In the depths of the night, amidst the city of Baldurs Gate, a dark figure slips quietly into an alley. He takes a look over his shoulder, not thinking to pause, and leaps onto a boarded window. He manoeuvres along the side of the building, slowly working his way upwards until his fingers run out of boards to grip. Glancing back down into the alley, he doesn't think to look behind him - He simply pushes away from the wall, with his arms & legs, throwing himself away from the wall. He doesn’t need to look, he’s performed the manoeuvre many times before - twisting his torso in the air he deftly grasps the metal strip hanging from the roof of the opposite building. His legs follow, their weight carrying them underneath him, until they reach the wall far past the overhang. A subtle change in his grip, another thrust of his legs, and they come around beside him, quickly wrapping one of them onto the roof, and jerking himself upwards, he rolls silently onto his back.
A few deep breaths, and Sonbalin leans his head over the edge - his breathing pauses, and a slight shiver runs down his spine before he quickly withdraws. He smiles amused at himself, the same thoughts as always running through his mind: Why do heights scare him so? Why does he come up here, night after night? And, most importantly, what would she think if she could see him climb so fearlessly? Indeed, it seemed none would suspect his greatest fear, it was conquered in a way - he actually enjoyed his little escapades onto the rooftops now. He didn’t have to talk himself into each movement, be wary of keeping 3 points of contact at all times - now he was confident in his own ability. The fear was still there of course, but he had become the master, as opposed to a slave, of his fear.
He moves up to the chimney rising from the building, sits with his back resting against it. He throws his bow and quiver down besides him, and looks out over the city walls, feeling the wind against his hands. Instinctively, he reaches for the hood of his cloak, throwing it back from his head. His hands unconsciously brush his hair from his eyes, his fingers follow the contours of his pointed ears, until they reach his scarf, which he unwraps and stuffs into a pocket. His face now free, he savours the feeling of the cool night breeze against his skin.
He smiles to himself, thinking of the impression someone could receive from what he had just done - Remove his hood, and scarf, to reveal his face. Such a trivial thing, something so small, and likely unimportant - but possibly not - could cause such an amazing spectrum of emotions.
Happiness, or joy to see a friend return from a journey. Lust, or even love, for a companion returning home. Sorrow, grieving, forgiveness, relief - the list goes on!
But these were not the feelings he usually inspired. No, quite the contrary! He inspired just the opposite. Spite, fear, or general uneasiness, just because of his appearance, an ancestry that was beyond his control. Regret, horror, self-pity, realisation, and resignation - Again, the list goes on.
Yet there was something else. By simply drawing back his hood and scarf, a stranger had said he had shown trust. Did it? Doubtful.
His life was once based upon trust. Above all things, he believed he could always be trusted. It was his one true quality. Trusted to do what, was another matter - but not important. He always stuck to his word. It wasn't about honour, or nobility, or anything so silly. It was in his blood, he was compelled to do so. It was his very nature.
However, it seemed he drew untrustworthy characters. Another time, he would give them the benefit of the doubt, but no more. That part of his life was in the past. He thought of his short time in this City, was there anyone he could trust? Surprisingly, it seemed so. But although the foundations were in place, there was still much to be done.
Trust. Such a fickle thing. So hard to earn, yet so easy to lose. He needed trust now, more so than ever... But he was not ready to take that kind of chance. Not yet.
Sonbalin
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
Three figures stood calmly outside the Temple of Bhaal, taking no notice of the gnolls patrolling the compound. The gnolls in turn, were sure to give the three a wide berth, having already lost several groups to the strangers. Travellers could be seen walking by on the trade way, caravans with heavy escorts silently observing the strange figures – whom again, seemed to take no notice of their surroundings.
A heavily armoured, well built man took an interest in the three. He fearlessly approached them, sword drawn at the ready – but with no intent to use it. “Hail, travellers!” The lone figure called out in greeting. None of them returned the greeting, nor made any movements to acknowledge his presence. Any possible thoughts that he hadn’t spoken loud enough however, were quickly dismissed. He was now the topic of conversation, and clearly unwelcome.
“You know, I preferred it when people avoided suspicious groups outside temples of evil.” The cool, deep voice came from the middle of the group, as the knight looked at them. A figure dressed wholly in black, loose clothes, but no armour. A long cloak flowed around his body, making it hard to discern his movements, the hood pulled up, and hanging loosely above his fiery red eyes. A black scarf covered his face from the eyes downwards, wrapped underneath his hood, disappearing into his robes. His left was rested on a bow, as if it was a walking aid. Silver feathered arrows protruded over his shoulder, suggesting a quiver upon his back.
A loud laugh came from the man on the right, his head not even turning to register the newcomer. Heavily armoured in full-plate, his laughter could almost be heard echo within his helmet. The sturdy armour was well kept and polished – But this only highlighted the deep scars it bore, plainly showing its age. He held a large shield was upon his left arm, bearing a red cross upon its face. The cross was clearly broken, seemingly by battle, yet somehow the shield itself showed no such damage. It was as if the blows it had received merely broke the paint, and left no scratch upon the metal. The shield betrayed his strength, his arm showing no sign of encumbrance despite its obvious weight. A sword hung in its scabbard from his left hip, obviously the only weapon he carried.
“Perhaps we should teach him some manners”, snapped the final figure, and the left-most of the three. Unlike the others, her head was bare, save for a golden circlet. Her hair was short, and white - matching her pale complexion. Her almond shape eyes almost colourless, with just a slight hint of blue giving them an icy look. High cheekbones and thin lips gave her an elegant appearance, despite the venom in her voice. A well fitted chain shirt accentuated the feminine curves of her slender body, with a cloak hanging loosely from her back, and a snowflake shaped pendant from her neck. Blue feathered arrows protruded from the silver quiver on her back, whilst a beautiful white hand-axe hung from her belt. Yet her finest possession was in her hands. a gorgeous white longbow, as finely crafted as any. White tassels hung from it, with strange symbols etched into the shaft. The elf lived up to her races reputation of beauty and grace, but if one word could describe her, it would be cold. Cold in every sense of the word.
The approaching knight, and the plated warrior - referred to as Swordboy, and Tinman by his colleagues - exchanged verbal blows. What started as empty threats soon had blood boiling as the elf and the shady figure shared a few words and watched, obviously humoured. Finally, the knight snapped and challenging swordboy to a duel, only to be told that he would be outnumbered 3-1. Enraged the knight walked several paces past swordboy and turned to face him. "Then I will kill the three of you today!" He screamed.
By now, there was a crowd forming, they kept their distance, mostly unsure of what was going on. But their eyes were riveted on the furious knight, prepared to test his mettle against the three.
Sonbalin had heard enough, he sloped off to the shadows, nobody seemed to notice he had even left their sight. Except the elf, and swordboy of course. They paid no attention, they understood his movements even if they could not see them. The elf subtlely switched her stance, not raising her bow yet, but she had already removed an arrow from her quiver. It could be nocked and in flight with the blink of an eye. Swordboy laughed loudly at the boisterous knight, turning to square his shield against the man, and casually drawing his sword.
The knight was fuming. He saw their ploy, but he was a man over the edge. And besides, they didn't know him. They would never expect what they were about to see. He let out a roar, and charged at the tinman, the 20 paces between them was closed in the blink of an eye, faster than any man should move!
Sonbalin cursed himself from the shadows. His arrow nocked, and in line with the fighters, but he couldnt get a clear shot! The man was insanely fast, too fast for his bow. He shook his head, throwing the bow to the floor, and slid his knives from their sheaths on his back - This was going to get dirty.
Swordboy was under pressure, his shield and sword both parrying the knights blows. He needed both to counter a single sword, it moved so fast, but he held his ground. Heck he thought, I'm even trading a few blows. He smiled inside his helmet, knowing the blows they shared were barely bruising below their plated armour. It didn't matter, as long as he could keep this up, the knight would fall soon.
The elf fired arrow after arrow. She had to aim for the edge of the knights movements, so as not to hit swordboy, but his movement was too fast. He was gone before her arrows reached him. To the hells with this. She nocked an arrow, aimed it straight down the centre of the melee, pulled back on the bow with all her strength and released.
There was a resounding thud as the arrow pierced his armour. He let out a yell of pain as he felt the arrow tear through his shoulder. Damn that wretched elf! This one was tiring, he could leave him for a few seconds, and be back before he could recover. Just long enough to slice the damned elf in half, and stop the hail of arrows.
Keltons left arm was numb. His shield still blocking blow after frenzied blow from the knight. He heard the arrow strike true, and brought his sword crashing down on the weakened knight with all his might. But the sword hit only the ground. He looked up, and saw the knight approaching Jadis, he tore his sword from the ground, and chased after him, knowing that he couldn't get there in time. Hoping he didnt have to.
Jadis nocked another arrow, but even as she did, the knights sword came swinging at her. Even at his speed, he was still too far to strike someone as agile as her. But the moment was lost, the swing was enough to force her to move, the nocked arrow slipped from her grasp. She screamed out at her assailant, swinging her bow wildly.
Sonbalin smiled to himself as the knight ran past him. As the attacker swung at the elf, Sonbalin took the opportunity to strike, his twin blades striking moments apart, at the same precise spot. A weakened area in the armour, behind the knee - and between the plates. He felt the first blade tear through the weak protection, the second sliced straight through the leg. A devastating hit, cutting flesh and tendon together, rending the leg useless.
At that very moment Jadis bow struck home. The mighty knight fell to his knees. A third knee connected with his back, sending him face down into the dirt. He felt a hand grab his helmet, and wrench his head backwards, exposing his throat in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark arm swing around, the blade arching towards him.
Sonbalin stood up from the dead knight, quickly taking in the surroundings. The crowd on the tradeway had grown. Muffled screams could be heard, a slight uproar. He looked to Jadis and Kelton, flicked his knives, and quickly sheathed them. "We're done here, let's go"
They nodded in agreement, and calmly turn to walk away into the night.
