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A Path of Destitution
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 07:26 AM |
The Trial of Fri'el Skygem-Arna
Evaramier knew this was momentous. The salvation of Lady Fri’el and now her impending trial. Was this beyond him; beyond his powers of persuasion, beyond his powers of reasoning? Either way he knew he would not entrust this task to any other.
“Midor is without a single person who has not heard of Lady Fri’el and the legends of her wickedness. How am I to do this, how am I to convince anyone?”
But yet he had seen that flicker of good, that ability to love, that desire to be seen for who she really was. Beneath that veneer of callousness that protected her from the outside world, underneath that veil cast upon her benevolence by her evil Lord, corrupting the good that no one else could see, and leaving only a cold, colourless form of beauty without an ounce of compassion. Evaramier knew it was there. He had overcome the first task, of convincing Lady Fri’el that it was there. Now he faced the greater task, the almost impossible task. “How do I convince others?”
As he sat at his desk in his new office, an accomplishment that paled under the strain bearing down upon his shoulders, Evaramier’s mind began to drift back.
The day was bitter and dark with the rain beginning to invade the deeper layers of his robes. Yet on the cold stone floor of Lyneaum, he sat. She has asked him to stay. He was astounded. His earlier interlude in Nebwood some few weeks previous had created an effect that even he had not expected. His challenge “You may think you have the power to do as you will, but you are weak”. He could not believe the confidence he had displayed, a confidence that almost seemed insane. “WEAK!” He had hit a nerve and now she ordered him to explain. “Because with all the power you have, the power to destroy, the power to control, you lack the ability to posses the most powerful thing of all. A thing nearly all mortal’s possess. He chided her with the word mortal knowing she would see its implication. “Love”. He knew he was bating her and he expected nothing but a slow torturous death, but something inside possessed him. He stumbled on, reckless oblivious to his own danger. “You can do all you want, but you could never make me love you, because you cannot love yourself.”
Evaramier knew he had provided her with amusement, he had caught her many times watching him. His sister Calia had warned him he was playing with fire. She had scolded him for offering himself as a hostage that day in Nebwood. And Calia had nearly been right. That challenge, seemed to strike a cord. A mortal!. That’s all Fri’el had seen him as, he was sure, and now he was using it against her. But it had hit home. He had made it clear that she had only the power to order him to stay, or keep him there by duress, but not the power to create in him a desire to stay. He bated her further. “Do not even try, for I suspect you have never failed at anything before, do not let this be the first.”
And yet in the courtyard of Lyneaum, she took the challenge. She had asked him! And in her face, Evaramier thought for the first time, as they stood at the gates of Lyneaum, he saw fear traverse her face. She knew he was right. She could not make him desire her company and yet she took the risk. She asked, hoping he would not refuse. But knew he might! And then the revelation came to Evaramier, with the magnitude and force hitting him with an almighty blow. It was not only Fri’el he had bated but himself.
OOC: I have a way to go yet but I would appreciate honest feedback. I plan to write this in small chapters so hopefully you can get the suspension of the story along with Evaramier. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: The Trial of Fri'el
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 07:34 AM |
| Interesting story!, please continue... |
Long Live the Fighters!
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Re: The Trial of Fri'el
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 08:34 AM |
((ooc
absolutely.
Barnas? is there anything you can contribute to this as well? I would love to hear what is going on insider her mind
- Paul
)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: The Trial of Fri'el
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 08:47 AM |
Fri'el looked about her cell with a cute little smile on her face
The guards had been very scared of her. That was nice. They'd brought her some lovely pink cusions when she asked, and on the little dresser they'd brought in she had all her makeup and a few pieces of paper to write on.
She had a note from Evaramier too, which he'd gestured to eat. She didn't like paper, though. Too fatty.
It hadn't changed much since Alen and her had shared this cell a while back, she thought. Except Alen wasn't here with her.
She'd got the good side of the coin, she knew. Alen was in hell, she was suffering.
"We always hurt the ones we love" thought Fri'el. It was very sad, but true. Alen had given herself up to save her.
It was weird to be back, then. Had she abandoned what Alen had wanted? She couldn't do that. She sort of still loved Alen.
