames.*

"It is time to go now old friend, our day is done and a new begins. A new family, a new path.  I will trace the steps I have traced before and see where it leads.  I have a new past...new future."

*She bends down, carefully placing the book in the flames, for a moment watching it catch light and then flare brightly, briefly before turning to ash.  She walks aways slowly, stopping briefly and seeming to ask her shadow.*

"Well...shall we begin?"

[stormspirit]

I approach the intricately carved door slowly, the wonder of being in my elven home on elven soil still not passed.  I pause at the entry, memories of happy times at this door flowing over and though me leaving a gentle glow behind.  Memories of a childhood approach to the door, fearing the monsters benath the bed, my mothers soft hand in mine offering comfort and support in these fearful times.

   I slowly reach out to touch it, feeling the mixed wood and stone grain beneath my fingers. I feel the perfect renditions of plants and animals carved into the face of the door. Elven markings they seem to lifelike to be mere portaits and eagerly brush against my hand.  I feel leaves, petals, soft fur, feathers and cold noses as my hand moves slowly along the surface and finally reach the middle of its face.  Gently I push the door open and though heavy, it moves without a sound.  Warm light spills out from the room, painting a gentle silhouette of my form in the hall behind. Tentatively I step over the threshold and into the warm space before me.

    As I step in I notice the room is large, though smaller than I remember. I know the room has not shrunk, it is more that I have grown. The world a much larger place than it was when I left, this place of my childhood still big, yet small compared to the experiences that have gone before.  As I look around the gentle smell of lillies wafts by me and more memories of my mother surface and float, her image flickering around the room in different poses as she moves from task to task..from mundane to magical. I see her unreserved smile and unrestrained laughter, something she had little of in public but unstintingly for her children.  My eyes refocus on the present and once more I see the surrounds that dominated so much of my childhood and early years...

   On the far side of the room a spacious bed dominates, soft silken threads of green covering a feather mattress I had sunk into many many many times.  Pillows cover almost the whole surface, colours undulating wildly over the sea of green. The temptation to sit on the soft landscape intensifies...stubbornly I shake my head and continue to look around, refuting the comfort for now, and saving it for later when I shall truly wish its embrace.

    My gaze moves slowly to the side and I note shelves and shelves of books from my times of study at the tower of earth and younger years. I slowly move toward them, touching the well used but cared for leather bound spines, scanning titles and fondly remembering all the years of good company these were.  My inspection turns to the bookcases themselves, yellowed with age but still clearly the finest mahogany, they tower close to the ceiling like monloliths to my learning.  I smile, they are of great size and still so full, pride for my little library fills me.

    Placed next to these is my old desk, many hours I spent leaning in frustration on its wooden facade, many hours of painstaking study and annoyance all rolled into one pleasant memory of learning.  I move to it slowly, the craftsmanship is exquisite, the carvings covering its thick legs and base, twining all the way to the writing surface.  Pushing aside some lose paper I see my old musings carved into into its wooden skin. Some simple notes or marks, others complex studies of spell chains so detailed I could almost cast them from the notes.  At the rear of the desk sits my many old inkwells, ink still freshly replenished despite my long abscence...almost as if they were aware, or hoped that one day I would return home.

    Before sitting to write of my day, I spy the last item in the room, a fine Armoire, carved from the same mahogany as the bookcase and shining temptingly. I wander over and open it, curious to see what it will contain. To my delight the shaded interior contains a horde of my old robes and dresses, all neatly hung and seeming to wait for me to step back into them.  I carefully push the robes aside to reveal the backboard of the Armoire, my fingers reach forward and carefully search till they find the hidden trigger. I flick the switch and the false boards fall open, revealing the secret hordes of my youth and years of trainng


  The items are orderly and arranged in a way that i found them..first I spy some smooth river rocks and a grey and blue barred feather..smiling I remember finding them at the stream near the city. I believed the were magical and bought them home.  It was when mother was to first show me the secret hiding place here.  Not mocking at all she informed me that this was a place for valuables..and these magical rocks and the fether were just that. They were magical to me and that made them priceless and irreplaceable.  My eyes follow the shelf to my first scrolls then stop and linger on my first ball invitation, the night I was presented to the elven nobility as an adult of the family of Hilliaraname.

    Memory surfaces..the night was warm and we were all out in colour. The grounds were lit gently, phospurescent light made of elven magic playing in the air.  Families mingled and the tinkling laughter of young woman was hearding mixing with the deeper tones of the men.  The scene accelerates, my
minds eye focusing on the dance, my partner a young elf from a wealthy old family, dress of green silk swirling, floating and spinning through the air as the stanzas of the dance play themselves to end.  I recall the flushed face and the exhilaration of somehow being out..on my own, as my own. I recall the final moonlit walk, my mother calling me away to send us all home before anyone was too rumpled.

    Finally I see the last object I placed here before I left, an old text that I had found in an urn. I discovered it when playing in an old disused dig site just outside of Saida. I was fascinated by the thing. It was old that was clear and contained hidden secrets I simply could not fathom.  Young and curious I spent days with it, prodding and poking, attempting to read the faded writing that was scripted in a language I did not understand.  This old thing became my obsession, and led to my entry into the Tower Of Earth as an archeoligist a few years later.

   I shut the door to my secret stash, refixing the clasp and closing the Armoire behind. Turning I walk over to the window and open the light drapes covering them, to view once more the magnificient trees growing around he tower.  My window sits amidst the canopy, not above nor below but among the thick green foliage that is so abundant in my homeland.  I reach out and touch one of the nearby branchs and through Stone feel the comfort the stately tree offers the land. I watch them a few moments, leaves swaying gracefully in the wind like many chaotic dancers before turning away, leaving the room open to the night air.

    I wander back to my desk and sit down, pulling my new journal from my pack and opening it to the first page.  It is blank, white..a shining clean slate awaiting a new start.  Looking around the room I decide there is no better place for it than in my own room in my traditional family home. Taking a fresh quill and inkpot I dip it in carefully and begin to write.

                                  ***********************************************

        30 Spring Dawning 1378

    It has been an eventful day..so much has happened in such a short time I barely know where to begin. Hardly...barely or at all.  Did events outpace me? Did things happen that were most unexpected more quickly than I could ever fathom?  Yes and Yes.  Yet...there was nothing of sadness in it, it was simply a rediscovering of self, the supplying of a truth of what I am.

     So to begin...the struggle against fire had intensified his resistance becoming more and more fierce.  We had decided to travel to Voltrex there to consult with the family Hilliaraname.  This family has Melizaphai, the creator of the scrolls in its ancestry, as did I myself as her daughter.  The journey itself was only eventful due to the fierce resistance we recieved from Kelor before boarding the ship, the voyage itself calm beyond the normal tempestuous trip and we arrived in Saida unhampered.

    Upon arrival I was fully aware of where we were and took us directly to the home of the Hilliaraname family. The door of course was guarded and when I requested entry, telling them I was Serenity and Kailia in one they had no real recourse but to laugh.  They did not laugh long however as Stone was most obliging..and his manifestation called enough trust in skeptical minds for one to run and ask the head of the family.  The other however was not so easily persuaded..and as angry argument arose from within as debate started outside as well.  The woman, this guard did not want to believe or trust me. She simply wanted me gone.  Yet as I showed her my things...Kailias things she slowly began to wonder...and then when I spoke words that only Kailia would she leapt to animated life almost bowling me over with her embrace.

    It was thus I discovered I had a cousin.  Eáránë.

    Laughing and talking with Eáránë I was eventually granted entry and led up many stairs to arrive in a ballroom. Statues and portraits of the family were placed all around the room, looking down upon us as we approached the imposing appearing elf waiting to greet us.  Of course he was surprised at my claim, who would not be, yet he was willing to listen and listen he did.  He had been told by the head of the family to send us away and had recieved us directly in violation of that decree.  He had also wanted to meet Kailia once more.  Through this however he also gave something far more.  He acknowledged me as both Kailia and Serenity at once, the minds of the two of us entwined to one.  He spoke one word to me in High Elven.