Sonbalins thoughts snapped back to the present. He arched his back away from the chimney, and reached around to retrieve his knives. He laid one down beside him, and inspected the other. Taking a rag from his belt, he gently wiped the blade, and held it in front of him. He twisted the knife in the air, angling it just so the moonlight reflected off the sharpened edge, so he could see any damage. He repeated the process with the next, happy they were in fine condition, he extended his arms, flipping them over in his hands, marvelling at the balance and craftwork.
Kukris. Made from the finest steel, by none other than the Thunderhammer Smithy himself. They were not his favourite weapons, far from it. But he had a knack for them. They angled forwards when held in the hand, the shape aided in chopping blows. They excelled at what they did, force their way into their target, and once inside, they were yanked free.
Unlike most weapons, when you pulled a kukri from a cut, if done correctly, it didn't slide away from the wound. The idea was to make the cut so that when the knives were pulled, the angle of the blade would force it to slice deeper into the wound, before finally, the tip slid free. Vicious, savage weapons. But brutally effective - And he liked to think himself a master in their use.
Not his favourite weapon, but certainly his most useful.
A heavily armoured, well built man took an interest in the three. He fearlessly approached them, sword drawn at the ready – but with no intent to use it. “Hail, travellers!” The lone figure called out in greeting. None of them returned the greeting, nor made any movements to acknowledge his presence. Any possible thoughts that he hadn’t spoken loud enough however, were quickly dismissed. He was now the topic of conversation, and clearly unwelcome.
“You know, I preferred it when people avoided suspicious groups outside temples of evil.” The cool, deep voice came from the middle of the group, as the knight looked at them. A figure dressed wholly in black, loose clothes, but no armour. A long cloak flowed around his body, making it hard to discern his movements, the hood pulled up, and hanging loosely above his fiery red eyes. A black scarf covered his face from the eyes downwards, wrapped underneath his hood, disappearing into his robes. His left was rested on a bow, as if it was a walking aid. Silver feathered arrows protruded over his shoulder, suggesting a quiver upon his back.
A loud laugh came from the man on the right, his head not even turning to register the newcomer. Heavily armoured in full-plate, his laughter could almost be heard echo within his helmet. The sturdy armour was well kept and polished – But this only highlighted the deep scars it bore, plainly showing its age. He held a large shield was upon his left arm, bearing a red cross upon its face. The cross was clearly broken, seemingly by battle, yet somehow the shield itself showed no such damage. It was as if the blows it had received merely broke the paint, and left no scratch upon the metal. The shield betrayed his strength, his arm showing no sign of encumbrance despite its obvious weight. A sword hung in its scabbard from his left hip, obviously the only weapon he carried.
“Perhaps we should teach him some manners”, snapped the final figure, and the left-most of the three. Unlike the others, her head was bare, save for a golden circlet. Her hair was short, and white - matching her pale complexion. Her almond shape eyes almost colourless, with just a slight hint of blue giving them an icy look. High cheekbones and thin lips gave her an elegant appearance, despite the venom in her voice. A well fitted chain shirt accentuated the feminine curves of her slender body, with a cloak hanging loosely from her back, and a snowflake shaped pendant from her neck. Blue feathered arrows protruded from the silver quiver on her back, whilst a beautiful white hand-axe hung from her belt. Yet her finest possession was in her hands. a gorgeous white longbow, as finely crafted as any. White tassels hung from it, with strange symbols etched into the shaft. The elf lived up to her races reputation of beauty and grace, but if one word could describe her, it would be cold. Cold in every sense of the word.
The approaching knight, and the plated warrior - referred to as Swordboy, and Tinman by his colleagues - exchanged verbal blows. What started as empty threats soon had blood boiling as the elf and the shady figure shared a few words and watched, obviously humoured. Finally, the knight snapped and challenging swordboy to a duel, only to be told that he would be outnumbered 3-1. Enraged the knight walked several paces past swordboy and turned to face him. "Then I will kill the three of you today!" He screamed.
By now, there was a crowd forming, they kept their distance, mostly unsure of what was going on. But their eyes were riveted on the furious knight, prepared to test his mettle against the three.
Sonbalin had heard enough, he sloped off to the shadows, nobody seemed to notice he had even left their sight. Except the elf, and swordboy of course. They paid no attention, they understood his movements even if they could not see them. The elf subtlely switched her stance, not raising her bow yet, but she had already removed an arrow from her quiver. It could be nocked and in flight with the blink of an eye. Swordboy laughed loudly at the boisterous knight, turning to square his shield against the man, and casually drawing his sword.
The knight was fuming. He saw their ploy, but he was a man over the edge. And besides, they didn't know him. They would never expect what they were about to see. He let out a roar, and charged at the tinman, the 20 paces between them was closed in the blink of an eye, faster than any man should move!
Sonbalin cursed himself from the shadows. His arrow nocked, and in line with the fighters, but he couldnt get a clear shot! The man was insanely fast, too fast for his bow. He shook his head, throwing the bow to the floor, and slid his knives from their sheaths on his back - This was going to get dirty.
Swordboy was under pressure, his shield and sword both parrying the knights blows. He needed both to counter a single sword, it moved so fast, but he held his ground. Heck he thought, I'm even trading a few blows. He smiled inside his helmet, knowing the blows they shared were barely bruising below their plated armour. It didn't matter, as long as he could keep this up, the knight would fall soon.
The elf fired arrow after arrow. She had to aim for the edge of the knights movements, so as not to hit swordboy, but his movement was too fast. He was gone before her arrows reached him. To the hells with this. She nocked an arrow, aimed it straight down the centre of the melee, pulled back on the bow with all her strength and released.
There was a resounding thud as the arrow pierced his armour. He let out a yell of pain as he felt the arrow tear through his shoulder. Damn that wretched elf! This one was tiring, he could leave him for a few seconds, and be back before he could recover. Just long enough to slice the damned elf in half, and stop the hail of arrows.
Keltons left arm was numb. His shield still blocking blow after frenzied blow from the knight. He heard the arrow strike true, and brought his sword crashing down on the weakened knight with all his might. But the sword hit only the ground. He looked up, and saw the knight approaching Jadis, he tore his sword from the ground, and chased after him, knowing that he couldn't get there in time. Hoping he didnt have to.
Jadis nocked another arrow, but even as she did, the knights sword came swinging at her. Even at his speed, he was still too far to strike someone as agile as her. But the moment was lost, the swing was enough to force her to move, the nocked arrow slipped from her grasp. She screamed out at her assailant, swinging her bow wildly.
Sonbalin smiled to himself as the knight ran past him. As the attacker swung at the elf, Sonbalin took the opportunity to strike, his twin blades striking moments apart, at the same precise spot. A weakened area in the armour, behind the knee - and between the plates. He felt the first blade tear through the weak protection, the second sliced straight through the leg. A devastating hit, cutting flesh and tendon together, rending the leg useless.
At that very moment Jadis bow struck home. The mighty knight fell to his knees. A third knee connected with his back, sending him face down into the dirt. He felt a hand grab his helmet, and wrench his head backwards, exposing his throat in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark arm swing around, the blade arching towards him.
Sonbalin stood up from the dead knight, quickly taking in the surroundings. The crowd on the tradeway had grown. Muffled screams could be heard, a slight uproar. He looked to Jadis and Kelton, flicked his knives, and quickly sheathed them. "We're done here, let's go"
They nodded in agreement, and calmly turn to walk away into the night.
Sonbalins thoughts snapped back to the present. He arched his back away from the chimney, and reached around to retrieve his knives. He laid one down beside him, and inspected the other. Taking a rag from his belt, he gently wiped the blade, and held it in front of him. He twisted the knife in the air, angling it just so the moonlight reflected off the sharpened edge, so he could see any damage. He repeated the process with the next, happy they were in fine condition, he extended his arms, flipping them over in his hands, marvelling at the balance and craftwork.
Kukris. Made from the finest steel, by none other than the Thunderhammer Smithy himself. They were not his favourite weapons, far from it. But he had a knack for them. They angled forwards when held in the hand, the shape aided in chopping blows. They excelled at what they did, force their way into their target, and once inside, they were yanked free.
Unlike most weapons, when you pulled a kukri from a cut, if done correctly, it didn't slide away from the wound. The idea was to make the cut so that when the knives were pulled, the angle of the blade would force it to slice deeper into the wound, before finally, the tip slid free. Vicious, savage weapons. But brutally effective - And he liked to think himself a master in their use.
Not his favourite weapon, but certainly his most useful.
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
Panic spread throughout the Manor, as screams could be heard from the upper floors. Many of the residents simply hid in their beds, pulling covers over their heads to dim out the noise. Few ran about seeking to offer what aid they could.
Three figures moved determinedly towards the stairway, snuffing out their candles as they approached the well lit corridor leading upwards. Two men were leading, the woman kept a short distance behind, wiping the tears from her face in an attempt to keep her dignity.
The guards positioned as the base of the stairs lowered their halberds so that they crossed, blocking the path upwards. A troubled voice came from a recess in the wall, where a man in robes sat behind a desk; “The upper floor is off limits. Please, return to your rooms, his troubles will pass.” The elderly man started to turn back to his writing, when the two approaching figures parted, to let the lady pass. As she approached, she threw back her hood, not breaking her pace.
The guards swiftly moved their halberds to the front centre of their bodies, left hand grasping well below the centre, right hand in the centre of the polearm, thrusting it forward as if for inspection. At the same time, their left feet rose from the ground, and were slammed into position with their heels touching those of the other foot. It was a precise movement, well rehearsed, and performed to perfection.
