Masks - Thril's Musings

[mythosfakir]

The sea breeze blows warm against the gentle, angular face of a lone elvish warrior, his sky blue cloak billowing with the wind. From one ear hangs the symbol of his commitment to a home that isn't his - the mithril and adamantine crest of the Keryma'Mista'Arael - and from the other hangs a coin gifted to him by a cute hin girl who always seemed to have a heart hundreds of times larger than herself.

Beneath the feathery cowl that conceals him and marks him at the same time, his hair is dark as the night and streaked only lightly in places silver - falling stars against the backdrop. His face, for its gentleness is the face of a warrior - keen eyes that drifted somewhere between emerald and viridian in color and the scars that mark him like his feathered cowl does; on one cheek criss-crossing slashes and just above them the nick of an arrow that first pierced his mask so many seasons ago now.

The warrior sits and gazes out over the ocean, reflecting, one hand supporting his chin, the other's fingers gently tracing the two holy symbols at his breast. His thoughts drift slowly back into the past - far back to the very forge where his fiery spirit was first tempered...

-----

"Talarias! Where are you?" the aging elvish councilman shouted, scouring the thick woods for his runaway son. He'd not been expecting the caretaker to come to him yet again telling him the boy had been lost so soon, but he was hardly surprised. Talarias had so much of his mother in him, that Torias would be surprised if he didn't spend most of his time exploring and getting into trouble.

"Talarias! You cannot neglect your studies like this! How will you fare as the next councilor if you keep letting the Jester distract you like this?" Torias' words rang out in the woods, the birds of High Forest singing a beautiful litany for the dance of the summer sun's rays through the tree branches and leaves. As the fine-clothed councilman wandered just beyond the edge of the settlement they shared with the wood elves a mischievous pair of eyes regarded him from a perch on a nearby branch.

Slowly, Thril crept out along the branch, high overhead of his father and grinning like a jungle cat stalking its prey. He was a typical elvish youth - his face was beautiful and angular, eternally youthful and he was both charming enough and handsome enough to give even the best-looking human a fair competition. By the standards of men, he looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, but in truth he was closer to thirty. Unlike his father, Thril wore simple clothes made with forest hues. They helped him blend in with his surroundings a bit better, but he wore them because they were light, airy, and he needn't worry about ruining them like the fine silks of his father.

He carried a small knife at his belt, a utility more than a weapon. He used it often when he was out of the village like this to skin game and carve figures from wood. He took part in the martial training that all young elves do, but his father tried hard to keep his mind off of battles and combat and more focused on his role as the next councilor in his father's place.

Thril crept along the branch, concentrating on holding his balance as he inched closer and closer to the frantic elf below him. He was so absorbed in the perfect prank to come that he didn't notice as the branch began to bend behind him, the wood creaking quietly in protest.

"Boy! If you return home now I promise your punishment won't be as severe. It's getting late and the gnolls will be about," Torian shouted in exasperation, a slight hint of worry to his voice. He turned to head back towards the village in the trees when he heard the groan of protest above him and then the sharp snap of a branch giving way. He looked up just in time to see his son plummeting towards him, gripping the branch like a cat headed for a cold bath and shouting in surprise.

Thril landed right atop his father, and the branch landed atop him, the three hitting the ground in a pile of fine silks, elvish cursing, and a tree branch. The boy was laughing as they wrestled on the ground until Torian at last yielded with Thril sitting atop him. The two shared a heartfelt laugh, embraced, then rose to return home, the younger elf earning for himself a strict boxing of his ears and two days of night study for his mischief. He pouted a bit, but in truth it wasn't such a harsh punishment considering the many, many times he'd run off instead of attending his lessons.

The two returned home and together with Laraniel, Thril's mother and Torian's bondmate they ate and then sang together.

-----

A splash of seaspray roused Thril from his meditations and he chuckled softly into the wind. It was rare these days that reflections of his youth found him, and he reveled in them. It amazed and delighted him to know that after so many years and so many trials as he had faced, within him that boy that he once was had somehow managed to survive.

With a contented sigh he laid back on the dock and gazed up at the late afternoon sky, drawing more than a few annoyed glances from the dock workers whose path he was laying in. Reverie took him by surprise, for he was much wearier than he'd believed and there he laid into nightfall as the stars and moon came out, casting their light on the elvish warrior whose most difficult battle always seemed between his heart and mind.

[mythosfakir]

Anger.

Rage.

Fire.

Thril's reverie beneath the canopy of the Hullack was fitful and brought him little rest and no peace.

-----

The din of battle was thick around him, the calls in elvish for battle formations and new lines were a litany against the clang of steel on steel and the crunch of weapon against flesh and bone. His heart was beating faster than it ever had, his breath coming in short gasps. Sweat beaded on his face beneath the mask of his helm, and his chainmail felt hot and sticky - like bloody fingers pinching and pulling at his flesh.