    "Eldárwen" He smiled and continued, "That is you, Eldárwen is Serenity in the old high elven."

    I stood and looked at him a moment before hugging him tightly. My mind raced with the name, junctions of my thoughts that were unresolved and muddy with confusion clicking into clarity, the lives of elf and human starting the long trek to merging truly cohesively. Eldárwen.

    Thus it was that I met my nephew Bazfinilion.

    After our short moment of contact he moved away and attempted to draw the head of the houe from hiding. She of course would not come.  Anger flowed from beyond the closed door at Bazfinilion yet I could clearly feel the confusion, hope and fear mixed in with it. The woman was frightened, frightened of me being true and frightened of me being false.  Still I could see poor Bazfinilion was getting nowhere so I spoke to her myself, admonishing her for bad manners that would horrify my Mother.  The room went silent and slowly the door opened.  A gentle voice, ragged with emotion bid me enter which I hesitantly did.

    Entering the bedroom I found myself confronting a beautiful elvish woman, pride still apparent in her ragged appearance. Blue eyes look to me fearfully under black hair perfectly dressed, her slight  form tense and expectant.  I search her face, the typical Hilliaraname freckles dot her cheeks..and then realization strikes me like a bolt from Lucinda herself. Her name crashes into me, sending my thoughts reeling and spinning like a errant childs top around and around my head.  Feawen.  This is Feawen.  She said little..I showed her all my things..my amulet..my sword and the emerald storage device.  Shock and fear moved to joy...joy to tears and both of us collapsed into each other crying with happiness.  

      Thus it was that I was reunited with my sister Feawen.

   We spoke a short time but others were waiting on the information we had came here to retrieve. So talking to each other softly Feawen and I descended back into the hall.  It was here that I was to meet my finally family member. A crockety old man..Uncle Haldrid..though I must say he was always my favourite Uncle as always had time for me when I was growing.

    I must say the rest of the night passed in a blur..we spoke of Mother and Kelor some but not a great deal. Soon they saw us dozing so insisted that we continue the disussion in the morning. We all agreed being exhausted from such long days of travelling.

                             **************************************

    I stand and shut my journal, clean the quill and replace the stopper carefully in the small bottle of ink i had used.  I yawned a little and comfortably prepared for sleep before crawling into the large bed, all cushions and memory.  I snuggled down happily into the oversoft mattress, smelling the gentle smell of Lillies, seeing the faces of a family new discovered.  Old pains eased away replaced with a new sense of belonging, a place to call home, a sense that I had found my niche in the larger world, a niche in the love and joy that family brings.....slowly I drift to sleep....

   Later...drowsily the room still dark, I hear the sounds of footsteps in the room.  Half a daze I reach for my blade and touch the hilt expectantly. Even here is seems we are not safe from Kelors touch..even here he sends his assassins to come and torment us. Anger starts to flow at the thought, he is violating the place. His presence is not wanted here.  I open my eyes slowly and hazily can make out four figures approaching, they seem to be intent on making enough noise to wake me.  Slowly it dawns on me, these are not assasssins..these are family.

     
    Eáránë, Bazfinilion, Uncle Haldrid and Feawen step slowly forward to the bed, the light from the opened drapes profiling the the typical Hilliaraname features.  One by one they kiss my cheek and each says in turn.

      "Welcome home Eldárwen Hilliaraname.  Welcome home."

    I smile sleepily at the families acceptance all the while more connections flickering in my mind until Serenity and Kailia become a singular entity.  Peacefully I fall back to sleep, my new name resounding through my mind as I float off among dreams.

       Eldárwen Hilliaraname.

[stormspirit]

I awaken after a night of refreshing sleep, the large bed supplying rest aplenty.  As I slowly pry my eyes open I see sunlight dappling through the window, coming through the canopy of leaves surrounding my room.  It gently surrounds the furnishing and strikes tinted highlights on the intricately carved marble floor, bathing the room in reflected shards of green light.  Yawning I reluctantly relinquish the enfolding feathers and sleepily make my way to the wardrobe. I truly do not know why anyone would want to get out of such a marvelous bed.  Duty holds a small candle next to the bonfire of feathers.

    Small as it may be, the candle was compelling and moved me rapidly from dreamy to aware. Still I refused the plate armour that sat in pieces neatly next to the wardrobe, instead pulling on an older dress from my even older wardrobe and shrug it on carelessly. My sister would have a fit and pass out the way I was handling such expensive fabric..hefore sighing in exasperation and acknowledging it was just my way.  Lauging softly I straighten the crumpled fabric, a vain attempt to escape my sisters all too well known attention.

    I move to the door and down the hall once more, meeting my family in the large ballroom.  Today I was aware would be special. My first day with a new family and my new name, my first day to search out news of my mother and the things she left behind. To this end I had risen early from me sleep, much earlier than the others to consult with the rest, and find what I could before more pressing matters took charge.  Smiling as I wandered in, the silk making odd swishing noises I was not accustomed to I hugged and greeted my kin.

    My sister as always gave me the look of displeasure she is so well remembered for, her hands twitch and I know she longs to unrumple and place the parts of the dress I left to chance.  She resists and as was expected her face sets into the expression of fatalistic acceptance, her eyes saying to me with great clarity "It is you".  Smiling I quickly move away from the hug, I have emerged early with purpose and need to have all done before my longer sleeping companions awaken.  Pulling my sister aside I quickly ask about Mothers room, of course it has not been opened I am told. It was sealed along with her departure and none have been able to open it since. Smiling I move towards the door..knowing where it will lead as memories once more surface...

    "I see her standing at the door, magic her inheritance sparkles in a blue vortex of winds, like a small cyclone it spins around her body. Her long black hair is whipped wildly around her face, sparks moving between the strands as she slowly extends hands towards her door. Her long delicate fingers begin to move in a rhythmic hypnotizing  pattern, small multi coloured runic streamers falling from fingertips as they move. The power in the air increases, the haze around her increases to a painful nimbus of force that seems barely constrained by her slender form.

    Stone shifts slight behind me, even amongst such power I can feel our bond strongly, can feel his joy in the magic before us, the magic of his Mother and his birth flowing around us.  My own joy is now less, yet it is tinged with awe for what she can do with her gifts. Magic has been all to me for sometime and I cannot do a small portion of what she is capable of, her talent breathtaking to behold.  Yet for this she needs me, or more certainly needs stone to complete the binding on the door and allow me access at a later date.  Something she could not do alone.

    Mothers form stiffens and violent waves of energy arc from her, striking the door. It shudders at the force of the blow, the stone walls groaning and cracking under the weight of so much power in such a small space.  The door glows blue, then turns to red and runic markings carved in fire appear, markings that speak intuitively of warning and dire result should the boundary be crossed. They spread rapidly across the face before extending red tendrils to the ground beneath then expanding into the surrouding stone frame.  The symbols finally warm....flash brightly once, an uncanny light, before receeding to a dull glow.  

    I watch as stone takes his part and steps to the door, I feel a slight drawing as he pulls power to defend himself from the response of the wards..slowly his great earthen hand extends and presses to it..the door itself of stone makes a complete molding of the imprint.  The runes flair softly in response and stone draws more deeply on my reserves, pushing the sigils into the door..making the delicate tracery of spell structure part of the very weave of the carved rock. Slowly he withdraws the hand and smooths out cracks in the frame, healing it and making it whole once more.  The warding vanishs..part of the very fabric of the entry, hidden and waiting to trap the unwary interloper..."