The robed man snapped his head back at the sound, his body stiffening somewhat, he looked to the woman walking straight past him and spoke apologetically “I’m sorry milady, I didn’t realise…” His voice trailed off as he saw her red face, streaked with the lines of recently dried tears. He turned to regard the two men, still stood either side of the hall, and hastily waved his arm after the lady of the house, “Please, go on.”
The two men quickly turned to fall in behind the woman. The three of them ascended the spiralling staircase. It was well lit by candles in recesses – which all appeared to have been freshly changed, releasing a sweet scent into the air, seeming a dark contrast to the noise heard from above. The sound of metal and wood striking against stone could be heard behind them, as the guards returned to a more tolerable posture.
The sounds of their footsteps quietened as they emerged from the staircase, softened by the thick carpet lining the upper hallways. Inspiring paintings of battles long forgotten lined the hallways, interspersed with portraits of noblemen, and their families. Delicately crafted chandeliers housed many candles above the corridor, providing more than enough light to fully illuminate this floor. Even the walls themselves were covered with the finest oak, providing a much more comfortable environment than the dungeon-like experience downstairs. Indeed, the upper floor was a world apart from that floor below – Apart from the screaming of a madman, ever loudening as they drew near.
They rounded a corner, into a short corridor with a single door at the end. The walls here were adorned with a variety of weapons, a plaque below each one, proclaiming its previous bearer. Several suits of armour hung on lifeless racks, all of which bore a holy symbol upon the left shoulder.
A lone guard stood with his back to the centre of the door, his face lifeless as he seemingly stared into a void before him. He wore leather armour, with many trinkets adorning his belt; his left hand was resting upon the hilt of a magnificent curved blade. He seemed strangely out of place amongst the standards of past knights surrounding him.
Lady Erin walked onwards; her entourage took their place at the end of the corridor, stood facing each other at either corner. “Open the door”, her voice was weak, but commanding. The solitary guard maintained his posture. She walked up to him, staring him in the eyes, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “Open the door!” As she spoke, right hand snapped upwards, in a backhand slap across his face - she recoiled in shock at her own actions.
The guard, Salurius, had much more discipline than she however. He never blinked, his head barely twitched upon the force of her impact, and save for the red welts upon his face, it would have seemed she had missed. He did not move, not to step aside, nor open the door. Not even to acknowledge her presence.
Erin could control herself no more, tears started to once again roll down her cheeks. She turned to leave the corridor, but felt Salurius hand on her shoulder. She paused for a moment, startled; then came to realise the screams had ended. “Give him a few moments” he spoke in a soft, apologetic voice. Erin simply nodded, pulling her cowl over her head, before she slumped against the wall.
She sat there for what seemed an eternity, before she heard the door unlock from the inside. Salurius looked down at her with a pained smile, and then turned to enter the room. The door did not lock, but she knew to wait. For three years she had lived through this nightmare. Many had left the house; others had hardened to the experience. Erin could do neither.
A few minutes passed by, and Salurius emerged from the room. He held the door open behind him, and nodded to Erin. She stood up, and pulled her hood down from her head, attempting to straighten her hair somewhat. Her face was no longer red, but dried tear marks streaked it nonetheless. A faint smile crossed her face as she looked to Salurius, a silent apology and thank you, rolled into one. His head nodded slightly in return, indicating his understanding. He closed the door as she passed, resuming his station.
Erin’s eyes adjusted as she entered the dark room, lit by a single candle on the far windowsill. She slowly crossed the room, towards the aging man sat with his back to her. “You shouldn’t have come”, the man said without turning. Instead his hands reached for an envelope on his desk, and placed it into a drawer, locked the drawer, and placed the key into a pocket on his gown.
“I had to” Erin spoke. “I always have to.” Her words seemed distant, as if she was lost in thought. Many times she had come, and he had hidden that same envelope away. But this time was different, she had seen something else. Always, she thought, her father moved the envelope before she was close enough to see – but it had always seemed plain before. This time, she was close enough, and there was writing upon the envelope. It bore a single word, large and clearly written – seemingly as a seal, for it was written with red wax, and not his standard purple ink. Bansilon.
“I have given in to you.” His words startled her from her thoughts. “Tonight, a priest comes, he claims he can end my...” His voice faltered, as if he could speak no more. But he had said enough.
Erin burst forwards. She stooped to wrap her arms around his shoulders, arching her neck around his head to plant a kiss on his cheek. Her tears wet his beard – Tears of happiness, and relief. She sobbed into his shoulder, mumbling incomprehensible words.
Gormin rose from his seat, and embraced his daughter. He saw something in her eye, something he hadn’t seen for a long time. He was unsure what it was – Hope, happiness, relief maybe. It didn’t matter, she seemed alive again! For a moment, he felt it too and he wondered if he’d done the right thing all this time. It was a fleeting moment.
“Please, I must face this alone” he said, almost pleadingly. “Just promise me, when this is over, you will remember me for who I used to be, and not for what I have become.”
The young lady squeezed her father tight. Why would he even ask such a thing? “Of course. It is how I always remember you.” She stepped back slightly, and her face seemed alight in the dark room. “Promise me, Father, you will send for me at once, whether he’s successful or not?”
Gormin smiled at her understandingly, “Let the hells try and stop me! But for now, you must leave, he arrives shortly.”
Erin smiled widely at her father; it was as if he was young again! “I’ll be back, and I’m bringing mother too!” She turned to the door, barely controlling her body. Her emotions had taken over, and her mind had taken a backseat.
As she opened the door, Salurius stepped aside to let her pass, seeming somewhat startled by the look on her face. She almost seemed to walk away with a spring in her step – not uncommon for women her age, but unusual for Erin. Her personal guards fell in behind her as she took a right down the corridor – the opposite way from that they came earlier.
Erin was still walking away when a man emerged from the spiralling staircase. Dressed in flowing white robes, the seams finished in a yellowish gold, hood pulled up over his head. As the large figure approached the turning to Gormin’s personal chambers, Erin stumbled. She felt something inside her, something vaguely familiar. Sickening to the core, she turned around and saw the priest turning into her father’s chambers; she shook her head, knowing it was just her nerves.
The priest’s head turned in Erins direction. The hood hanging over his head shadowed his face from the light high above, she could see nothing of his face. Then their eyes met, just for an instant. An instant was all it took, there were no mistaking those eyes. They burnt red, as if set ablaze. The lack of light only seemed to make them brighter, like twin portals to the plane of fire – or one of the hells.
Erin started to run, bursting through her bodyguards, but her legs got tangled and she fell to the floor. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She looked up to her guards, pulling her to her feet – Their lips moved, but they made no sound. She shook free of her guards, and ran to her father’s chambers. Salurius was closing the door.
Salurius paused as the door shut, something seemed off. He shook off the feelings, and started to turn, when he saw Erin almost on top of him. Then it dawned on him. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her heavily armoured guards chased after her – silently. The door hadn’t clicked shut.
Erin tried to pass Salurius, but with unnatural ease he threw her back, stumbling to the floor. Salurius body twisted, as his right foot struck the door close to the handle. His katana in his hand before the door burst open.
The cold air of the night gushed into the corridors, blowing out most of the nearby candles. Salurius burst into the room, leaping straight past Gormin to the opened window. He saw nothing but blackness – not the moon, nor stars, nor the light of the nearby town. His body weakened, his blade slipped from his hands, and he stumbled backwards, ripping a curtain to maintain his balance.
Erin had recovered and entered the room, she ignored Salurius and moved to her father, grasping his shoulders. His head fell forward at the movement, hanging limply in front of him. Her left hand felt warm, and moist. She lowered her eyes to her hand, removing it from his shoulder.
Salurius caught her body as it fell limp, quickly laying her on the cluttered bed. The guards had lit candles by now, and stood dumbstruck in the doorway. A sealed, unmarked envelope lay on the desk. The usually locked drawer was open and empty. Gormins body slumped forward in his seat, a single wound bled onto his desk. Where neck and shoulder met, behind the collarbone. Salurius knew it well.
6 months later a storm was approaching Baldurs Gate. Sonbalin’s hair blew wildly, as the wind crept around the chimney. His face was cold, almost emotionless – except a single tear down his left cheek. His hand inside his chest pocket, tracing the lettering of the envelope within; the lettering broken where the envelope had been opened, cracking the wax writing outside.
Rain dropped on his face, snapping him back to his senses. He withdrew his hand, pulling his black hood over his head, his red eyes glowing softly beneath. His right hand reached down to his boot, sliding a thin dagger out from between the folded leather.
He toyed with the dagger, inspecting its fine edges. He touched the tip against his hand, wincing slightly as it broke his skin. He looked at the foul thing; its blade almost seemed to pulse, trying to pump something into his blood. It was harmless to him though, his heritage assured him that safety. Even so, without the magical properties of the blade, it would have still been a masterpiece. It was no use in a fight - but it wasn’t designed to fight with. A weapon like this served a single purpose. To kill.
Three figures moved determinedly towards the stairway, snuffing out their candles as they approached the well lit corridor leading upwards. Two men were leading, the woman kept a short distance behind, wiping the tears from her face in an attempt to keep her dignity.
The guards positioned as the base of the stairs lowered their halberds so that they crossed, blocking the path upwards. A troubled voice came from a recess in the wall, where a man in robes sat behind a desk; “The upper floor is off limits. Please, return to your rooms, his troubles will pass.” The elderly man started to turn back to his writing, when the two approaching figures parted, to let the lady pass. As she approached, she threw back her hood, not breaking her pace.
The guards swiftly moved their halberds to the front centre of their bodies, left hand grasping well below the centre, right hand in the centre of the polearm, thrusting it forward as if for inspection. At the same time, their left feet rose from the ground, and were slammed into position with their heels touching those of the other foot. It was a precise movement, well rehearsed, and performed to perfection.