And then there was Evaramier. He was sweet. She didn't know if she still liked him, though.
He was.. he didn't like -her-. He was talking about the person inside her the whole time. She was the person inside her. So why did he want her to change?
She sighed
She didn't know if she wanted to hold him or torture him. She missed that.
She was weak now, she knew it. She was a good person, now though.
She really was! She'd given herself up, so people would accept her again? Right?
They wouldn't. They wern't like her. But this was all she could do to prove that she wasn't a bad person, really.
But she was who she was! Why couldn't they accept that? They wern't better than her! They shouldn't even be able to judge her at all!
In fact, why was she even in this cell? She should be out, enjoying her life, seeing the world, feeling it's pleasures!
This wasn't right! She was a -Lady-! A -Noble-! And she was in a cell next to pathetic commoners!
How could they do this to her? To -Fri'el-?
By what right could they pass judgement on her? They were despicable, pathetic, worthless! Why had she given herself up?
Because it was right? There was no such thing as right, she knew that! People like this could not accept the truth that they -would- die, and learn to embrace and accept it!
And now they would punish her for trying to teach them?
She kicked a pink, fluffy, cushion across the room
But then... why did she not feel so sad when she was in here? |
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The Trial of Conspiracy
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 11:40 AM |
Evaramier’s thoughts came back to his office, the stack of paper work that had already begun to place a weight upon his desk created a daunting feeling. The task set before him needed his immediate attention and he knew that for all his years of tutelage as both a sorcerer and a jurist, nothing was going to compare to the stress to come.
He realised that the night before had been the first step in a direction he had never anticipated. Despite Fri’el’s reluctant acceptance that she may have within her all the things Evaramier had proclaimed, when he reached over and placed his lips upon hers, entering into a kiss so soft that no evil could possible be entertained and nothing short of pure emotion could explain away the sensation that had formed, it felt to him that, at least for this moment alone, all her reluctance had faded. But then he felt within his arms something change; this beautiful, delicate woman, who for the past several hours had been relaxed and calm, almost child like and with him oblivious to the pouring skies, suddenly tense with an immortal fear.
“You know I will suffer for this.” She paused ever so briefly. “He will not let me go”
The fear rose in Evaramier from the very pit of his stomach as the question forming on his lips was stayed by the earth shattering sound that rocked the very walls around them.
“I am his and my soul belongs to him”
Evaramier brought his thoughts back to the present with an abruptness that would prevent him from going any further. He could not bring himself to remember the figure that appeared before him; a man who appeared with an almost paternal exterior but whose very soul and presence created the most gut wrenching horror and trepidation, the figure whose black cloak swayed beneath the wind but whose smile created nothing but immortal anxiety. Evaramier simply watched in terror as the figure cast the most delicate women he had ever seen, in to the very pits of hell. This was the woman who had captured Evaramier’s imagination and spurred his desire in the very way he proclaimed she could not.
He swore he would not let this happen and he turned his attention again to his desk, ready to start planning the next step. It was precisely then that his thoughts were again interrupted, this time by a knock from the door.
“Who is it?” Evaramier could not possibly imagine anyone would want him at this hour. The evening had already drawn in and midnight must surely have passed by now.
The door swung open and in walked a young man, in his late teens. Evaramier immediately recognised him as one of the court clerks. With an element of suspicion he beckoned the young man in. The clerk, with an almost guilty look upon his face, simply placed a sealed letter upon the desk and without saying a word, offered a nervous grin and left the room.
“What on earth……. Why is he working so late and why would I receive a letter at……” By the seal upon the envelop, he suddenly realised that this had come directly from the High Judge. “What would Griffin want with me at this hour and why in writing. I’m just down the corridor!”
With unease and suspicion, Evaramier opened the letter and with a shock that even defied his earlier caution he dropped it to the floor. Suspicions began to instantly form in his mind. Conspiracy? Vengeance? Retribution? What else could explain this sudden move? He paused for a second, the magnitude of the decisions before him, the internal dichotomy that he would now have to face, the affront to everything Evaramier had come to serve. He doubted he would sleep at all tonight, much like his fair lady in the cells beneath him.