    I look up once more, my sister has that look of righteous concern she always has when I do something she considers remarkably odd, or remarkably stupid.  Motioning her to follow we approach the door to Mothers study. it is unchanged, the surface unblemished by spells that I know are there.  My sister informs me that it will not open, has not been opened since Mother left.  I smile to her knowing that this is about to change.  Gently and carefully i reach into the place within, the place where I can feel Stones gentle abiding presence awaiting me.  I call to him and as always he happily accedes to my wishs, his joy at helping apparent in the very tiles beneath my feat.  Just behind me a hazy image forms, rock and earth gathered into one place it slowly becomes more solid until the manisfestation of the scroll steps forth.  Lumbering forward he places one huge hand against the surface of the door, his form solid applying solid and unyeilding pressure.  Sigils ignite from beneath the surface prepared to repel the intruder and bar entry, lines of crimson fire reach out to caress the rocky form before it.  Yet...no harm is done, the touch changes from one of denial to one of acceptance as the wards set so long ago wink out from existence.  The door so long shut opens on silent hinges.

    The path within is familiar. A hallway long and straight paved in tiles filled with elven script.  My feet still bare in the cool Voltrex morning chill as they step forth onto the stones, the delicate engraving tickling the soles.  Smiling I step fully into the hall, fully into a place that was so often my home before I left this gentle island.  Traversing it slowly we eventually arrive at a blackened mirror, reflecting nothing and seeming to absorb all light from the surrounds. I know it is simply a portal yet have no knowledge of what it will do to the uninitiated, to those forbidden access.  I was simply lucky enough never to be one of those. I reach forward tentatively, my hand brushing the void as I wait for the sickness that always accompanies movement without movement.  As always it comes unexpectedly, the void rushing to fill the space I vacate, air moving outward as I step into a new place, a new and familiar place, my Mothers room.

    As I look around it is completely as I recall it, varying tools and instruments scattered all over the floor. Maps layed out in one corner along with all the devices a mage would need to make a functional workspace.  I know many of them well, from current and past experience it would seem.  Yet it is the maps and a strange device in the corner of the room that catchs me eye.  Maps I hope will lead me to the crystal I seek in the caverns under Voltrex, and well..I must say I have no idea what the device is for. To start with I examine the maps, finding little of note on the dusty pages.  One catchs my eye...yet I am frequently lost and maps may as well be written in some obscure language to me.  Rolling them up I place them in a golden map case from an old friend. I will show them to Triba, I am sure she will decipher them for me.

    Turning back to the odd device I look it over closely....a chair surrounded by a sphere of force I am not familiar with. Not familiar with at all.  The sphere is ghostly and clearly it would not hold me from the chair if I wished to sit in it..unsure...unsure of its purpose and function.  Undecided I brush my hand against the sphere. It offers little resistance to my tuch, my hand passing through it as if it was just a slight thickening of the air.  I turn to my sister and let her know my intent, sit and see. There is little else for it.  My knowledge of magic tells me nothing and it post dates all memories I seem to have. There is little for it  but risk.  Moving through the sphere tentatively I sit..praying to Lucinda all the while that this is not another mistake that I shall pay for.

    The world seems to spin once..flash briefly and my visin fades and reorientates. Another portal, yet one far more advanced than the last.  When vision refocuses I see I am in a cave, natural or not...I am not sure it matters.  Glancing before me I see another odd device, another sphere with a strange panel either side and in front of it. Before that stands three chests and the largest golem I have ever seen.  My clothes have also changed, a flimsy grey dress now covers me, large bulky panels seeming to be attached to each forearm.  Stepping forward I place my arms on the device, strange threads leap from the dress and insert themselves into it, the cavern whirs to life.

  The golem shifts, its huge impassive gaze looking to me as it asks, "What is it you require?" I hesitantly request the chisel and book I need to forge I Linde Makil, as well as any information on the scrolls and Mother. The golem looks on before saying, "Welcome back Kailia, processing requests"  As I watch it seems to explore memory...moments pass, then minutes, then tens of minutes.  Finally the golem refocuses and one of the chests starts to shuffle forward, delivering the requested items into my hands.  The last to hold these was the hands of my Mother, now it seems odd that I should have inherited them.

    Lucinda provides, If my brother is too fall then the Blade of Song must be reforged. With these only the crystal, source of the blades power needs be found.

[stormspirit]

I stand among the peaks of Voltrex, the wind rushing around the mountains in waves of visible force. Before me sits the anvil and I Linde Makil, The Singing Sword. Finally the pieces of the blade are all together, finally it can be forged into one coherent whole.

    The quartz crystal glimmers briefly before me, a shard of true sound that sends back echos of the wind across the bridge, the runes on the blade picking up dislodged harmonics and sending them in a confusing scatter around the peaks.  The crystal, dug from the depths of the Cave of Eternal Sounds it appears only rarely, most having flawed or harmony that is not pure enough to focus the magic of the blade.

    The rune scarred blade and cobalt silver bound hilt held fast in the emerald crystal of memory sit close by.  The blade a confusing mass of groves and niches carved to channel sound into active befuddling symphonies, elven runes twisting like leaves and branches of an entangled tree. The hilt itself no less a fine work, cobalt base wound with strings of silver that seem to mold perfectly to hand.

  I glance around once more, this day is special..The Singing Day...the day that it is said the souls of Elven Heroes gather in the peaks of their homeland and mass upon the high currents, the beautiful eerie song heard the trails of spirt forms, ethereal and like the wind passing through the peaks.  Elves speak of this time as one of great triumph and protection, the mighty gathered and from lofty pinnacles they view the whole of the blessed isle, eyes long past physical seeing warding their homeland from harm.
 
   I look to the hammer on the anvil and though my hand is skilled with such work decide it is better not to use such mundane means. Lucinda provides and in this instant I feel the hammer is no more needed than the anvil. This day, these components and The Weave will guide the swords path home.  Gently the blade slots into the hilt, hands grow warm and flicker with energy as the two pass together. Woven strands flow from fingers and across the two pieces as the magic of my own energy runs and seals the two together without seam. The elven markings on the blade flicker to life, recognition of a piece of self. home at last seems to flow along the mithril alloy blade.

    I reach forth and pick up the crystal, it feels as if many eyes watch, spectral elve faces looking upon the event with interest or condemnation, transparent eyes focused to see what this mere scrap of a girl will make of the quartz of eternal sound.  Magic balances on the edge of a blade as The Weave shifts restlessly around me, thread upon thread woven to purpose along narrow sliver of metal. Slowly and carefully I place the quartz within the hilt, the long empty setting for a pommel stone once more becomes filled with life.

   Perhaps it was illusion, perhaps the overactive imagination of a young elven girl raised on tales of racial heroes, yet in that moment I felt as if the souls on the peaks, those gathered for The Singing day travelled the paths of The Weave and into the Quartz before me.  Great Warriors, Sorcerers and Clerics, men and woman of all ages seemed to peer out through the multifaceted gem as the song rebounded within crystal lattice, focusing and intensifying as it went.  With an audible click  the quartz firmed, prongs of metal wrapping with what seemed to be care around the gem and fastening it firmly into place.

    The magic fades from me, Weave settling to smalls snowflake sparks around my hands, yet the sword itself is not silent as the song of heroes vibrates its way through crystal and hilt to once more infuse the blade with force.  With a jarring shock the weapon wakens, long empty channels filling with sound, elven runes twisting the song into a new melody, a melody that confounds and confuses, the sounds of chaos echoed in a blade.

I Linde Makil. The Singing Sword.

[stormspirit]

The body finally sits at rest before us, dreadful wounds of all kinds cover the corpse from head to toe, with the last terrible puncture being delivered from I Linde Makil itself. The song of the blade drawn in hand is still clean however, harmonic vibrations shaking the bright sliver of metal free of stains.

   The journey to this point was arduous, every turn a nightmare spawned of the lower realms to challenge us and defend this, my brother from the harm, some would say justice, that was coming.  Surely he committed many crimes, surely he had betrayed both his people, his magic and even his family. Yet as the hot fires around his sanctuary cool and the heat of life lives his body it is hard to recall anything more than the fact he is my brother.