The robed man snapped his head back at the sound, his body stiffening somewhat, he looked to the woman walking straight past him and spoke apologetically “I’m sorry milady, I didn’t realise…” His voice trailed off as he saw her red face, streaked with the lines of recently dried tears. He turned to regard the two men, still stood either side of the hall, and hastily waved his arm after the lady of the house, “Please, go on.”
The two men quickly turned to fall in behind the woman. The three of them ascended the spiralling staircase. It was well lit by candles in recesses – which all appeared to have been freshly changed, releasing a sweet scent into the air, seeming a dark contrast to the noise heard from above. The sound of metal and wood striking against stone could be heard behind them, as the guards returned to a more tolerable posture.
The sounds of their footsteps quietened as they emerged from the staircase, softened by the thick carpet lining the upper hallways. Inspiring paintings of battles long forgotten lined the hallways, interspersed with portraits of noblemen, and their families. Delicately crafted chandeliers housed many candles above the corridor, providing more than enough light to fully illuminate this floor. Even the walls themselves were covered with the finest oak, providing a much more comfortable environment than the dungeon-like experience downstairs. Indeed, the upper floor was a world apart from that floor below – Apart from the screaming of a madman, ever loudening as they drew near.
They rounded a corner, into a short corridor with a single door at the end. The walls here were adorned with a variety of weapons, a plaque below each one, proclaiming its previous bearer. Several suits of armour hung on lifeless racks, all of which bore a holy symbol upon the left shoulder.
A lone guard stood with his back to the centre of the door, his face lifeless as he seemingly stared into a void before him. He wore leather armour, with many trinkets adorning his belt; his left hand was resting upon the hilt of a magnificent curved blade. He seemed strangely out of place amongst the standards of past knights surrounding him.
Lady Erin walked onwards; her entourage took their place at the end of the corridor, stood facing each other at either corner. “Open the door”, her voice was weak, but commanding. The solitary guard maintained his posture. She walked up to him, staring him in the eyes, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “Open the door!” As she spoke, right hand snapped upwards, in a backhand slap across his face - she recoiled in shock at her own actions.
The guard, Salurius, had much more discipline than she however. He never blinked, his head barely twitched upon the force of her impact, and save for the red welts upon his face, it would have seemed she had missed. He did not move, not to step aside, nor open the door. Not even to acknowledge her presence.
Erin could control herself no more, tears started to once again roll down her cheeks. She turned to leave the corridor, but felt Salurius hand on her shoulder. She paused for a moment, startled; then came to realise the screams had ended. “Give him a few moments” he spoke in a soft, apologetic voice. Erin simply nodded, pulling her cowl over her head, before she slumped against the wall.
She sat there for what seemed an eternity, before she heard the door unlock from the inside. Salurius looked down at her with a pained smile, and then turned to enter the room. The door did not lock, but she knew to wait. For three years she had lived through this nightmare. Many had left the house; others had hardened to the experience. Erin could do neither.
A few minutes passed by, and Salurius emerged from the room. He held the door open behind him, and nodded to Erin. She stood up, and pulled her hood down from her head, attempting to straighten her hair somewhat. Her face was no longer red, but dried tear marks streaked it nonetheless. A faint smile crossed her face as she looked to Salurius, a silent apology and thank you, rolled into one. His head nodded slightly in return, indicating his understanding. He closed the door as she passed, resuming his station.
Erin’s eyes adjusted as she entered the dark room, lit by a single candle on the far windowsill. She slowly crossed the room, towards the aging man sat with his back to her. “You shouldn’t have come”, the man said without turning. Instead his hands reached for an envelope on his desk, and placed it into a drawer, locked the drawer, and placed the key into a pocket on his gown.
“I had to” Erin spoke. “I always have to.” Her words seemed distant, as if she was lost in thought. Many times she had come, and he had hidden that same envelope away. But this time was different, she had seen something else. Always, she thought, her father moved the envelope before she was close enough to see – but it had always seemed plain before. This time, she was close enough, and there was writing upon the envelope. It bore a single word, large and clearly written – seemingly as a seal, for it was written with red wax, and not his standard purple ink. Bansilon.
“I have given in to you.” His words startled her from her thoughts. “Tonight, a priest comes, he claims he can end my...” His voice faltered, as if he could speak no more. But he had said enough.
Erin burst forwards. She stooped to wrap her arms around his shoulders, arching her neck around his head to plant a kiss on his cheek. Her tears wet his beard – Tears of happiness, and relief. She sobbed into his shoulder, mumbling incomprehensible words.
Gormin rose from his seat, and embraced his daughter. He saw something in her eye, something he hadn’t seen for a long time. He was unsure what it was – Hope, happiness, relief maybe. It didn’t matter, she seemed alive again! For a moment, he felt it too and he wondered if he’d done the right thing all this time. It was a fleeting moment.
“Please, I must face this alone” he said, almost pleadingly. “Just promise me, when this is over, you will remember me for who I used to be, and not for what I have become.”
The young lady squeezed her father tight. Why would he even ask such a thing? “Of course. It is how I always remember you.” She stepped back slightly, and her face seemed alight in the dark room. “Promise me, Father, you will send for me at once, whether he’s successful or not?”
Gormin smiled at her understandingly, “Let the hells try and stop me! But for now, you must leave, he arrives shortly.”
Erin smiled widely at her father; it was as if he was young again! “I’ll be back, and I’m bringing mother too!” She turned to the door, barely controlling her body. Her emotions had taken over, and her mind had taken a backseat.
As she opened the door, Salurius stepped aside to let her pass, seeming somewhat startled by the look on her face. She almost seemed to walk away with a spring in her step – not uncommon for women her age, but unusual for Erin. Her personal guards fell in behind her as she took a right down the corridor – the opposite way from that they came earlier.
Erin was still walking away when a man emerged from the spiralling staircase. Dressed in flowing white robes, the seams finished in a yellowish gold, hood pulled up over his head. As the large figure approached the turning to Gormin’s personal chambers, Erin stumbled. She felt something inside her, something vaguely familiar. Sickening to the core, she turned around and saw the priest turning into her father’s chambers; she shook her head, knowing it was just her nerves.
The priest’s head turned in Erins direction. The hood hanging over his head shadowed his face from the light high above, she could see nothing of his face. Then their eyes met, just for an instant. An instant was all it took, there were no mistaking those eyes. They burnt red, as if set ablaze. The lack of light only seemed to make them brighter, like twin portals to the plane of fire – or one of the hells.
Erin started to run, bursting through her bodyguards, but her legs got tangled and she fell to the floor. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She looked up to her guards, pulling her to her feet – Their lips moved, but they made no sound. She shook free of her guards, and ran to her father’s chambers. Salurius was closing the door.
Salurius paused as the door shut, something seemed off. He shook off the feelings, and started to turn, when he saw Erin almost on top of him. Then it dawned on him. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her heavily armoured guards chased after her – silently. The door hadn’t clicked shut.
Erin tried to pass Salurius, but with unnatural ease he threw her back, stumbling to the floor. Salurius body twisted, as his right foot struck the door close to the handle. His katana in his hand before the door burst open.
The cold air of the night gushed into the corridors, blowing out most of the nearby candles. Salurius burst into the room, leaping straight past Gormin to the opened window. He saw nothing but blackness – not the moon, nor stars, nor the light of the nearby town. His body weakened, his blade slipped from his hands, and he stumbled backwards, ripping a curtain to maintain his balance.
Erin had recovered and entered the room, she ignored Salurius and moved to her father, grasping his shoulders. His head fell forward at the movement, hanging limply in front of him. Her left hand felt warm, and moist. She lowered her eyes to her hand, removing it from his shoulder.
Salurius caught her body as it fell limp, quickly laying her on the cluttered bed. The guards had lit candles by now, and stood dumbstruck in the doorway. A sealed, unmarked envelope lay on the desk. The usually locked drawer was open and empty. Gormins body slumped forward in his seat, a single wound bled onto his desk. Where neck and shoulder met, behind the collarbone. Salurius knew it well.
6 months later a storm was approaching Baldurs Gate. Sonbalin’s hair blew wildly, as the wind crept around the chimney. His face was cold, almost emotionless – except a single tear down his left cheek. His hand inside his chest pocket, tracing the lettering of the envelope within; the lettering broken where the envelope had been opened, cracking the wax writing outside.
Rain dropped on his face, snapping him back to his senses. He withdrew his hand, pulling his black hood over his head, his red eyes glowing softly beneath. His right hand reached down to his boot, sliding a thin dagger out from between the folded leather.
He toyed with the dagger, inspecting its fine edges. He touched the tip against his hand, wincing slightly as it broke his skin. He looked at the foul thing; its blade almost seemed to pulse, trying to pump something into his blood. It was harmless to him though, his heritage assured him that safety. Even so, without the magical properties of the blade, it would have still been a masterpiece. It was no use in a fight - but it wasn’t designed to fight with. A weapon like this served a single purpose. To kill.
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
The rain was pouring heavily now, wind howling as it ran its course through the streets below. Visibility was low, and not much could be heard but the storm itself. Sonbalin secured his equipment, and started to wrap his scarf about his head. Being atop the city in this weather was dangerous at best.
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the skyline. He got a good view of the city for a split second, but was almost blinded for several more as his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness once more. Thunder sounded a moment later, indicating the full strength of the storm grew near.
The rain seemed to be falling much faster now, heavily splashing against the rooftops around him. He pulled his cloak tight, and scanned his route of descent. He neared the edge and paused, staring straight ahead for a moment.
A skinny Halfling fiddled with his crossbow, trying to pull back the firing mechanism in the storm. He looked to the elf knelt behind him, trying to hide his fear, and shook his head. The elf scowled at him, and threw him to the side with a strength that outgrew his figure.