“I cannot believe this. Now they want me to prosecute!” |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Justice for Fri'el
Posted: 02 May 2004 07:45 AM |
There was no way Evar was going to let this slide.
“This is an affront to almost every principle of justice”.
But looming in the back of his mind was something a little more acrid, an intolerable, persistent alarm that warned him of the forces that were operating against him; against her. He had assumed this war was not personal nor against his new appointment but nevertheless he was unprepared to be used as a pawn in the crusade to execute the High Priestess. He was unprepared to abandon his morality and sense of innate righteousness: regardless of what Fri’el has done everyone deserves to be heard and tried on the merits of the case against them.
The cloud of conspiracy and theories of under hand plotting, ensnared and plagued Evar’s mind throughout the night. His earlier prediction bore fruit as the sun began to rise and before his head had beset any pillow. Fatigue and stress began to take hold and the inner sense of rationale and reasoning, which all too often lost the battle against emotion, began to dissipate.
Wearily Evar sat at his desk, pen and paper poised before him, ready to make the first wave in the assault against this affront. To the fortune of Evaramier however, exhaustion cast its defying spell and the illegible splodge that caressed the page masked the words that could well have cast his mortality to the side of his Lady in a wondrous display of joint execution.
As his body awoke so too did his sense of self preservation yet still hanging over his had sat his ever ready, over active, strong will, still kicking for a fight. Evaramier knew he had to reconcile the two. Launching a tirade against the powers that be in the most powerful city around was in no way in his own interest or that of Fri’el; yet neither could he simply ignore what was soon to happen.
Silver tongued he could be; diplomatic he was not and yet if ever there was a time to display both traits it was now. Evaramier set his mind to the task and with a fresh sheet of paper he penned the words he hoped would rescue him from this situation.
“Your Honour,”
He began with the respect the man deserved. After all, he was perhaps a pawn just like Evaramier. The rest of the letter displayed an excellent degree of tact in so far as Evaramier’s abilities were concerned. This he managed by a combination of his quick tongue and persuasive camber together with the shield of legal reasoning with which he had become accustomed, though never before had he used this as a shield, such as he would with the arcane arts, but then never before had he been compelled in such a manner. Combative and adversarial the courts were, it was this very nature that pulled Evaramier to them, the subtle intelligent jousting for which he a passion, but never had such a battle been fought so covertly.
He suspected this would fail, but if nothing else, he could hope to uncover the masterminds behind the plot.
OOC: I apologise that this part is hastily written but I may be away for a week or so and had wanted to do this earlier. I shall perhaps tidy it up at some point. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Intrigue and Investigation
Posted: 06 May 2004 12:08 PM |
"Well I suspected as much. Reason seems not to hold much water with these people" As he read the reply from the High Judge, Evar resided himself to his post as prosecutor but held true to his conviction that was embedded beneath. "If they think they can use me as an unsuspecting pawn they have another thought coming. I hope Midoran himself stands apoplectic in the adverse face of such conduct on the part of those purporting to speak his words here on Vives."
Evaramier however understood his duty but doubted his masters. The dichotomy widened within his mind. “A trial should be conducted with vigour and that it shall get. But is it moral to convict from immoral foundations?”
The question that now plagued Evar’s mind was these murders on the plains. His instinct told him that not only were they connected but it had something to do with the stones that had recently plagued the town. Somehow this was no series of isolated incidents but merely strands of an ever widening weave that had been masterfully tailored. The connection would come in the thread that he knew he had to locate. “Tug that thread and the fabric would fall apart in my very hands”. But how did it all fit together and where was this thread dangling. Evar knew the answer most likely was before his eyes.
"But where?" |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 07:09 AM |
~A letter written in familiar elven hand writing is sent to the High Judge Griffin~
"Your Honour,
I am concerned about the number of incidents surrounding our fair city of Midoran the past few months, not least of which concerning the murders on the plains.
I have been keeping my eyes open in respect of these and other incidents and I notice each time that the same individuals appear to be not too far away.
In order to improve my standing with the city of Midoran and prove my worth, I would humberly request a judicial appointment to investigate this matter with a view to aiding any subsequent prosecution. I shall of course report directly to you.