   Memories spring forth of happier times with Mother in the gardens of home, Kelor, Yimalla and I playing in courtyards and among flowers. Blossoms littered the carved terraces and paving stones. Hide and Seek or chasing small magical balls Mother conjured there were little in the ways of happier times.

   So often he was my defender, a scraped knee tended quickly by his gentle hands, a childishly broken heart mended by the quick bright humor he seemed to have in abundance, a fire that made his heart shine with a bright inner light that seemed to me to always by unquenchable.   Of course me being who I was..always had a bruise or two in need of care, or a small hidden hurt that would require him to make me smile.  

    My sisters felt the same, always after Kelor and attention from our oldest brother. He was the first among the children and of course us, his two younger sisters loved him with the protective spirit that young girls have for older siblings. Yimalla however was always his favorite, his concerns mainly settling on her.

    Who could blame him really? Yimalla was fire to my darkness. Graced with red hair over black,  a bright smile over my own that was slower to come.  She moved with a grace that was my envy and whilst my freckles on pale skin were randomly dotted, hers seemed to be placed by the master artisan of cute.  She was always bounding about with an energy that I didn't have, my own time and effort going into the enormous tomes of magic that mother was so fond of supplying me with.

   I wanted so much to be like him then, he studied in the Tower of Fire, learning the deeper secrets that they were teaching to all the acolytes there. Mum always said very little about what he learned and soon he went away to the Tower to work for them on a more permanent basis.  Sometimes I heard Mum and Dad arguing about Kelor and his new work, Mum was proud and Dad...well he was always uncertain.  I was sad to see him go, but he had given me so many dreams and so much care there was no trouble at all being excited for his good fortune.

    Yimalla took his leaving far harder than I. She suddenly had a huge void to fill where he had once filled her heart. Mum always payed more attention to her more studious daughter and Yims energetic and flighty ways though very much part of our family seemed unable to be catered for, at least not in the same fashion that Kelor had. Slowly she became withdrawn, seeking attention in the strangest methods of disaster she could find.  Mostly she ended up with scoldings, but to a child oftentimes even bad attention is some attention.

    Kelor came home to visit every so often, resplendent in his robes adorned with so many of the runes of flame.  To start with he was happy, working steadily up the circular Tower steps of achievement and authority.  Fathers gloom and dire feelings seemed to even unravel some as my brother returned with promotion after promotion, quickly stepping through the lowest learning ranks.  A year passed in this way, bright smiles, warm hugs, games, gifts and tales of wonder he would return to his two overeager younger sisters with.

    Yimalla and I kept a cool distance in this time, both of us having no real desire to know the other.  She kept her active role and I my path of books and spells.   She came alive really only when Kelor came home. I tried to pull her from her shell but It was more than clear that she wanted nothing to do with my books, and I wanted nothing to do with her tree climbing and mud slinging.

    Things changed in the second year of Kelor's internship. His trips home while just as frequent started to be filled with sullen outbursts and he rarely had time for the two little girls that would hang from either leg, spending more effort shaking free from our small hands than actually talking with us.  His fire was as strong if not more so, yet it seemed to have lost the idealistic burn it once had and turned inwards to feed upon itself.  Mum and Dad were worried and they spent many nights talking to him about his role and path. Most of these talks ended in sessions of raised voices that simply drove Kelor from our home and back to the Tower once more.

    Love for our brother drove old foes to new friendship and a surprising depth of new sisterly affection.  It seemed that in that awful time Yimalla and I discovered in each other a companion. I learnt that mud slinging was fun while she learnt that my slowly developing magic could more than enhance her mischief.  Slowly we became terrors, the small cantrips I could perform offering so many new chances and fear of mud, water and strategically placed blueberry pies dominated the Hilliaraname household.  

    Kelor's sad and disturbing visits started to matter less as we invested more time in each other and started to accept the changes that had  come over him. We loved him no less I think but started to accept that his changes left smaller time for the things that had once been important. I guess when stacked against the affairs of Mages we seemed rather insignificant overall.

    The arguments never ceased...until one night when it seemed that real disaster stalked our home. We were unprepared of course, for though we faced many many dilemmas rarely did anything of such magnitude happen to one of our own.  It was Kelors last visit, the last time that we as children would feel his bright presence in our adolescence.

   Yimalla of course was in my room, she had used her light feet to dodge parents and servants. We were sitting on the balcony whispering about a particularly cute elf who had come to stay with some relatives from Vanavar.  We sat, blanket pulled over our heads and a small candle throwing dim light for us to see each other by. Giggling and laughing we made childish boasts of how one or the other would be first to hold this cute boys hand when the candle snaked up brightly, a small flare in our little cocoon that promptly set the makeshift tent ablaze.  With a screech the blanket was tossed in panic into my room, its little fire lighting the darkness as it went.

   Our attention was rapidly drawn away however as a pinpoint of light in the grounds caught our eyes, rapidly it came close, smoldering and leaving burnt footprints in the grass as it came.  Of course there is little as fascinating as odd figures on the grass to little girls and we peered over the edge with a curiosity born of youth, eager to take risk and explore what is unknown.

    The figure drew closer, recognition slowly coming to Yimalla and I.  Runes of fire blazed on robes that were scorched in many places and in fact still smoldered in others.  Flames licked with devotion around feet and hands while waves of force seemed to flow and expand from the figure, distorting sight in the intense heat haze.  Through all this one thing was clear. Kelor had come home.  Why...was a mystery.  Yimalla and I both yelled over the balcony waving frantically to him as he came, little voices piping up in joy at his unexpected arrival...and with so much fanfare too!

    He drew to the base of the Tower and looked at us only briefly before entering the door  to the lower levels and vanishing from sight.  Of course it was then we were to find the nasty surprise our lack of attention was to leave to us, black smoke billowing out of the doorway of my room and into the night sky.  A candle and a blanket, such a small oversight yet one that had managed to turn my room into a little inferno.

   Scared does not even start to describe the feeling of that night, so much fire and smoke between us and the door, high up in our family home and with no real place to run.  Magic was pointless for though I might make enough water to sip I could not put out burning rooms.  Yimalla might make it through and out the door but she would never leave her sister here alone to face such a thing.  All we could do was watch as the blaze rose higher and the smoke became worse and worse.  I think even the sure immortality of the young this night was challenged, for in all reality there was no certain way out.

    Terrified we watched, yet this was not to be a true end for the door abruptly swung upon, our brother striding into the flaming room like it was no more than the candle that had started it all.  Perhaps for him it wasn't, as the flames seemed to first seek and then draw any in respect or perhaps fear.  He moved decisively, crossing the floor in moments to scoop us up in hands scarred with the workings of fire, yet till hands soft with care and the comfort of the past.  He held us tightly, eyes seeking ours in consolation as his arms sheltered us from flames and he strode from the room.

    Outside of course Mum and Dad waited, they seemed far more frantic than the situation warranted and Mum almost glowed strangely blue.  Yim and I protested his, the danger had passed yet our parents seemed to still be reacting to the threat. They paid us no heed, eyes focused on Kelor with a frightening intensity.  Gently he placed us both down and bestowed a kiss on each small head. So often he had done this, so often in better times.  His eyes glanced over us for a brief moment, pools of molten lava seeming to store memory for longer times of absence ahead.  Eyes and hands left us and turned to Mum and Dad.

  They seemed confused and energies dispersed quickly, eyes that held condemnation and thankfulness in conflict gazed upon the oldest of their children.  Finally Father seemed to reach a tormented choice and he motioned Kelor away quickly to the house portal....