The Halfling scurried around the nearby chimney, plopped his back against the wall and slid down to a seated position. He looked down at his hands, shaking beyond his control, and clenched them tightly. The woman had arrived by now, and shook her head in dismay. “I knew you couldn’t handle the bloody cold, fool.”
The Halfling looked up at the words, feeling his anger build inside. He wanted to refute the comment, to tell her it was not the cold affecting him so. But that would betray the real reason he shook so violently. His eyes worked up her body, half admiring the many gems woven into her cloak, half planning how he would spend them if he had his way after this.
“Where is Eltoriel?” She looked as if she was screaming at him, but her words barely reached his ears through the wind. He pointed around the chimney with his thumb, and shrugged his shoulders.
Lightning flashed as she peeked her head around the chimney, just in time to see the elf notch an arrow in his shortbow. The human instantly dropped to a knee, murmuring quietly and making strange gestures towards the elf’s back. After a few moments, she withdrew and sat besides the hin.
Riskin shuffled away from her slightly, showing obvious signs of discomfort. He could see her chanting, but couldn’t make out the sounds through the storm. He knew it didn’t matter though; it was all arcane nonsense to him.
Eltoriel’s eyes focused once more, and he made out his target. He too dropped to a knee, steadying himself against the edge of the roof. He notched an arrow, and drew back the bow focusing intently on the distant figure walking in his direction.
Usually his shortbow would be useless in such bad weather, but he trusted Erin’s magic to help guide his arrows. Even Riskin could have made the shot with her enchantments, but the fool had failed his test. Perhaps a waste but such was not looked upon lightly, and he would have to be dealt with later.
As Eltoriel steadied his aim, he saw two familiar red orbs glow softly in the near distance, and memories came flooding back to him. His aim was true, but doubt entered his mind as his fingers froze for an instant. A flash of lightning quickly cleared his mind, and the arrow set on its path. Although he was blinded momentarily, Erin’s enhancement to his already keen hearing confirmed his shot, as he heard the body crash below.
Quickly retreating around the corner, he motioned for the other two to hurry. Erin chanted quickly, and the others each placed a hand upon her waist; within a few seconds something vaguely resembling a doorway appeared in front of her. She grabbed their hands and stepped through, the three instantly appeared in the streets below.
Sonbalin could see something out of place several rooftops across, but he was unsure what. A second flash of lightning lit up the sky, eerily illuminating every drop of rain. Exactly where he was looking, those raindrops seemed to bounce before hitting the rooftop, highlighting what would otherwise be an imperceptible form.
He instinctively threw his body forwards into a roll, twisting sideways as he did so. His legs carried him over the ledge, whilst his arms grasped for a hold, fingers barely managing to keep a grip on the slippery surface as his feet hit the side of the building. Suddenly, his body jerked violently upwards and into the wall.
His throat constricted for a moment, as his cloak was ripped from his body by the enchanted arrow and flew into the distance. Winded from his impact with the wall, he tensed involuntarily and lost what little grip he had, falling to the floor at a dangerous speed.
Quickly uttering an arcane word, his fall slowed to harmless speed before he landed. Letting out a quick sigh of relief, his feet touched down on the wooden canopy of an old market stall; however no sooner had he landed, than the old rotting stall gave way beneath his weight. Tumbling forwards into a roll, to help absorb the impact, he cursed his luck as the crash echoed throughout the alley.
Three figures seemingly stepped through a wall just 10 feet further into the alley, and his eyes suddenly seemed to flare up with an inner fire. He snapped his wrists in their direction, and four throwing knives flew towards them.
Eltoriel and Riskin quickly sidestepped into cover, at opposite sides of the alley, Erin didn’t flinch. Her eyes bore into Sonbalin as the daggers bounced harmlessly away, seemingly hitting an invisible barrier. The two locked gazes with one another, the corners of the females mouth curling into a dry smile.
Her hands flew outwards, and she began chanting until her hands burst into flame. But he was already running towards her, and quietly uttering arcane words himself. Riskin dove from his position, tackling Erin around the knees, whilst Eltoriel quickly stepped out and let loose an arrow in Sonbalins direction.
Another door appeared, this time in front of Sonbalin. He threw his body into a dive, and disappeared from the alley. Erin threw the Halfling from her, and rose to her feet. Riskin banged his head, and started to scream in anger. His face was stricken with terror as he looked up and realised she was focused upon him, once again uttering strange arcane words.
Eltoriel cringed as he watched. Even his cold heart was chilled seeing the sheer terror on the Halflings face, cast in stone forever. He turned to Erin, his left hand curling around the dagger strapped to his wrist, and waited for her reaction.
She never even glanced at him, still staring at the Halfling. “The fool cost us our prey. Bansilon was bluffing, he could not have reached me in time. Come, we have much to do before we regroup with the others.” The elf relaxed slightly at her words, and silently fell into step behind her.
Sonbalin appeared at the docks. He opened a small pouch on his belt, and took a pinch of crystalline dust from it. Quickly motioning with his arms, he threw the dust about himself. He uttered a few words, and the dust was consumed into the weave, protecting him from any further divination his assailants may attempt.
Satisfied with his escape, he took shelter in a nearby tavern, and thought on the night’s events. One thought constantly crept back into his mind. It was time to go home.
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the skyline. He got a good view of the city for a split second, but was almost blinded for several more as his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness once more. Thunder sounded a moment later, indicating the full strength of the storm grew near.
The rain seemed to be falling much faster now, heavily splashing against the rooftops around him. He pulled his cloak tight, and scanned his route of descent. He neared the edge and paused, staring straight ahead for a moment.
A skinny Halfling fiddled with his crossbow, trying to pull back the firing mechanism in the storm. He looked to the elf knelt behind him, trying to hide his fear, and shook his head. The elf scowled at him, and threw him to the side with a strength that outgrew his figure.
The Halfling scurried around the nearby chimney, plopped his back against the wall and slid down to a seated position. He looked down at his hands, shaking beyond his control, and clenched them tightly. The woman had arrived by now, and shook her head in dismay. “I knew you couldn’t handle the bloody cold, fool.”
The Halfling looked up at the words, feeling his anger build inside. He wanted to refute the comment, to tell her it was not the cold affecting him so. But that would betray the real reason he shook so violently. His eyes worked up her body, half admiring the many gems woven into her cloak, half planning how he would spend them if he had his way after this.
“Where is Eltoriel?” She looked as if she was screaming at him, but her words barely reached his ears through the wind. He pointed around the chimney with his thumb, and shrugged his shoulders.
Lightning flashed as she peeked her head around the chimney, just in time to see the elf notch an arrow in his shortbow. The human instantly dropped to a knee, murmuring quietly and making strange gestures towards the elf’s back. After a few moments, she withdrew and sat besides the hin.
Riskin shuffled away from her slightly, showing obvious signs of discomfort. He could see her chanting, but couldn’t make out the sounds through the storm. He knew it didn’t matter though; it was all arcane nonsense to him.
Eltoriel’s eyes focused once more, and he made out his target. He too dropped to a knee, steadying himself against the edge of the roof. He notched an arrow, and drew back the bow focusing intently on the distant figure walking in his direction.
Usually his shortbow would be useless in such bad weather, but he trusted Erin’s magic to help guide his arrows. Even Riskin could have made the shot with her enchantments, but the fool had failed his test. Perhaps a waste but such was not looked upon lightly, and he would have to be dealt with later.
As Eltoriel steadied his aim, he saw two familiar red orbs glow softly in the near distance, and memories came flooding back to him. His aim was true, but doubt entered his mind as his fingers froze for an instant. A flash of lightning quickly cleared his mind, and the arrow set on its path. Although he was blinded momentarily, Erin’s enhancement to his already keen hearing confirmed his shot, as he heard the body crash below.
Quickly retreating around the corner, he motioned for the other two to hurry. Erin chanted quickly, and the others each placed a hand upon her waist; within a few seconds something vaguely resembling a doorway appeared in front of her. She grabbed their hands and stepped through, the three instantly appeared in the streets below.
Sonbalin could see something out of place several rooftops across, but he was unsure what. A second flash of lightning lit up the sky, eerily illuminating every drop of rain. Exactly where he was looking, those raindrops seemed to bounce before hitting the rooftop, highlighting what would otherwise be an imperceptible form.
He instinctively threw his body forwards into a roll, twisting sideways as he did so. His legs carried him over the ledge, whilst his arms grasped for a hold, fingers barely managing to keep a grip on the slippery surface as his feet hit the side of the building. Suddenly, his body jerked violently upwards and into the wall.
His throat constricted for a moment, as his cloak was ripped from his body by the enchanted arrow and flew into the distance. Winded from his impact with the wall, he tensed involuntarily and lost what little grip he had, falling to the floor at a dangerous speed.
Quickly uttering an arcane word, his fall slowed to harmless speed before he landed. Letting out a quick sigh of relief, his feet touched down on the wooden canopy of an old market stall; however no sooner had he landed, than the old rotting stall gave way beneath his weight. Tumbling forwards into a roll, to help absorb the impact, he cursed his luck as the crash echoed throughout the alley.
Three figures seemingly stepped through a wall just 10 feet further into the alley, and his eyes suddenly seemed to flare up with an inner fire. He snapped his wrists in their direction, and four throwing knives flew towards them.
Eltoriel and Riskin quickly sidestepped into cover, at opposite sides of the alley, Erin didn’t flinch. Her eyes bore into Sonbalin as the daggers bounced harmlessly away, seemingly hitting an invisible barrier. The two locked gazes with one another, the corners of the females mouth curling into a dry smile.
Her hands flew outwards, and she began chanting until her hands burst into flame. But he was already running towards her, and quietly uttering arcane words himself. Riskin dove from his position, tackling Erin around the knees, whilst Eltoriel quickly stepped out and let loose an arrow in Sonbalins direction.