The line reformed, only two casualties thus far for the elves while the attacking gnolls' losses were piled twice as high as any elf stood before the trade wagon. Commander Riis barked orders in elvish - always proud, always noble, always everything a kerynsuoress - a holy knight - should be.

"Redoubt their assault, brave warriors! Break them like waves upon the seashore's rocks! Hold and show these dogs who their masters are in combat!" came the bold tenor call above the tumult of battle. And on its heels came the remaining horde of gnolls; yipping, barking, and making their macabre mongrel laugh. They were a fierce tribe, painted with blood - though whether the blood of their own weak or the blood of foes only few could say. A wickedly gnarled alpha male, larger than all those around him by a head or more, yipped and growled orders in their tongue.

The ones he led were adorned with common armor and weapons - chainmail and the occasional half plate that they'd pilfered from other such caravans upon the road. However, the leader was exceptionally armed...a fact that disturbed Riis and Thril both - for magical goods did not often come through the forest by the trade roads.

The charge came swiftly, yipping mongrels throwing themselves upon the elvish line whose largest warrior was still only half the size of their smallest at best. And yet...the charge was shattered by the sheer coordination and cooperation of the elvish defensive. Never was any warrior left open, and openings were made only to be exploited by the next down the line. It was like a great ballroom dance, and the gnolls knew neither the rhythm nor the movements.

Thril found himself facing a grizzled gnoll warrior with only one eye whose shield kept at bay the elvish blade at his left while his own wickedly-curving blade kept the elf at his right busy. Even while doing so, Thril could scarce find an opening for the snapping maw that darted forward and back, looking for an arm or an exposed throat. For his sheer size, the gnoll was slowly starting to gain ground, forcing the three elves back and threatening the line.

A snapping maw nearly claimed Thril's arm - which withdrew too quickly, dropping the blade for the sake of keeping his hand. A wicked canine grin spread the gnoll's maw as it saw victory, but the grin swiftly faded and was swifter still replaced by a gurgling flow of blood as the young elf fell into a crouch, grasped his second blade from his hip and lunged forward and up, piercing the beast's stomach, then lung, then its heart.

The gnoll fell dead and was the last as twilight settled upon the now quiet road. The alpha turned and fled with a yip and it was only the hand of his friend, Ris'tralathin of Moonriven, that stayed Thril from his charge, the heat of battle still warming his blood and dizzying him.

"Easy there, young slayer," Ris said with a soft laugh. He was slightly larger than Thril - more muscular and an inch or two taller - likely from his mixed heritage. Thril was the child of a moonelven couple - both his father and mother were smaller and more fair than their bronzed cousins who seemed so common in the High Forest. Ris was descended from just such - his mother a wood elf and his father a proud sunelven warrior.

"Better we give chase to that one lest he return with more to attack a caravan tomorrow," Thril said, catching his breath. He didn't quite have the experience with battle that Ris did, this being only his second battle while it was his friend's fourth.

Ris' chuckle turned into a full laugh and he clapped Thril's shoulder, "Come now, my friend! If we kill all of them today, what will we have to do tomorrow but sit on our hands and listen to lectures?" Ris' grin was winning and shortly Thril himself found it had infected him. The two warriors laughed, then, and surveyed the carnage - pointing out their kills to see who won the competition this time.

"That one doesn't count, Ris'tralathin! That's Lorinthalas' arrow there in his eye. He was dead before your blade ever reached him," Thril complained, nudging his friend's shoulder and giving a nod to the shy, quiet moonelf milling behind them with the archery line. Lori was more of a pacifist than either Thril or Ris, but he'd proven in training to have the finest eye of any of the archers - and the truest aim. There was rumor that Lori's mother - born in faraway Myth'Drannor - was one of the legendary spellarchers. And that his heritage was her gift. He'd surely follow in her footsteps one day.

"How can it not count, Thril? Surely we can't count such a fine shot from Lori when we all know the only reason he hit the beast was that he imagined his Hanalite arrow piercing Toria's heart and driving her mad with passion for him!" Ris said and then laughter erupted from all the elves but Lori - who turned a fierce shade of crimson that was easily noticeable for his lifted mask. The laughter was cut short, though, by a far off twang and whistle...followed by a dull thud and a grunt of pain from the commander.

Time stopped for all the elves there as Commander Riis slumped in his saddle and then fell forward.

When he hit the ground face-first, the force pushed the black bolt through his chest until it erupted out the back of his chainmail.

He was dead, the obsidian bolt gleaming wickedly and wetly in the fading sun.