   Words disturb the reverie, words asking for leave to take his head and deliver it to Mother....his body even now barely cold and they wish to defile it. He was not always this way, he likely doesn't deserve what some wish to do.  Those hands that caused so much harm also carried a child from a fire and healed all sorts of childhood trauma.  He was not always this way, the result all that is seen over the may acts of kindness in the past.

   I am of course no different, for who am I to take away this victory from them?  They have fought the evil of my brother for so long and now just wish to end it  in some form of triumph.

    I glance on him once more, storing his whole form in mind and allowing the memories of the evils to be swept away by his once fiery nature, yet a nature that held only passion for care and love.

   Turning away I allow them to do as they must.

[stormspirit]

  Sitting in the mountains above Stone I gaze over the lit township, the town nestled in the peaks is a warm light settled between towering cold shards of rock that extend longingly towards the sky. Tired, well a little but I am content as Laanela sleeps behind me, one hand draped around my waist, his chest a caring warmth on my back.
    Stone alive though how it came to pass is still a much a mystery to me, much like so much else that has happened recently.
    The start of the end began with Mother, once Kelor was defeated and the scroll of fire made whole once more we needed to find the path to where the scrolls were to be judged.  We were to be tested as well of course, to see if we were worth of passing judgement on the scrolls. More importantly my Mothers rapidly fading Baelnorn form could be redeemed if we moved quickly enough.
    So it was to come to pass that we travelled to the path of stone to the place of testing, a place that was in itself was fundamental to the scrolls and even more fundamental to our understanding. Each had to face the query of the element we were bound to. Venus faced Water, Talan Air and I the query of Earth. 
     I shall never forget the tension as each stood in turn and faced the inquisiton on the nature of those they had bonded with. For my own stone slowly closed in around me as time passed and the question waited to be answered, a wrong answer wounding the element that we had served. My own I answered wrongly once, Stones form gaining many cracks and fissues in result of the misrepresented truth.
      Finally however the calls were answered, the elements were satisfied that our understanding of each was sufficient.  We were allowed to pass to the final place of choice, and a strange place it was at that.  A simple place, surrounded in darkness, Mother in her undead form sitting at its heart.  So much time had passed since I had seen her and now to see her like this was almost heartbreaking.  Yet..there was still time for her return as the links to the planes were now able to be reformed with new living holders, all dependent on our choice.
     The choice given was a somewhat simple one. To either have the scrolls remain as they were, or free the entities within.  With each choice there were to be pitfalls, though I think the largest temptation to overcome was loss of the power that was granted by keeping the scrolls as exactly that. For As long as they remained in this form they were subservient and granted the holder great power, that would need be given up to insure freedom for those bound.  The choice was not hard, constantly haunted for the power of a being bound to service, or freedom for both from enforced service was never in doubt. It was easy to allow the entity of the scroll who had become so dear the freedom to move on, even if it meant losing him to me.
    One after the other we freed the beings held within. As we did new forms slowly materialized, standing around Mother and seeming to offer her strength. Each freed restored to her a lost portion of vitality as the link faded from her and found new anchor in one of us.  Ever so slowly she started to glimmer as her normal elven vitality flowed back to her and once more she was pulled away to life, her tenure as guardian of the links ended.
    Of course this does not really tell how Laanela was to become more than an elemental of the pools, and the pools of old themselves were still corrupted, power siphoned from them constantly.....
  *the quill is set down for a time, eyes drawn to the mountains before her as her mind orders the remainder of the story*

[stormspirit]

**After some time staring over the mountains surrounding Stone she once more picks up her quill**

    
       With Mother restored things were much easier of course, she was able to give advice and help facilitate the change for the scrolls to the Weird of the Pools.  My Father became the Weird of air, Alala ( once a Queen of her own little underwater kingdom) became the Weird of Water, Jaldrix (a cranky outcast efreet of some kind) became fire and of course Laanela was to become earth. All faced changes but none were to be as great as the ones granted to earth.

     Stone, well that is very difficult to know where to start. The only one of the scrolls free to learn and grow, the only one that was in essence truly a living entity. How did this come to pass..well memory is a little shaky, the details not clear in my own mind...yet I do remember some...

**she pauses a moment, the quill moving almost habitually as her eyes lose themselves to memory**

    “Its dark, shadows lurch all around in an odd parody of life.  This place is endless and though this is the second time I have traveled to the Plane of Shadows it is not any easier to tolerate.  The paths are endless, despair and grief as long as the the very darkness itself in this place.  The reason I come here is almost lost, a purpose close to forgotten in in itself.  Yet somehow, that lost purpose drives me, pushes me to a place that I am almost certain I will never find.  Here I seek a soul for a friend, the junction of life, shadow and earth the only place to find such.

    Soon of course I am hopelessly lost. Landmarks are slim, the plane itself marking movement as a whim of the mind that has little to do with the body itself, endless cycles of walking that tire the intellect and drain the soul while leaving the body mostly unscathed  Soon enough I tire, and though I well know the costs of resting here I am left with little to no choice.  Laying I Linde Makil close to hand I decide...a quick rest, a short time of study will refresh..yes it cant be that dangerous can it...  the shadows will wait for me, this place of darkness cannot steal me that quickly at all.  I reach for my book and open it, arcane symbols swim and merge making little sense to me already exhausted mind as darkness soon closes from the rim of my vision to block the world entirely.

   How wrong can one be, doomed to the frailty of my mind. Eyes close, barriers on mind and spirit fall as the waking mind relaxes all wards and safeguards.  The barriers fall and the essence of the plane invades, hungry shadows tearing at the defenseless spirit and rending the open mind.  They feed, push the inner self to despair and feast on the fear and desperation that constantly grows within.  Sleeping..resting becomes an ever weakening in itself.  Internal despair gives way, the primal essence of self open to all deprecations that the shadow plane can inflict...Nightmares spin forth, my worst realities true here, no escape apparent until I perceive a darkness deeper than the rest, true night in a place of reflections?  I am not sure it is an escape but surely it is better than this place, better than waiting for the final draining of who I was. Resolutely I send awareness spiraling into the night, the deep velvet curtain of true rest seems to part and greet me.

   When I awaken my eyes are filled with grit, the sands of sleep heavy under my eyelids. I pry them open and find myself staring directly into the reddest of eyes, an odd shadowy body looming over me.  Dizzy with the after affects of sleep magic seems not an option and I scamper towards my sword desperately.  Yet..the shade does not move, just regards me with an impassive almost sarcastic demeanor..not threatening nor denying me a weapon.  I slow my rush, fear as usual replaced by the dreadful family curiosity as I examine the first shadow that seems to mean no harm.

     Gaunt..was the best way to describe it, though surely more solid than most of the creatures I have ran across here, less a tragic reflection seeming more to have a being of its very own. Clawed hands were unclenched, the fingers twitching but relaxed on the end of arms too long for body. Yet it was the eyes themselves that seemed to hold me..red yes..and yellow as well...with patches of a rusty brown, glowing and flickering like patterns in the spectrum of a rainbow.  It...well grinned at me...unnerving to say the least...and like bolt from Lucinda it struck, this things form was soft..and it was night beyond nightmares.  Not a fragment of a place gone wrong but a shard of true darkness itself..  My mind had fled to this..thing as comfort in the dark, as a defense in a place that I was defenseless. In reality this creature, whatever it was, had saved me from myself.

    Whats more this creature seemed to be finding my discomfit rather amusing.  Its grin if possible became wider and a hollow sounding chuckle issued from the rather nebulous cavity of a mouth.  Under usual circumstances I would say that the sight of what was clearly some type of fiend laughing at me would be a cause for alarm, yet in this place it was like rain falling on land desperately in need of water. Refreshing humor in a humorless place. Still I have never liked to be the brunt of laughter, refreshing or otherwise and it did not take me long (after retrieving my blade..of course) to tell the thing that.  Its laughing slowly ceased as I started to wander away, following my with a strange loping gait that made me almost as uncomfortable as the rest of this place.  Yet how does one stop the dark following you in a place of shadows? Might as well try to draw The Weave without the goddess, and so I left him to follow as he would.