Another door appeared, this time in front of Sonbalin. He threw his body into a dive, and disappeared from the alley. Erin threw the Halfling from her, and rose to her feet. Riskin banged his head, and started to scream in anger. His face was stricken with terror as he looked up and realised she was focused upon him, once again uttering strange arcane words.
Eltoriel cringed as he watched. Even his cold heart was chilled seeing the sheer terror on the Halflings face, cast in stone forever. He turned to Erin, his left hand curling around the dagger strapped to his wrist, and waited for her reaction.
She never even glanced at him, still staring at the Halfling. “The fool cost us our prey. Bansilon was bluffing, he could not have reached me in time. Come, we have much to do before we regroup with the others.” The elf relaxed slightly at her words, and silently fell into step behind her.
Sonbalin appeared at the docks. He opened a small pouch on his belt, and took a pinch of crystalline dust from it. Quickly motioning with his arms, he threw the dust about himself. He uttered a few words, and the dust was consumed into the weave, protecting him from any further divination his assailants may attempt.
Satisfied with his escape, he took shelter in a nearby tavern, and thought on the night’s events. One thought constantly crept back into his mind. It was time to go home.
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
A loud creak, followed by the crash of wood against stone flew from The Harlots Rest. A few moments later, a beaten Halfling landed outside, and the door slammed shut once more.
Inside, a young elf walked towards the bar, with more than a little swagger. The cheers around him slowly subsided, as people returned to their business.
“This one’s on me Velorien”, said the Innkeeper as he slid a stein of ale towards the elf.
Velorien raised the stein and smirked. “Damn thieves, never learn. Cheers Kalrik.”
Velorien rested his elbows on the bar, and started to eye up another elf serving the tables. A pretty little thing, she’d worked there since he came to the town – Yet he’d never seen her leave with a man. Not that he hadn’t tried, of course. Most of the other women seemed to find him strangely attractive, despite the large scars across his face. But not her, and that was what he liked about her.
Kalrik shook his head with a smile at him, “Still after Ania, huh? Good luck with that.” The elf just waved the comment away, and turned to watch the patrons, hoping for a little more trouble.
The door creaked open once more, but under control this time. Velorien’s eyes darted to the entrance, taking in the new arrival – A man in black and white leather, a short blade strapped to each thigh, and a longsword hanging from a loose fitted belt. A black cloak draped from his shoulders, the hood low over his eyes. Just another merc – Damn place was full enough of them. The elf sighed, as his eyes followed the man across the room.
The newcomer took a seat with his back against the wall, and raised his feet onto the table, legs crossing at the ankle. His head turned slowly about the room, searching for something. A few moments later, a smile could be made out beneath the hood as he had found what he was looking for. This was matched by a scowl from Velorien as he followed the strangers look.
Ania moved gracefully from table to table, always drawing smiles and compliments. Unlike the other serving women, she never openly flirted with the customers; she didn’t have to. Her reserved manner and elven elegance set her apart from her co-workers, allowing her to keep her dignity intact.
She hadn’t paid the latest arrival much attention, until he had taken his seat. He seemed more at home there than many of the regulars, and that didn’t sit easily with her; usually a sign of trouble. She paused for a moment, to see what he was looking for – and he seemed to notice, focusing his attention on her. A brief glow seemed to appear from within his hood. Even from the dark corner he was sat in, the smile on his face was clear for a moment.
Kalrik set a stein in front of him as Ania approached. “Black ale”, he said before starting to turn for the cellar. Ania grabbed his arm, but he just shook it off and stated “Just do it, on the house.” And then he was gone.
Ania picked up the ale, and shook her head before heading towards the stranger in the corner, Velorien’s eyes watching her every move with more than a passing interest.
The man took his feet off the table as she approached. He sat leaning forward onto his elbows, his head dipped low. Ania stood on the opposite side of the table, and placed the stein down nearest her. “Black Ale”, she said. He reached a large hand across the table for the stein, dropping a few coins onto the table as he did so. She shook her head as she looked down, “It’s on the house.”
“Then I pay for the service”, he replied without as much as a glance upwards. He motioned for her to sit, before tasting his drink.
Ania’s legs began to tremble at the sound of his voice. She sat on the seat, her body stiff, hands laid on the table before her. Images flashed before her eyes, memories she’d long tried to forget. “I – we, thought you were dead.” She stared at his hood, waiting for him to look up so that she could see his face, for the first time in years. But he just took another drink of his ale. “Sonbalin Ye’Nila –“, she started, before being interrupted.
“Don’t call me that, Ania’Liskali Dimoras Vas’Mirelli. You should know not to trust a word that comes from Gaven’s mouth”
She ground her teeth, and clenched her fists, quickly pulling them back as Sonbalin reached out with his own hand. “What do you want? Why have you come back now?”
Sonbalin took his stein in both hands, and rolled it between his palms for a few moments before answering. “Erin found me.”
Ania shook her head and gasped, “Erin? Why come back here if she managed to find you?”
“Gaven of course, how else would she find me?”
Ania laughed at his answer. “Of course, you let him take the bounty for your head. Let everyone you know think you’re dead, for 4 years. Then you come back for him because he told somebody the truth?“
She paused for a moment, before a look of realisation came across her face. Then her hand darted out to slap him – But he was quicker, and grabber her wrist before she made contact. He pulled back his hood with his free hand and looked her in the eyes, “Don’t even think I’d plan something out with that stupid wretch. His greed just happened to get me out of a tight spot at the time.” He glanced around the Inn to see more than a few people had recognised his face now.
Ania yanked her arm free, and rested it back on the table. “You could have told me”, she sobbed as a tear slowly trickled down her cheek.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t want any loose ends for Gaven to take care of while I was gone.” He reached his hands out again, this time she didn’t recoil as he took her hands in his own.
She looked down at his hands and thought briefly of the work they had done. Still, it didn’t matter, those hands always comforted her. “Except Erin.” She bit her tongue for a moment, instantly regretting her words, “Gaven has changed while you’ve been gone. He scares me now, even in here.”
Sonbalin pulled his hands back, “I can’t stop her, you know that.” Ania held her head in her hands, and nodded as he spoke. “But Gaven I should have stopped a long time ago, don’t worry about him anymore.”
She wiped her eyes, and tried her best to flash a smile as she looked up. But she smiled at the wall, Sonbalin was gone.
Inside, a young elf walked towards the bar, with more than a little swagger. The cheers around him slowly subsided, as people returned to their business.
“This one’s on me Velorien”, said the Innkeeper as he slid a stein of ale towards the elf.
Velorien raised the stein and smirked. “Damn thieves, never learn. Cheers Kalrik.”
Velorien rested his elbows on the bar, and started to eye up another elf serving the tables. A pretty little thing, she’d worked there since he came to the town – Yet he’d never seen her leave with a man. Not that he hadn’t tried, of course. Most of the other women seemed to find him strangely attractive, despite the large scars across his face. But not her, and that was what he liked about her.
Kalrik shook his head with a smile at him, “Still after Ania, huh? Good luck with that.” The elf just waved the comment away, and turned to watch the patrons, hoping for a little more trouble.
The door creaked open once more, but under control this time. Velorien’s eyes darted to the entrance, taking in the new arrival – A man in black and white leather, a short blade strapped to each thigh, and a longsword hanging from a loose fitted belt. A black cloak draped from his shoulders, the hood low over his eyes. Just another merc – Damn place was full enough of them. The elf sighed, as his eyes followed the man across the room.
The newcomer took a seat with his back against the wall, and raised his feet onto the table, legs crossing at the ankle. His head turned slowly about the room, searching for something. A few moments later, a smile could be made out beneath the hood as he had found what he was looking for. This was matched by a scowl from Velorien as he followed the strangers look.
Ania moved gracefully from table to table, always drawing smiles and compliments. Unlike the other serving women, she never openly flirted with the customers; she didn’t have to. Her reserved manner and elven elegance set her apart from her co-workers, allowing her to keep her dignity intact.
She hadn’t paid the latest arrival much attention, until he had taken his seat. He seemed more at home there than many of the regulars, and that didn’t sit easily with her; usually a sign of trouble. She paused for a moment, to see what he was looking for – and he seemed to notice, focusing his attention on her. A brief glow seemed to appear from within his hood. Even from the dark corner he was sat in, the smile on his face was clear for a moment.
Kalrik set a stein in front of him as Ania approached. “Black ale”, he said before starting to turn for the cellar. Ania grabbed his arm, but he just shook it off and stated “Just do it, on the house.” And then he was gone.
Ania picked up the ale, and shook her head before heading towards the stranger in the corner, Velorien’s eyes watching her every move with more than a passing interest.
The man took his feet off the table as she approached. He sat leaning forward onto his elbows, his head dipped low. Ania stood on the opposite side of the table, and placed the stein down nearest her. “Black Ale”, she said. He reached a large hand across the table for the stein, dropping a few coins onto the table as he did so. She shook her head as she looked down, “It’s on the house.”
“Then I pay for the service”, he replied without as much as a glance upwards. He motioned for her to sit, before tasting his drink.
Ania’s legs began to tremble at the sound of his voice. She sat on the seat, her body stiff, hands laid on the table before her. Images flashed before her eyes, memories she’d long tried to forget. “I – we, thought you were dead.” She stared at his hood, waiting for him to look up so that she could see his face, for the first time in years. But he just took another drink of his ale. “Sonbalin Ye’Nila –“, she started, before being interrupted.
“Don’t call me that, Ania’Liskali Dimoras Vas’Mirelli. You should know not to trust a word that comes from Gaven’s mouth”
She ground her teeth, and clenched her fists, quickly pulling them back as Sonbalin reached out with his own hand. “What do you want? Why have you come back now?”
Sonbalin took his stein in both hands, and rolled it between his palms for a few moments before answering. “Erin found me.”