Reveredly Yours
Evaramier Qu' Estreal" |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 12:01 PM |
Cynda had taken to wandering the streets. She had found nothing but dead ends so far in her investigation. The steady sound of her shoes clomping on the pavement soothed her.
Even though she had passed it three times, she walked past the Unicorn Inn. Inside, the tenor of the crowd had changed. The guards had just change shifts and those that had manned the walls through the morning and afternoon had decided to take a few pints before heading home.
These tense and trecherous times had the guards a bit more wound up than usual and their stresses were revealled in the loudness of their intoxication.
Cynda stood off to the edge of the doorway and listened carefully. A familiar cantankerous voice rose through the din:
"I swears by the Light, the Judge askin too much a me this time. Ta give way on the investigation ta some Light-blightin' elf? Ya got ta be joking me, that pointy-eared freak ain't gonna find nothing 'bout what's happening on da Plains any more n I am. By the Midoran, dat brown-nosin elf's in fer some trouble!"
Cynda smiled a wry smile at the guard's drunken lament and added a small note to her extensive parchments.
Evaramier
She chewed the nib of her quil and simply said 'Hmmm....' |
Sai Barris, Scamp-at-Large
Cynda LeRange, Reporter, Port Royale
Parson Droim Raine, Preacha o da Word o Swiftfoot |
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 12:57 PM |
Ya got ta be joking me, that pointy-eared freak ain't gonna find nothing 'bout what's happening on da Plains any more n I am. By the Midoran, dat brown-nosin elf's in fer some trouble!"
Cheers Sai. I love you too! |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 02:25 PM |
| ((of course (^_^). like midoran guards would be happy about an 'outsider' taking over the investigation. nothing like a little xenophobia in times of crisis to keep everyone on their toes.)) |
Sai Barris, Scamp-at-Large
Cynda LeRange, Reporter, Port Royale
Parson Droim Raine, Preacha o da Word o Swiftfoot |
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 03:00 PM |
((careful, he hasn't got the appointment yet.
Though you make a very astute observation, Sai.))
;) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 05:34 PM |
Just as a point of clarification, this would be a judicial investigation and not a police investigation. (so to speak).
Thats not to say the guards would be happy about it, just that it would be an additional investigation not an alternative one. Neither one defering to the other.
I am curious as to who leaked it to the guards though!!! |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 06:10 PM |
I am curious as to who leaked it to the guards though!!!
((Leave it to the media to get their filthy paws on everything))
*Official communique from the High Court of Midor*
Proceed with your investigation, Junior Advocate. Report directly to High Judge Griffin any pertinant findings. The scope of your investigation shall not infringe upon that of the Order of Midoran.
*The message is affixed with the Seal of the High Court of Midor.* |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: A Letter to High Judge Griffin
Posted: 09 May 2004 06:22 PM |
*Looks incredibly pleased with himself.*
"Might be worth visiting the Chief Investigator. See if we can help one another"
*remains oblivious to the reporter or the guards.* |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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A Corrupted Soul
Posted: 12 Jul 2004 02:23 PM |
This is an account of what occured to Evaramier during his period of disappearance. I would appreciate any feedback that people could give as Im planning on doing a little writing in the near future and this would be very helpful. Hope you enjoy, and of course all this stuff is OOC 
Evar sat in his study, the mountain of work piling high upon his desk and the force of the pressure bearing down on him like a Bigby spell. Evar mused to himself and thought of an interesting new spell; “Evaramier’s Overbearing Workload”.
Sweat began to cascade down the soft pale skin of the elf, and within the space of a few seconds grew ever more profuse; precipitating what was to come. Realisation struck and his fear was confirmed as the room begun to spin. Evaramier knew that again it was time to lie down. These attacks had been happening increasingly for the last week but dismissed by the sorcerer as mere exhaustion. Now, despite his inward denial, it was clear this was far more serious, something certainly caused by no natural source. As Evaramier allowed the sickness to take a hold of him he knew he would again begin his frightful dream. The dreams that had been plaguing the elf had intensified and with all the will in the world, Evar knew he would have to accept the inextricable link between these two disturbances.