    For some reason the journey seemed to gain pace now, the sleep having refreshed me I was able to move forwards, and whats more it seemed I was moving in a direction that was actually close to attaining my goal.  Time passed, and slowly as we walked I started to talk to the creature. It told little of itself bar its name..Blink...well I would guess Blink is as good a name as any for a walking black spot really.  He was not kind, nor was he cruel, he had a sharp sense of humor that matched my own and soon had me laughing as he told me strange stories of his life in this place. Things were well and truly looking up, when I needed rest Blink would watch for me, comforting in the true darkness of his form. When I was down he made me smile and when over confident he was the first to bring me to a level that was better fitting the chances of success.

    Yet even in this new found friendship the search went no better, Blink never asked what I sought, he really never seemed to care, appearing mostly happy in the companionship of someone who didn't want to tear of an arm for lunch.  After what seemed weeks and weeks of constant searching I had finally decided that there was no chance of success, that the journey was fruitless and the scroll who had become a friend would indeed never be anymore than the construct intelligence it was.  I told Blink as much, that my search for the junction of life, death and earth was ending, I was giving up and returning home.

  To my surprise he seemed more amused by this than anything I had said thus far, his eyes lighting with an interior hilarity and irony that has not yet faded from my memory. He spread his arms, and the firefly colors of his eyes sparked along them. Along one spindly branch the flicker of yellow fled, striking shadows it expanded, bathing them in a fierce glow before they vanished before the glare of positive energy. A red spark flowed across his other outstretched hand, enhancing shadows and bringing them to sharp contrast with the yellow lights flickering against  opposing side.  The last colors, earth reddish brown dropped like a tear from the corners of almost vacant eyes, striking the blackness at his feet with a soundless clammer, soft soil springing around him.

“You just had to ask” was all he said.

  To say irritated would be an understatement...annoyed....more so...angry as Lucinda with an outbreak of dead magic closer to the truth.  Yet sometimes relief and gratitude is more poignant than any anger, and this was to be one of those times.  I retrieved Laanela from my pack, the scroll mostly dormant here and handed it to the one I had come to know as my friend, the carrier of the junction.

    As the scroll touched his hands the essence of the three flared, yellow beacons of positive force striking the scroll, mingling with chaotic red bursts of death while strong scents and tendrils of solid brown earthen magic flowed from beneath Blinks feet to balance them all in a strange wild harmony.  Very briefly the power flowed, lining them both in a tangled mismatched fire before it went out completely. Laanela fell though Blinks hands, landing on the once more dark ground...I had succeeded could feel along the link of earth new awareness slowly unfolding in Laanela, a baby awakening with the first thrills of enhanced perceptions to the outside world.  Yet something...somehow was not right. I sought through the link yet Laanela seemed perfect, bewildered as only a new awareness can be but well. 

    It was then I was to notice Blink...magic expended and eye sockets now devoid of the power that had once filled them. My seeking had ended, my search and his reason for embodiment was over.   His deep shadows thinned, slowly dispersing back to the stuff of darkness that had helped to form him, his sarcastic grin frozen into place, a grim rictus of the magic that had empowered him through the search.  The etheric patterns of the plane started to stream around Blink and his form ran like ink from a well, losing parts quickly back to  nothingness.  Something was indeed not right....if one such as Blink could die, the he was passing before my eyes.

   I tried to tell myself he was just a shadow, s creature of the plane that had no real purpose but the one he had fulfilled, I tried to tell myself that his awareness would continue beyond my leaving no matter that the form was gone, yet every moment of interior dialogue pulled my friends form piece by piece away from me.  To infuse one was should not be to lose the other, for that reason in itself I could not let it end.  Form was needed, and could be given, arcane bindings springing to mind, improvisation over standard incantations as the last etchings of Blinks body started to worm away. My own magic struck him then, small blue sigils that beckoned, not forceful but making an offer, pleading with him to not leave, offering the sanctuary of a new form.

    The last tattered remnants faded away, Blinks strands absorbed back into the nightmare surrounding.  Small tears fell from me eyes as I lost one who had supplied hope in the most hopeless of places.  I uttered a small cantrip, light glowing from a cupped hand and with Laanela in a state of awakened bliss started the long journey home.

   All went well, the secret of travel on the plane finally open the return to the small gate Mother had created was simple. Yet the whole way something nagged at me, tugged at the edges of both mental and physical perceptions.  I stopped to focus several times, yet the cause for the odd feeling I could not catch, like a distantly spotted mirage from the corner of my eye it vanished as soon as I tried to focus on it.  I was close to dismissing it when it the oddity surrounding me struck.

   My small cupped lantern had thrown my own shadow behind me, not unusual in itself..yet the odd thing was...that the thing was moving in ways that I certainly was not. Making odd faces....waving at me sporadically and even at one stage performing an odd little jig in the small radius of light...as I turned to face it eyes of pure blue opened in my head and my shadow stepped away from me, independent and alive it grinned.

“You only had to ask” was all he said.

  The three of us returned through the portal together.....”
 

[stormspirit]

So little was complete, so little that was given was whole and completely true in itself. Memories of a past that seemed to be held entire proven false, or at the very least segregated and portioned off. It was said for my own protection. It was said that I myself had requested no contact with these painful parts of turmoil that existed in a past I perhaps wanted to leave behind.

    Yet...as all things go this was not to last, the truth is never really far from catching us at all. Mostly a mere heartbeat behind, its pursuit eternal as it struggles to find us and in that fulfilled search aid us to learn and grow...or perhaps to disable us completely. Truth is like that it seems, it is both confidante and teacher, yet also destroyer and despair.  I am unsure what my latest gains of past were, which category defines them.  What I am sure of is that they changed more of me in moments than many things have in years.

    It of course started once more with a missive from Mother, which called me home to the Tower of my family in Saida, the discussion itself was simple, my aid needed for a group I had formed sometime ago in Arabel, a group of rogues and thieves. Formed to provide Saida with exposure to the outside world, and for the outside world to know something of Voltrex, these information smugglers became all that and more.  Until I died.  After that it seems the decline began, the group losing its head failing in focus and falling into a slow decay that left only the core to remain and work for original cause. Now..now of course things had become worse and Mother felt the need to tell me of this portion of the past, one that I had hidden away from myself for the longest time.

   Memories....memories held in a blade.  Mother had kept it hidden and safe, I Linde Makil Seler, dark twin sister to the sword of sound. My second blade, crafted with single purpose that seemed less than full, and more than empty.  She released wards on the blade this night, freed it from its hiding place in her study and once more returned the grip scorched blade to my ownership.

    Like the emerald crystal before the blade imprinted with past, I Linde Makil Seler was different. It was given memory freely, and that selfsame memory was taken cleanly from my mind, deemed too painful, too damaging to remain within recall. Yet as mother scribed arcane patterns in the air the sword was once more revealed, smoky and corrupt and holding all the things about myself I wanted to forget and move away from. Failures and mistakes, things that I in my weakness could not cope with, that I had voluntarily left for someone else to fix.

   Mother unbound the last of the wards, and revealed the sword. Much like its sister of sound I Linde Makil Seler was of beautiful construction, though somehow sootier and the song that rang from the blade somewhat darker.  Overtones of threat and menace seemed to permeate it, warning that what it held was not for fragile ears, or for the weak of mind.  Still it called to me, another piece in the puzzle of myself that was a lure, and much like any good fish at the end of a lure I could not say no. Completion seemed to beckon in the dark blade, a call to know more of myself than I had ever known before.

    Tentative, ever so tentative a touch. Pale hand on darkened hilt, sound crystal set in pommel flashing with  a deep shadow as memories once more took me to a place deep in my mind, fragments of past starting to fill once more as sight faded to memory....