Ania shook her head and gasped, “Erin? Why come back here if she managed to find you?”
“Gaven of course, how else would she find me?”
Ania laughed at his answer. “Of course, you let him take the bounty for your head. Let everyone you know think you’re dead, for 4 years. Then you come back for him because he told somebody the truth?“
She paused for a moment, before a look of realisation came across her face. Then her hand darted out to slap him – But he was quicker, and grabber her wrist before she made contact. He pulled back his hood with his free hand and looked her in the eyes, “Don’t even think I’d plan something out with that stupid wretch. His greed just happened to get me out of a tight spot at the time.” He glanced around the Inn to see more than a few people had recognised his face now.
Ania yanked her arm free, and rested it back on the table. “You could have told me”, she sobbed as a tear slowly trickled down her cheek.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t want any loose ends for Gaven to take care of while I was gone.” He reached his hands out again, this time she didn’t recoil as he took her hands in his own.
She looked down at his hands and thought briefly of the work they had done. Still, it didn’t matter, those hands always comforted her. “Except Erin.” She bit her tongue for a moment, instantly regretting her words, “Gaven has changed while you’ve been gone. He scares me now, even in here.”
Sonbalin pulled his hands back, “I can’t stop her, you know that.” Ania held her head in her hands, and nodded as he spoke. “But Gaven I should have stopped a long time ago, don’t worry about him anymore.”
She wiped her eyes, and tried her best to flash a smile as she looked up. But she smiled at the wall, Sonbalin was gone.
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
Gaven Dartil sat tense behind his desk, his usually pale face burnt red in rage. The elf stood before him did well to keep his composure. Dealing with Gaven was never easy, and he seemed more volatile than ever right now.
“You’re sure it was him?” asked Gaven.
“On my life it was, Gaven. My brother used to idolise the man. That’s how he ended up dead, trying to follow in his footsteps. It’s a face I won’t soon forget, especially those eyes.”
Gaven exhaled slowly, his large fists clenched tight across the desk. “How many recognised him then, not everyone’s eyes are as keen as yours? And more importantly, did he recognise you?”
The elf slowly shook his head, and smiled. “He didn’t recognise me. Some of us grow older, Gaven, even we elves. As for how many recognised him, I expect the whole tavern. He got sloppy, and removed his hood. If he hadn’t done that, I may not have recognised him either.”
Even more blood flowed to Gaven’s head, it looked ready to explode. The sound of his large fists almost breaking the table in half soon snapped the elf out of that thought though. “He didn’t get sloppy, you idiot! He did it to make a statement; he does everything with a purpose. EVERYTHING!”
Gaven’s voice echoed in the small office, and two guards burst through the door behind him at the commotion. “Did I call for you? NO! Get the hell out of my office!” Gaven screamed at the guards, before turning back to the elf, his face a picture of rage.
The elf tried to straight his back a little, sensing he was backing down from the man before him. “Then what purpose? If he intends to make you look the fool, and then disappear again, people will doubt they ever saw him. If he intends to come here”, the elf paused for a moment, and a dry grin came across his face at the thought. “Well, then we can ensure that he is never seen again, and all will be as it was anyway.”
“You underestimate him, and what he’s capable of.” A smirk came across Gaven’s face as he slowly shook his head. “He won’t come for me; we do share a certain history after all. But he can make a mess of things. I’ll lose some good men, and it will put a dent in our operations.”
The elf crossed his arms, feeling a little more at ease now. Gaven’s breathing seemed to have slowed, and he was talking rationally again. “We have the advantage. Time for preparation is short, and we need to make the most of it.”
Gaven sat playing with a wooden band he wore amidst his many gold rings. After a short while he seemed to make a nodding motion with his head, not looking away from his fingers. The elf took it for agreement and left; time was short.
Sonbalin knelt upon one knee, on a small hill. His head was dipped low, resting on his clasped hands. A short sword was driven into the ground either side of him, a long sword before him – so deeply plated, it seemed no large than the swords to his sides. A thick and twisted silver chain was wrapped around the blade, across either side of the hilt, ending with a medallion that fitted neatly into the pommel.
He stayed in that position, unflinching, unwavering until the middle of the night. As the moon was directly above him, he arose to his feet, drawing his twin blades from the ground and replacing them in their sheaths along either leg.
He reached both hands down to draw the long sword, and silently slid it into its leather scabbard; as he removed his hands, he twisted them in a practised manner and removed the medallion along with its chain. Kissing the emblem upon it, he replaced it around his neck and tucked it away beneath his leather chest piece.
He turned around and faced his destination, then closed his eyes to concentrate. A few moments passed before he was happy he had all the details in place. An obscure word quietly left his lips, and he opened his eyes with a smile.
Two guards blinked as their jaws simultaneously dropped. A moment later their swords were drawn, as they rushed towards Sonbalin. A third voice came from behind him yelling, “The office, he’s here!”
Both Sonbalin’s wrists snapped upwards and one of his assailants staggered slightly, before collapsing to the ground. He leapt forward two bounds to meet the next guard, deftly twisting his body aside from the oncoming scimitar.
The guard doubled over as his stomach met the intruder’s knee. Something hard struck his head, smashing his face against the floor; he remembered no more.
Sonbalin glanced back down the corridor, but the third man had fled. Turning back to the door in front of him, he reached for the handle. Gaven opened it first.
“It’s been a long time, Sonbalin.” The thick set man stepped aside, and motioned him inwards. Sonbalin hesitated for just a moment, before walking to the far side of the lone desk in the room. Gaven clicked the door shut, and turned the key before turning to see his guest lazily sat with his feet on the desk. “Do you know how bad you’ve made me look by coming here? I’m a man of my word old friend, and you’ve just ruined that word.”
Sonbalin held his left hand out, and two throwing daggers magically returned from the guard outside. He replaced them in the scabbards on his wrists, being careful not to touch the poisoned tips. “Then perhaps you should have stuck to your word.”
Gaven sank back into his seat, elbows resting on the arms, fingertips touching in front of his face. “I did you a favour; you’d be wise to remember that.” Gaven frowned as Sonbalin slid his hood back onto his shoulders, and ran his fingers through his hair. “And here you are, in my office. Do you forget who I am? I made you, Sonbalin, I could just as easily break you.”
The visitor slowly tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then in a singular fluid motion, he was stood with one foot on the ground, one still on the desk, leant forward onto his raised knee with his arms folded. “You were always the fool, Gaven. How Jacques didn’t see you coming, I’ll never understand.”
Gaven slammed the tables with his fists as he leant forwards, bringing his face in line with Sonbalin’s. “And you call me the fool? Jacques saw my play! He accepted that I couldn’t be beaten, and offered himself to me. To me!”
The large man stared hard at Sonbalin’s face, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he laughed, and slumped back into his seat, his hands slowly trailed after him, palms flat on the table. “You can be beaten Gaven. Eternal youth doesn’t make you immortal, you know?” The blood seemed to drain from Gaven’s face at the comment, and he quickly withdrew his hands from the table. But he wasn’t quick enough.
Gaven screamed in agony as he watched Sonbalin yank his dagger free of the desk, leaving a single detached finger in place. He reached out with his uninjured hand, but Sonbalin drove the dagger straight through the centre of his palm, pinning it to the desk, leaving the large man grunting in pain.
Sonbalin removed the small wooden band from the bleeding stump, and tossed it in Gaven’s direction. He sat back in his seat, and emotionlessly watched Gaven’s arm convulse as the dagger worked its magic.
Shortly after, Gaven fell silent, his entire body lay still.
Sonbalin nodded his head in approval as he toyed with the wooden band in his fingers, marvelling at the magic it was capable of. He gave a final glance to Gaven's body, which had aged by several decades in the past minutes.
He closed his eyes, and pictured a nearby safehouse. A single muttered word later, and he was there.
“You’re sure it was him?” asked Gaven.
“On my life it was, Gaven. My brother used to idolise the man. That’s how he ended up dead, trying to follow in his footsteps. It’s a face I won’t soon forget, especially those eyes.”
Gaven exhaled slowly, his large fists clenched tight across the desk. “How many recognised him then, not everyone’s eyes are as keen as yours? And more importantly, did he recognise you?”
The elf slowly shook his head, and smiled. “He didn’t recognise me. Some of us grow older, Gaven, even we elves. As for how many recognised him, I expect the whole tavern. He got sloppy, and removed his hood. If he hadn’t done that, I may not have recognised him either.”
Even more blood flowed to Gaven’s head, it looked ready to explode. The sound of his large fists almost breaking the table in half soon snapped the elf out of that thought though. “He didn’t get sloppy, you idiot! He did it to make a statement; he does everything with a purpose. EVERYTHING!”
Gaven’s voice echoed in the small office, and two guards burst through the door behind him at the commotion. “Did I call for you? NO! Get the hell out of my office!” Gaven screamed at the guards, before turning back to the elf, his face a picture of rage.
The elf tried to straight his back a little, sensing he was backing down from the man before him. “Then what purpose? If he intends to make you look the fool, and then disappear again, people will doubt they ever saw him. If he intends to come here”, the elf paused for a moment, and a dry grin came across his face at the thought. “Well, then we can ensure that he is never seen again, and all will be as it was anyway.”
“You underestimate him, and what he’s capable of.” A smirk came across Gaven’s face as he slowly shook his head. “He won’t come for me; we do share a certain history after all. But he can make a mess of things. I’ll lose some good men, and it will put a dent in our operations.”
The elf crossed his arms, feeling a little more at ease now. Gaven’s breathing seemed to have slowed, and he was talking rationally again. “We have the advantage. Time for preparation is short, and we need to make the most of it.”
Gaven sat playing with a wooden band he wore amidst his many gold rings. After a short while he seemed to make a nodding motion with his head, not looking away from his fingers. The elf took it for agreement and left; time was short.