As Evar led down, his disorientation consumed him, and his mind entered a comatose state taking him to a place akin to hell itself, whilst his body entered an agonising fit. His mind was cast into a lucid darkness with a calming effect that took him away from the daily stresses in which the sorcerer had found himself resenting. But as with the night before, and the ones before that for the past several months, relaxation was far from the fate of this elf. Tearing through the darkness ahead of Evar, came three slits. One vertical, just centre of the sky, and two horizontal tears, hovering above the first. The tears rapidly grew in size and became burning searing marks, not only in the fabric of the darkness but the essence of Evaramier’s mind. He cried out in a pain that he wished he had never felt before and which he knew would not be over for hours. Even then he knew he would be granted only a slight reprieve.
The mask began again to form in the sky, a shimmering blue outline around the tears began to etch itself into the elf’s soul, stealing ever increasing amounts of energy from the sorcerer. This was stronger than before!
Several hours later, Evaramier opened his eyes, remembering only the image of the mask in the sky, realising that he was going to pay sorely for his mistake, but knowing not who he could turn to. The only mage he respected and knew he could have trusted had passed away. The sorcerer’s respect for Xaranthir was an odd expression. Evaramier considered him overcautious and perhaps overbearing; but Evaramier saw in the mage a quality that was lacking in the many he had encountered over his numerous winters. A quality which many underrate, and a quality which the elf himself strived to possess, but knew could not match that of the fallen Wizard. Integrity, could perhaps have saved him had he possessed it in such abundance, had he perhaps of exercised the same deliberation. But now Xaranthir had gone, and Evaramier was convinced his destruction was shortly to follow.
Unlike on the previous occasions the mage’s perspiration had not dried, and anxiety coursed through Evaramier’s body as his realisation hit only moments before the second wave. The elf’s soul was taken with a wrenching pull that destroyed all the energy left within.
Days became weeks as Evaramier’s mind slowly descended deeper and deeper into the darkening world. Voices from outside and around him penetrated his dulled consciousness with rumours of death, violence and war. He saw flickers of a noose adorning the necks of his brethren, but his energy to wake from his sleep walk escaped his reach. It was no longer clear what was reality and what was the illusion of the most awful fever. Death and corruption toiled through Evaramier’s mind, pushing him closer to that edge, a brink he new he could not come back from, a chasm devoid of morality and integrity. It was all Evar could do to hold his conscience back from that cliff, but all around him his kin were struggling, others dying and he could not help.
Images of Calia appeared in his mind, and she too was cast onto a cold dark floor, a place of no light and no warmth. His body, limply strewn across his bed, had no motion, no expression; yet tears begun to traverse his cheek. He knew in a world in which Calia existed, a world of warmth and affection she could not tolerate such darkness.
Months later the elf began to open his eyes; briefly; for a few seconds at a time, but increasing with potency as his energy began to restore. The elf however, remained in his room, gradually returning to the world of Vives in the fair town of Midor. Scared and alone, withered and barely able to stand from inexplicable fatigue, Evaramier pulled himself to his desk. Only then did he see in his hand the source of his sustenance through this time, though he knew not for how long he had been taken.
With a deafening clang the wooden mask hit the floors of his room, sending a thundering rapture through his skull. Evar wrapped his cloak around the mask and thrust it into a draw, hastily locking in and then with all his will destroying the key. His last respite of energy used, threw the elf to the floor, where he lay for several hours.
Days passed and the sorcerer slowly began to return to health, learning of the dreadful events that had occurred within the city of Midor. The changes that had taken place. Swearing to do all that he could he took to his feet and for the first time in a months he left his room.
But what Evaramier was unaware of, was the intolerable changes that had occurred with him. A change that could cost him everything. Weary and afraid of sleep, the sorcerer kept himself from his bed for several days, finally succumbing to fatigue on the last night of the tenday. The night was peaceful and he slept well. His night was clear of all but one very brief dream.