[stormspirit]

Memories fly around the room, darkness that lingers and twists as soundless night spills forth from the blade, twisting around the room to hold me tight, vision fades to that of an earlier time, a time when my from was slighter and friends were closer, when reliance on both myself and others came easier but at higher cost, always higher in cost.  Sight is replaced with visions, spills of shadow that form shapes long since forgotten to shadow forged steel.

    ....”The plane of shadows once more forms before me, darkness spilling around in shades of grey and black as I clutch twin blades in my hand carefully. This time however I am not alone, Shaori and Slyfoot, my two dearest friends are with me this time, friendship calling to them, and illness...a need to cure what takes Arabel now in storm.

    For this time it is no simple pleasure trip to the Plane of Shadows, no seeking for seekings sake, Mother has sent us this time seeking the darkest hole, the purest form of negative energy.  This place is known as deaths grip.....the focus of much of the negative energy that flows among the plane and beyond.  She did not send us lightly, a disease spread by a half-orc in has Arabel in its grasp, a disease that tears humanity from the victim and turns them to mindless animalism.  Slyfoot contracted the disease, and though this in itself was not the sole reason, to lose such a dear friend would have been enough reason to send us here in itself.  We came to arrest the spread of the disease, to halt it. In order to manage this Mother needed the essence of this twisted place...an essence almost impossible to recover.  Yet we of course had to try, for Slyfoots sake, and the many innocents that had already contracted the illness itself.

    Of course no one can touch the grip with hands alone, its corruption more extreme than the disease itself. In order to collect the essence Mother forged a second sword, twin to I Linde Makil itself, dubbing it I Linde Makil Seler, the sister sword of the blade of sound. However this one was rather different, not built to focus sound into a confusing song of chaos, but collect from the grip and store the essence in the song quartz gathered at the focal point of the hilt.  Once we had it we could return home once more, we just needed to find the grip, find it and then make our way out...

    Such a thing was to be far more painful than we had thought, shadows assaulted us as soon as we walked forth, darkness of the worst kind that preyed on our fears and terrors, preyed on the dark points of our souls. Shaori fought with her daggers, points of light that she threw with deadly accuracy into shadowed bodies, Slyfoot with his huge blade and myself with the weave and twin swords.  We had worked together so long, it seemed little could touch us, Shaori and I joined in perfect harmony of Sandcaller and second, magic flowing around her to strike her enemies while Slyfoot held the front line firmly from against all assault.  The struggle was of course intense, the journey so incredibly hard that it seemed almost fruitless to continue at many points.

    Wounds were to cover us, small and niggling at first but growing quickly into more than irritation, constant loss of blood that flew so fast and free, draining more than the simple fuel of life from body, but even more so from the soul. It seemed there was no congealing here, every wound taken wept, constant and sodden to leave trails of bloody spite where ever we were to walk. Even more than before shadows were to spill forth as we came closer and closer to the dark well that was the grip.

    As it came into view it was much like the hells had all broken loose from moorings, wave after wave of night pounded into us, intense and unrelenting as waves and tides, beyond number or even a decent desire to count.  Time became meaningless, moments stretched to eternity as blades rose and fell, a rhythm that had became more a routine of death, mechanical, practiced and well beyond reasoned response. Finally the tide slowed, the waves ceased. Daggers and swords dropped, The Weave in my hands sizzled finally to silence.

  We were of course beyond spent, beyond the realms of any reasonable state of what could be called tired or even sane. The grip just before us we decided we could sit a moment, a small moment of time that would not be missed be any, not even ourselves.  Shaori leaned against me, snuggling her halfling self into repose, lines of worry that were not usually apparent on her small face highlighted by the odd glow in the place.  I assured her we were almost there, almost safe to go home once more with what we sought after.  A small ruffle of her hair, a quick peck against sable locks...as her face filled with mischief looked to me...and changed from small flickers of amusement and secrets hidden to shock and pain.

  Such a moment lost to memory, such a moment perhaps should have never been found. Her face in that moment was filled with surprise and remorse, pain and loss so profound that I could not fathom that singular moment of tear streaked pain.. It became an instant etched to eternity of mind, sweetness of form mingled with the startling revelation of sudden death.

   A shadowy talon exited through her chest, tearing small heart to smaller pieces as she rested  close to me. A singular shadow, a singular creature enough to bring loss so great that my heart could stand no more of it.  I let the spirit of the place take me then, anger so pure in form that in moments the shadow was little more than inky pieces, unable to hold form.  Tears mingled with rage, I never learnt...never rest here...never let down your guard, never ever let a moment of soft weakness take you or you will lose all you love to this stinking hole.

    Momentarily my eyes were dragged back to her still and rapidly fading form, her eyes once so alive blanketed in the stillness of death before she finally faded. Nothing dead lasts long on the Plane of Shadows, almost a sort a time as anything good tends to last in this place.  Anger filled me, or was it anger, was it mine? Inspired by the grip itself, or loss I cannot be sure. All that I am sure off is we were where we needed to be, and I could and would not waste a moment that was paid for by emptying my life.

    In anger I jammed I Linde Makil Seler into the grip.

    In anger the blade drank like a thirsty vampire at a hollow neck.

    In response the liquid substance of the grip flared forth, splashing my sword, the hilt and the hand that held the thirsty blade, and with it came all the darkest dreams of self imaginable.

    My soul twisted with the touch, the essence quickly absorbed by skin to rapidly become part of the whole, part of the darker portion of self that always lingers beneath the civilized veneer. The control that was usual to those of all sentient kind unbound as instinct warred with sense, a sooty patch where the grip touched appearing on my hand and rapidly spreading up my arm.  I looked over to Slyfoot, rage warring with a plea for aid, desire to maim mixing with a a true need for help on my face.

   It was only a few moments...a few moments before I collapsed in a pile....Memories..the few that I had of the trip were unpleasant Slyfoot traveled without purpose, without knowing where he needed to go, carrying me all the while. At times I regained consciousness, rabid and animal like he soon beat me back to oblivion....soon enough he needed tie me to insure that I did him no harm in the journey.

  At the limits of Slyfoots strength we were to find sanctuary of a kind, a place that defied the Plane of Shadows completely and echoed a light into the place while seeming to absorb from all around, Slyfoot seemed to sense that this place could offer aid and at least some kind of relief to me, and so for the first time we entered the citadel of light.

    What was the citadel? At the very least a mystery, at the most a cause of where we walked. It was something that was unanswered for my time there, and now none there are capable of answering.  What was certain was the place was not of Layonara, or if it was then they people were from so long ago they no longer recalled the land, or the gods that watched over them.  They were a people alone, insular by choice and only found when the need was greatest. Certainly our need was great., and as Slyfoot fought my bound and struggling form the inhabitants could clearly see such.

    They took me from Slyfoot, ministering potion after potion till I was finally rendered blessedly unconscious. I awoke what must have been several days later, tended by a man with gentle hands, and a kind smile...though his brow seemed constantly furrowed in concern that I could not place.  He was not old, though older than I was, yet the skill in healing he evidenced went well beyond the years that marked him. His voice was as soft and cultured as his hands, though at first he spoke to me sparingly.

    The essence of the grip I could still feel burning inside, not gone yet due to the ministrations of the healers here subdued. Ideals of restraint, right and wrong that were burnt away replaced with artificial bounds of reason, supplied by the magic of the Citadel and this mans remarkable work.  However, and he made this more than clear, the taint was spreading, even he, the most accomplished of the Citadels healers could do nothing for me.  As long as I remained calm, the disease would not take me, as long as I kept anger at bay reason would remain held fast in magic.  Yet my body would still fall victim to the poison working its will within, and sooner rather than later I would die from its effect, as all sentience was robbed from me and I needed to be laid to rest for the good of all.  He was sympathetic as he pronounced the sentence of death, calm and filled with remorse but holding nothing of the truth back from me.