Sonbalin knelt upon one knee, on a small hill. His head was dipped low, resting on his clasped hands. A short sword was driven into the ground either side of him, a long sword before him – so deeply plated, it seemed no large than the swords to his sides. A thick and twisted silver chain was wrapped around the blade, across either side of the hilt, ending with a medallion that fitted neatly into the pommel.
He stayed in that position, unflinching, unwavering until the middle of the night. As the moon was directly above him, he arose to his feet, drawing his twin blades from the ground and replacing them in their sheaths along either leg.
He reached both hands down to draw the long sword, and silently slid it into its leather scabbard; as he removed his hands, he twisted them in a practised manner and removed the medallion along with its chain. Kissing the emblem upon it, he replaced it around his neck and tucked it away beneath his leather chest piece.
He turned around and faced his destination, then closed his eyes to concentrate. A few moments passed before he was happy he had all the details in place. An obscure word quietly left his lips, and he opened his eyes with a smile.
Two guards blinked as their jaws simultaneously dropped. A moment later their swords were drawn, as they rushed towards Sonbalin. A third voice came from behind him yelling, “The office, he’s here!”
Both Sonbalin’s wrists snapped upwards and one of his assailants staggered slightly, before collapsing to the ground. He leapt forward two bounds to meet the next guard, deftly twisting his body aside from the oncoming scimitar.
The guard doubled over as his stomach met the intruder’s knee. Something hard struck his head, smashing his face against the floor; he remembered no more.
Sonbalin glanced back down the corridor, but the third man had fled. Turning back to the door in front of him, he reached for the handle. Gaven opened it first.
“It’s been a long time, Sonbalin.” The thick set man stepped aside, and motioned him inwards. Sonbalin hesitated for just a moment, before walking to the far side of the lone desk in the room. Gaven clicked the door shut, and turned the key before turning to see his guest lazily sat with his feet on the desk. “Do you know how bad you’ve made me look by coming here? I’m a man of my word old friend, and you’ve just ruined that word.”
Sonbalin held his left hand out, and two throwing daggers magically returned from the guard outside. He replaced them in the scabbards on his wrists, being careful not to touch the poisoned tips. “Then perhaps you should have stuck to your word.”
Gaven sank back into his seat, elbows resting on the arms, fingertips touching in front of his face. “I did you a favour; you’d be wise to remember that.” Gaven frowned as Sonbalin slid his hood back onto his shoulders, and ran his fingers through his hair. “And here you are, in my office. Do you forget who I am? I made you, Sonbalin, I could just as easily break you.”
The visitor slowly tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then in a singular fluid motion, he was stood with one foot on the ground, one still on the desk, leant forward onto his raised knee with his arms folded. “You were always the fool, Gaven. How Jacques didn’t see you coming, I’ll never understand.”
Gaven slammed the tables with his fists as he leant forwards, bringing his face in line with Sonbalin’s. “And you call me the fool? Jacques saw my play! He accepted that I couldn’t be beaten, and offered himself to me. To me!”
The large man stared hard at Sonbalin’s face, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he laughed, and slumped back into his seat, his hands slowly trailed after him, palms flat on the table. “You can be beaten Gaven. Eternal youth doesn’t make you immortal, you know?” The blood seemed to drain from Gaven’s face at the comment, and he quickly withdrew his hands from the table. But he wasn’t quick enough.
Gaven screamed in agony as he watched Sonbalin yank his dagger free of the desk, leaving a single detached finger in place. He reached out with his uninjured hand, but Sonbalin drove the dagger straight through the centre of his palm, pinning it to the desk, leaving the large man grunting in pain.
Sonbalin removed the small wooden band from the bleeding stump, and tossed it in Gaven’s direction. He sat back in his seat, and emotionlessly watched Gaven’s arm convulse as the dagger worked its magic.
Shortly after, Gaven fell silent, his entire body lay still.
Sonbalin nodded his head in approval as he toyed with the wooden band in his fingers, marvelling at the magic it was capable of. He gave a final glance to Gaven's body, which had aged by several decades in the past minutes.
He closed his eyes, and pictured a nearby safehouse. A single muttered word later, and he was there.
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nemectic
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:44 am
Re: Sonbalin
Ania awakened with a shiver as she felt the cool night breeze against her skin. She instinctively pulled her blanket tighter around her body before turning to look at her open window curiously. Muttering under her breath, she threw her blanket to the bottom of her bed and strode across her room, closing the window and fastening the latch.
She turned around and swiftly moved back to her bed, eager to climb under her blanket once more. But she didn't reach the bed. A strong arm wrapped itself around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor. Another reached under her left arm, and clamped down on her mouth, stifling her attempts to scream for help. She kicked and flapped her hands to no avail, she could reach neither the floor nor ceiling, and was just out of reach of all furniture. After a few moments she relaxed, calming her mind to think through her predicament.
A voice whispered in her ear, "Would you please be quiet like a good little elf now?"
Ania nodded her head as she felt her feet touch the floor, and her assailants grip relax on her. As soon as she was free she turned around and threw her arms around him. "I'm glad you came back", said the elf, before kissing him softly on the cheek.
Sonbalin put a finger to her lips, and led her to the bed. "I had to, I should have dealt with Gaven before I left", he whispered as he laid her down, tucking her blanket beneath her.
Ania sighed and reached out her hand to touch his cheek, "I didn't just mean tonight, I'm glad you came back now." She stroked down his face and neck to rest her hand upon his shoulder, looking into the soft glow of his eyes. "Will you stay?"
"I have to go." He shook his head as he looked at her and sighed. "I have business elsewhere. I may have already wasted too much time here, there is a lot at stake." He reached into his pocket and removed the wooden band he had recovered from Gaven, holding it out to the elf. "You still have the other two?"
Ania nodded with a tear in her eye, and removed the leather thong from around her neck. "That only leaves two more, what then?" She asked hopefully as she untied the necklace, and slid the wooden band onto it.
Sonbalin slid the ring down next to the other, slightly larger ring on the necklace. Grasping the two between his hands he chanted for a few moments, his eyes seeming to blaze as if they would set fire to the room, then they dimmed, their tell-tale glow all but gone as he finished his words. He reached his hands around Ania's neck, and tied the necklace once more, before removing his hands and placing one on her chest. "Then I will be one step closer to returning for good."
Ania looked down at his hand, then back to his eyes as she toyed with the single thick wooden band upon her necklace. "Or two steps further away." She knew it would be this way, since she first recognised him in the inn. Yet despitre all his many flaws, she needed it to be different. Just this once.
Sonbalin took her hand in his and kissed it. "Kalrik's been keeping something for me. Talk to him in the morning, tell him you need to know the truth about what happened. About Erin." He kissed her hand once more and placed it back onto her chest, then went to sit on the windowsill across the room.
Tears rolled down Anias face, but she remained silent as she watched him. He seemed to be staring at the sky, and never looked back. Yet he remained. She wanted him to come back, but knew that he wouldn't. She wanted to argue her case, but already knew the annswer. And so she watched him as long as she could, before her eyes start to grow heavy, and sleep overcame her.
When she awoke, he was gone.
She turned around and swiftly moved back to her bed, eager to climb under her blanket once more. But she didn't reach the bed. A strong arm wrapped itself around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor. Another reached under her left arm, and clamped down on her mouth, stifling her attempts to scream for help. She kicked and flapped her hands to no avail, she could reach neither the floor nor ceiling, and was just out of reach of all furniture. After a few moments she relaxed, calming her mind to think through her predicament.
A voice whispered in her ear, "Would you please be quiet like a good little elf now?"
Ania nodded her head as she felt her feet touch the floor, and her assailants grip relax on her. As soon as she was free she turned around and threw her arms around him. "I'm glad you came back", said the elf, before kissing him softly on the cheek.
Sonbalin put a finger to her lips, and led her to the bed. "I had to, I should have dealt with Gaven before I left", he whispered as he laid her down, tucking her blanket beneath her.
Ania sighed and reached out her hand to touch his cheek, "I didn't just mean tonight, I'm glad you came back now." She stroked down his face and neck to rest her hand upon his shoulder, looking into the soft glow of his eyes. "Will you stay?"
"I have to go." He shook his head as he looked at her and sighed. "I have business elsewhere. I may have already wasted too much time here, there is a lot at stake." He reached into his pocket and removed the wooden band he had recovered from Gaven, holding it out to the elf. "You still have the other two?"
Ania nodded with a tear in her eye, and removed the leather thong from around her neck. "That only leaves two more, what then?" She asked hopefully as she untied the necklace, and slid the wooden band onto it.
Sonbalin slid the ring down next to the other, slightly larger ring on the necklace. Grasping the two between his hands he chanted for a few moments, his eyes seeming to blaze as if they would set fire to the room, then they dimmed, their tell-tale glow all but gone as he finished his words. He reached his hands around Ania's neck, and tied the necklace once more, before removing his hands and placing one on her chest. "Then I will be one step closer to returning for good."
Ania looked down at his hand, then back to his eyes as she toyed with the single thick wooden band upon her necklace. "Or two steps further away." She knew it would be this way, since she first recognised him in the inn. Yet despitre all his many flaws, she needed it to be different. Just this once.
Sonbalin took her hand in his and kissed it. "Kalrik's been keeping something for me. Talk to him in the morning, tell him you need to know the truth about what happened. About Erin." He kissed her hand once more and placed it back onto her chest, then went to sit on the windowsill across the room.
Tears rolled down Anias face, but she remained silent as she watched him. He seemed to be staring at the sky, and never looked back. Yet he remained. She wanted him to come back, but knew that he wouldn't. She wanted to argue her case, but already knew the annswer. And so she watched him as long as she could, before her eyes start to grow heavy, and sleep overcame her.
When she awoke, he was gone.