A cliff, one he had seen before, led just beneath his bleeding wrist, his body clinging to the rain soaked floor. Clasped in his hands were that of another, a person who had fallen and with whom the sorcerer felt an acute affinity. Desperate to save the poor soul, Evaramier clung with extreme will, pulling as hard he could to rescue the individual. The two pulled closer, as Evar was dragged to the edge of the cliff, bringing up the victim to salvation. As he perched on the edge, just leaning over he saw the face of the poor elf. Familiarity hit him like a thunderbolt, yet he knew not who he recognised. What was clear was that either they would both walk away to talk together, or would both be dragged solemnly to their deaths. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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A Path of Destitution
Posted: 20 Jul 2004 04:35 AM |
Evaramier had found his feet again, and over the coming days walked the lands of Vives, desolved of any purpose or direction, absent of any loyalty or trust. He had prayed over and over to Aros, hearing for the first time no reply.
Sat alone on the benches of Latonei he spoke aloud fearing only the animals of the woods could hear him.
"Aros, where are you when I need you. When no-one trusts me any longer and I am alone and eyed with suspicion by everyone, viewed as an enemy by all."
A firm but gentle voice from the woods shocked Evaramier, bringing his attention back to his surroundings with a start that lifted him from his seat.
"Who doesnt trust you any longer". Elvalia's skilled footsteps had gone unnoticed by the sorcerer whose embarressment was visible across his elven features.
"It matters not fair Elvalia. I did not know you were there." Evaramier's words were transparent and his shield paper thin.
"It seemed important. Why do you think you are alone." The elven lady truly seemed not to understand the prejudice that Evaramier had faced since leaving Midor, both before and after he were to give her his explanation. "Do you not think you would be dead where you stand if I did not think you had but made a mistake." Elvalia's words rang like a brass gong in his ears. Mistake! In his own mind he grinned amusingly to himself. Without but realising it she has demonstrated her own prejudice.
"Fair Elvalia unless you yourself had pre-judged me, how else could you declare my actions a mistake." His words almost registered a veneer of shock within the archer's eyes, as if she had not considered he would stand by his decisions. "I would do it again if I were in that position and now I am ostracised for the path I chose. Our nations are going to war because there are people just like Vidus within the walls of Ferein."
Evaramier's words were like an alarm echoing all through-out the woods and one to which Elvalia was quick to respond. "What do you know of a war?" Her question came with a tone not out of shock at hearing the news, but eager anticipation that the sorcerer contained knowledge. It was clear she was on the hunt, either to have the information imparted or to find out how much the elf knew. To Evaramier it was unclear which and until he knew he was unprepared to trust anyone or disclose anything.
With a gentle persuasion Elvalia escorted the two to the ranger’s Oakhouse near by, whereupon she made her agenda unabashfully clear. The sorcerer grinned, suspecting the inquisition to start but was surprised at the soft approach of the female warrior. “Wont you help your people Evaramier.” The subtle approach caught the elf off guard, as if he had been flanked by a hidden foe in battle, and with an attack that struck straight to his heart. He had prepared for the head on collision on a battle ground of politics, but not in the field of raw emotion.
Evaramier, taken aback and somewhat disorientated, retreated into the recesses of his advocate training. In his mind he muttered, ask only questions, and never you don’t know the answer to. His posture, slumped and week over his staff, the wall at his back, both aiding his ability to stand, but his smile defying his weakness.
“I have no loyalties, not any longer. Why should I help Ferein when they have prejudged and condemned me? Do not mistake this for turning my back on our people, for I will help them in my own way, but why should I help an arrogant council?”
It appeared to have worked. Elvalia appeared shocked and confused. What actions of his had been prejudged? What arrogance had the council displayed? Why did he feel alone? Each of these questions spilled from her mouth in an attempt to understand. Each of these questions protected Evaramier from divulging what he knew.
But then the fatal blow hit, one that had not been by the archers own intention, and which had come by accident, a result of Evaramier’s subtle deflection, an accidental strike as Elvalia's agenda had been brushed aside by the mage. As the archer answered each of the sorcerer’s question, his heart began to warm, emotion began to fill, and he realised, for whatever agenda Elvalia had, she was trying to help also. Trying to help him!
Apprehensive and cautious, the elf felt he owed the only one to have sought to aid him, all the information he knew, though he remained defensive in his divulgence. “There are men like Vidus within our own walls, who would prejudge humans like the humans judge our own kind. That would presume ill-intent by origin alone and not by a person's actions. I was prejudged simply for working within Midor and nothing else, and if our own people can condemn their brothers and sisters for working with good, decent humans, just because Midor has its rogues, just like we have, then we are no better than them.”