    Slyfoot he informed me was no better off. Though the lack of time in the Plane of Shadows proper had arrested the disease he had contracted in Arabel, The Citadel was not beyond the touch of the clock, and Slyfoot had once more began to feel the affects.  He too would soon die, his decay already more advanced than my own, yet somehow different as his body fell to the illness along with his mind. There was little he could do for either of us in truth, but make us comfortable and give us what joy we could have in the last time of life we had left to us.  Not much, but perhaps enough to have at least a last passing grace. Darker intentions rebelled against this of course, darker thoughts that lurk beneath said they were lying...and did not want to offer a cure that they surely had. Suppression in magic came easy for now, the grip denied by Lucinda's touch.

    Days passed and they were as happy as could be. I visited Slyfoot often, though he was never aware of the visits, the healers keeping him sedated beyond ability to recognize my presence. I hoped on some level he knew that I had at least come. I spent much time exploring the paths of The Citadel, being given swordless freedom to search and explore its many mysteries and secrets for myself.  The trust itself was touching, either faith in their own magic or faith in my nature dispelling any concerns.

   The place in itself was a wonder, many many devices of magic littering its halls, some that stabilized it in the Plane, others that gave it time over the usual timeless status of the Plane of Shadows.  Some devices I was sure kept the native corrupted denizens of the place at bay, others I found seemed to have no reason to them at all. Like giant riddles they were, advanced beyond my own learning and not explaining themselves in function at all. Slowly the Healer reinforced the wards that held my sanity firm, slowly trust was built and my freedoms were increased, twin swords returned to me in would would perhaps in the end prove to be foolish faith, or gross overconfidence by those that dwelt in this place.

    Days turned to a month, long discussions on the healing arts, some talks of Lucinda..whom they had never of, and of course ever lengthening discussions on magic dominated my days.  Visits to Slyfoot slowly became less and less frequent as his condition deteriorated to that of a simple animalistic nature, his body reflecting the changes that were forcing evolution from within.  It was hard for me to face him in such a state, even harder since I was well aware that my own condition would eventually end much like his own. It is ever hard to face the truth of ones own demise in another form. Though the magic held firm inside, my body showed the effects of the grip, the dark splotch that started on hand alone spreading infectiously slow further along my forearm, the pressure within increasing daily, demanding I give in to tendencies that surely were not my own.  Or were they? It became increasingly hard to tell at times.

    Days were to continue..yet one visit to Slyfoot finally showed truth of what needed be done, the truth of what would happen to me, the truth of what I did not want to be, not now and not ever.  His condition had worsened, and now no sedation would hold him to place, firm ropes were all that kept him from rending any who came near to his form. Eyes that blazed forth all animal fury regarded me, cunning and powerful and beyond recognizing who I was at all.  

    To leave him this way struck me as wrong, he was no longer in there at all, the true Slyfoot had passed away months ago. A diseased husk was all the remained, one that had no right to defile memory of such a dear friends life. It was quick, Slyfoot howled at me much like the beast he had became Linde Makil sighed once, discordant sounds of grief that flowed from my soul and the blade both as bright melody fused metal pierced and silenced the heart.

  A single tear was all that came, my own illness allowing for little more. He deserved his fate for carrying me to such a hopeless end in any case.....No...he had carried me here at cost to self...No he was selfish and came here for his own sake.  I left all the thoughts be. My friend was dead, his reasons no longer mattered.

   Alone now, not so much in company for Slyfoot had offered none, but the only one from far home in this place seemed to increase the darkness that dwelt within me. I became moody, though I hid this from my captors, I could not let them see such swings for they would surely put me to the sword. My explorations continued, mostly alone now. The strain of keeping a smiling and tempered face in company of those that would confine me for difference keeping me apart.  It was on one of these solitary journeys I was to find the greatest secret of magic that the citadel held. A simple chamber, magnificent in its complexity and beautiful in its function, magic played about it like fallen leaves in autumn, surrounding its confines with a constant shower of light to weave graced eyes.

    However the chamber was kept locked, only those who lead the Citadel able to open it.  Yet this room, this simple chamber held my hope. The magic it held could undo all the disasters and create another chance, another history. Called the Chamber of Timeless past it had the capacity to move the interior through time, I could return and undo all that was done, make a new road that would allow my heart to live, if not my body.

   I spent much time with the chamber, working out its secrets from the outside, working to understand its magic. Making plans to have access to it regardless of what the owners of the citadel were to say. Oddly as the dark mark of the grip spread, strength seemed to grow with it. I spent hours practicing with blades, stamina seemed to increase in every moment, agility and strength flowing endlessly from a soft well of suppressed anger. The grip was not sure a bad thing, it seemed to enhance as it advanced, from lithe to lightning I trained, the essence of the Plane of Shadows feeding my skills with endless devotion to the potential such training held.

    It took several more weeks before I felt I was ready to ask to actually ask my mentor, perhaps he was a friend, perhaps he was not. Lately I had found them all watching me more carefully, much like some odd specimen that might turn around and bite them at any moment.  My slow withdrawal from contact of course did little to help with this, the ever spreading stain that had consumed most of my arm a telltale sign of what was soon to come.  Foolishly they left me with no restrictions, nor did they take blades from me. Perhaps they saw the joy I took in practice, or perhaps they were blind and naive.  Whatever the reason it suited me well enough that they left me be.

    The asking as I half expected did not go well, The Healer of the citadel firmly denying such a request, no matter what benefit it may bring to me, or what tragedy it may manage to avert. The Chamber has always been used only in one manner, to observe, not to change the past, nor to leave the one who traveled back in the past.  Her believed the consequences themselves could simply be far to dire to be worth the risk.

    Easy for him to say in truth, for all the people of this place were simply unaware of what loss truly was.  Living in a nice insulated space, free from the ravages of hunger, no real needy and with a simple switch able to turn away the sway of time.  Never having suffered they clearly had no empathy for those who must, for the people who must live in a reality that contains disasters and a far more challenging environment than their own. Callous not in cruelty, yet callous they were in a uncaring lack of understanding.

    Empathy and the sharing of suffering is a valuable lesson to learn. One they had clearly neglected for far too long.  It was little more than a twitch, a small movement that started the inevitable path,  the torrents of blood to follow. The first lesson taught to a Healer who should by rights have understood, the value of life, the speed of its taking and the seconds that feel like an eternity as the red essence of awareness drips from sharp blade to pristine floors.

   The second lesson was on the stairwell, guards that had no purpose learnt that no matter how peaceful life may seem threats dwell in shadows, and lurk in the dark. Magic binds them and swords take them, my own heartbeat becoming as dark pulse as the watchers threads fall cut. Complacent and foolish, fat without struggle.

    Path set now the chamber beckons, deceptions not in my mind for a peaceful path to the chamber, a burning need to show these people the harsh reality that the dream they live in defies.  The third lesson falls in sound and a spray of the grip. Not even the children are innocent, already guilty of a idle life they will spend denying the hurt of others.

    So it went, one after the other, reason decreasing, less needed to inflict additional harm as I walked The Citadel of Light. The Chamber of Timeless Past became less a goal and more an eventuality, it seemed there were so many to spare from a fruitless and ultimately doomed existence, to many hearts beating in this place alone, no synchronization with others...no sympathetic existence.

    The specter of death walked with twin swords this day, pure sound and deepest evil slaying in some macabre chaotic dance. Hours upon hours passed, tireless I sought all those living, till there were no discordant hearts remaining to beat, deafening silence and blood drenched arms all that remained.  Reason slowly resurfaced, at  very least the portion that guided my path to the sealed doors of the chamber, a long path, as I walked wounds received began to ache and exhaustion went beyond even the masterful strength of the grip.

   The last of my magic opened the way, the last of my magic carried faltering steps into the room. A room filled with...

Nothing.  The deepest darkness of the void.

Memory flickers and changes...