Elvalia knew instantly whom Evaramier referred to, but with an attempt at playing devil’s advocate she tried to lay diplomatic grounds. “Do you not think Camthalion had good cause to ask you what you were doing. Do you not think it arrogant not to obey the will of the council.”
The sorcerer was amused by her attempt at a peace negotiation, but with her naivity, she displayed a sense of true heart and loyalty to those Evaramier wished also to aid; their brothers and sisters.
“He did indeed have good cause to ask.” The emphasis on the final word was deliberate and needed not the explanation that followed. “But he did not ask. He summoned me from half way across Vives to accuse me of a crime and expect me to justify it, calling me a liar when I told him Aros had approved my plans to work in Midor, proclaiming that Aros would not do such a thing. He had prejudged my acts and wished to place me on trial, presided by him, in which he was the prosecutor, judge jury and executioner. His arrogance is matched only by that of Vidus, and it is because both Midor and Ferein possess people who think they speak the will of a god that our two nations are heading to war.”
His emotion was bare and it was clear that he felt not only anger at the act of the archmage but deep, heart felt pain at the way his kind had treated him. “Do not mistake indignation for arrogance fair Elvalia.”
Elvalia’s gaze had become tentative and appeared filled with concern, met by the sorcerer’s desire to help, held back only by the dark feeling of solitude. “I will not help a council who is this arrogant.” The archer leaned forward, keen still to defend the council and offer one last bid at persuading Evaramier to aid their court. “Do you not think it best to adopt their view and not antagonize Midor.”
The sorcerer almost applauded with amusement. Astute Elvalia was, and she had from their history already earned Evaramier’s rarely given respect, but he could not help but sympathise with her blind innocence.
“Of course I do not disagree. Tis but a shame that our concil has done just the opposite.” Questions appeared to begin running through Elvalia’s mind and displayed neatly across her face. She needed not to ask the next question that she did, and the sorcerer’s answer came swift, but perhaps not direct. “Why do you think I was dispelled from Midor?” It was clear Elvalia was unused to the games of politics, especially when it came to political war. “Alright, what is it Vidus wants?” His question was almost patronising but it began to create the spark he needed. “He wants a war with Ferein. But how does you expulsion achieve that.”
Evaramier bowed his head solemnly. “It doesn’t. I’m merely one of many pawns Vidus is using, but by expelling me he can accelerate the process. He needs the support of his knights and paladins, and to get that he needs Ferein to act against Midor, to antagonise her.” Elvalia still did not look too sure she understood the cryptic answer of the mage. “Can you not just answer plainly Evaramier.”
His answer was finally definitive, sparking in motion a set of events that may just turn Ferein from the path in which it had begun. He delivered his answer and immediately Elvalia knew what she must do. “Leave Camthalion to me. I have put him in his place once already. Can you be available to meet the council when I call?”
A sense of belonging once again corsed through Evaramier’s veins. “Indeed I shall. Ferein has only to ask and my support will be given.”
Evaramier’s answer still lingered in the minds of the loyal children of Aros as they parted their ways and headed out to protect their people. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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A Different Perspective
Posted: 20 Jul 2004 01:48 PM |
She finished packing the last of her equipment into her pack, looking up to see concern in the face of Strand as he stood by the fire watching her.
“What is it, something wrong?” She asked.
“Where are you going? Why won’t you tell me why you’re making all these mysterious trips on your own?
She sighed and finished fastening her pack before dropping it on the floor and turning to face him.
“I told you old friend, I can’t say, I won’t say – isn’t it enough to know that if I get this wrong anybody else who knows is in danger too?”
A momentary look of triumph flashed across his features and a slight smile appeared, “So it’s dangerous then? I thought so, can I help?”
“No… I’ve told you already, there’s nothing you can do, I was asked to do this and at the same time to keep it secret.” She walked up closer to him and stared into his eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you so don’t think that, but I don’t want to see you hurt, or anybody else for that matter.” She span away from him and bent to pick up her pack from where she’d dropped it, and took her bow from where she’d leant it on the wall.
“I have to go,” she said, walking towards the door and looking back over her shoulder to flash him a quick smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
She left the Oakhouse and began to walk through Latonei towards Gladden, but stopped short when she heard a voice from over near the campfire, a solitary voice speaking elven.
Moving closer to a tree she hid herself in the shadows, gradually disappearing from plain sight as she had seen her father do many years ago. Once satisfied she couldn’t be seen she walked closer to the fire.
“Evar! What’s he doing here?” She thought, listening as he addressed Aros in lamenting elven tones. She moved closer until she stood right behind him, partly amused that she was able to do so without him being aware.
As he started bemoaning the fact that nobody trusted him any longer she reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He jumped up, startled, and turned to face her.
“It’s not true Evar, if I didn’t trust you you’d be dead.”
“If I thought for one moment that your working in Midor was anything other than a mistake we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
He seemed to take a few moments to regain his composure but she was surprised at the triumphant look that appeared on his face as he began to accuse her of showing her own prejudice and lack of trust.
Her green eyes locked with his as she said more firmly, “I don’t distrust you Evar, I repeat, if I did you would not be alive now.”
He really didn’t seem to understand the effect of his actions, could he really not understand why other members of their own race, fellow followers of his own God, treated him the way they did?
This after all was the same elf who had worked in the Court House in Midor while his fellow elves were denounced as heretics and his God accused of being evil.
As usual the feeling of frustration and barely contained anger flowed through her body as they continued to talk. He was either a complete fool or just so full of himself he never seemed to understand what was being said to him. She wondered not for the first time if he had ever realised how close he’d been to death on more than one occasion.
Bracing herself for the conversation to end as it usually did in a monumental argument she was then caught completely by surprise, barely able to believe what she had just heard.
“War, what do you know of a war?”
Her words seemed to take him as much unawares as his had done to her and her attitude changed completely as she looked briefly around and grabbed his elbow.
“We need to talk Evar, but not here, follow me.”
She led him to the Oakhouse and, sensing his reluctance, ushered him inside. Strand stood up in surprise at the sight of the mage but was silenced by the warning look and quick shake of the head that Elvalia directed at him.
Unlocking the door she ushered Evar through, “In here, where we can talk in privacy.”
Evaramier slumped against the wall, as infuriating as ever as every approach she made or question she asked was met with a question of his own, the elf’s arrogance was incredible! Here he was accusing the Council of the same faults he usually displayed himself.
But then something seemed to reverberate within her skull. As he spoke of Camthalion’s attitude towards him Elvalia remembered her last meeting with the Council and the archmage’s attitude. Sensing her opening she began to draw Evaramier out, the archmage’s imperious demeanour sounded familiar but then her reaction had been different to Evaramier’s. Where he had reacted with his usual bluster and indignation she had persuaded, reasoned. She was also fairly certain she could do so again.
One thing was clear, the answer to what she had been asked to do stood here in front of her.
As they spoke, while conveying her usual impatience with Evaramier’s circumlocution and mindless questioning, her thoughts rushed around inside her head, trying to find a way to convince him to accompany her to the Council. They wanted proof, here it was. The difficult part was going to be getting it in front of them.
Then, as Evaramier explained further, everything dropped into place.
“Don’t worry about Camthalion, I’ve dealt with him before.” Evaramier fell silent. “I need to call a meeting of the full Council but I need to know just one thing.”
Having opened his soul Evaramier seemed almost indecent in his haste to be anywhere else but here, but nevertheless waited for her question.
“When I meet with them I’ll speak to Camthalion on your behalf but I want you to make yourself available.”
He seemed to be undecided for a moment but at last nodded.
Seeming to gain strength at last where he had all along shown nothing but fatigue and weakness he pushed himself away from the wall, “I must go.”
She unlocked the door then saw him out of the Oakhouse with a heartfelt entreaty to take care, then turned back inside and threw herself onto the couch, resting her feet on the armrest as usual.
“Trip off then is it?” Said Strand curiously.
“No need for it now my friend,” she said, grinning up at the ceiling, “no need at all.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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