-----

Thril started awake with a shout. His breath came in quick, short gasps and sweat beaded on his brow like it had back then. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed, willing the memories away.

It was still raining, and through his reverie he'd been soaked as he sat in the hollow of the tree near the crossroads. He'd come here in part to find peace and in part to check the letters and rations he often stashed there, though in truth he was hoping to find the little fox that kept stealing his things from the cache.

He would've lied to any who passed and said he was waiting to catch the creature, but the truth would've been sorely different.

He was alone and wanted nothing more than to have company that wouldn't ask questions nor make him remember.

If that fox did happen by right then, Thril would've scooped it up and held it for the rest of the night, even if it bit or clawed him.

But the fox didn't come.

And the elf sat in the hollow alone, cold to his core and soaked by rain.

[mythosfakir]

"Me smash you dead!" the giant's roar bounced off the moss-covered trees of the tun, diving down deep into the murky waters of the marsh, and then resurfacing to scatter the large insects and small lizards that made the marshes their home. And the dimwitted battlecry was followed swiftly by a boulder hurled right for the darting elf whose boots splashed through the waters as he danced evasively, twin longswords out and at the ready.

Thril danced to the right of the incoming boulder, letting it smash into the water and mud with a dull thud before rushing the large giant who had its axe in hand now. The two clashed - small elf and massive giant - and for Thril the dance began as it always did. He parried the great weapon with one blade, working the other to keep the giant off-balanced and back-pedaling. In his mind and in his heart the song that always gave his battle a rhythm played and the large oaf was unwittingly dancing to the beat.

He ducked a wicked sideswipe the axe, tucking his legs in to his chest and dropping into a roll through the shallow, murky water. The axe chased him, chopping deep divets into the mud until on the last swing the giant would ever make...the axe buried itself to the haft in thick mud - stuck.

Thril sprang up from the water, stepped on the haft of the axe that the giant still tried vainly to tug free, hopped, spun and out lashed both blades in a reverse scissor motion for the very surprised giant's neck. It was over. The beast's head rolled from its shoulders and it fell. The dance was done and Thril smiled, vainly proud of the beauty he saw in how everything in his life was a dance. It recalled to his mind a dance of another sort that took place long ago in a far off land from the Tun's murky swamps.

-----

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen!

All around the obsidian-skinned elf the open-air ballroom high up in the trees of the High Forest seemed to glow to Thril as he stared slack-jawed at her. None of the other elves would meet her gaze nor draw near to her, preferring instead to whisper snide remarks about the "dhaerow traitor". But Thril was captivated, and he became even more entranced when she smiled his way.

He approached, drawing more than one gasp of surprise and disapproval from the elves who had come to respect him - the ones he'd fought valiantly for years for in order to protect them. The distance between she and he was not so great, but the walk to reach her felt like an eternity for Thril as - for the first time in his life - he found himself nervous. He felt like a child again as he stared at her, and his heart beat faster than it ever had in battle against gnolls or orcs. He wanted to run away and hide, but he could not tear his eyes from hers. They too were beautiful; a soft, dark, crimson color that reminded him somewhat of blood but more of the reddish-amber sap that hardened on the trees.

He was there too quickly, only a few feet from her as she smiled still, hiding a soft giggle with the opalescent fan that contrasted so strongly with her obsidian skin but matched her silver-white hair perfectly. Blushing fiercely he bowed - too stiffly - and greeted her.

"Fair evening, Priestess of the Daughter. I...hope you've not forgotten me. I'm T-T-Talarias, you recall me?" he stammered only slightly - a feat for his nervousness. He could not shake the feeling no matter how hard he tried - something was so different about this one. Something beyond the fact that she was clearly a dark elf...something deeper - something that drew him and would not let him go.

The obsidian beauty bedecked in opalescence smiled, lowering her fan and giving him a teasing bat of her long lashes. "I recall you well, I think, noble Talarias. Though your countenance seems quite odd now, considering when we first met you wished to slay me."

Thril's face turned a brighter shade of red at that.

"Well, umm...yes, about that. I'm truly sorry. I thought - well, hmm - forgive me," he struggled, bowing quickly.

Her laugh caught him off guard - it was not what he'd expected...it was dark and seductive, perhaps even sultry. It was like a forbidden touch or a kiss that lingers too long, and he found it to be yet another temptation atop a mound of them that he'd soon be buried under.

"It is the past, Talarias," she said, granting him another gentle smile. "I shall have a dance with you as an apology if you're not objecting. It would be a shame for me to arrive as an envoy only to join your community in a festival and not enjoy a single dance."

Thril nodded dumbly, taking her offered hand and they moved to the center of the platform, surrounded by the softly glowing lanterns on all sides. The other elves scowled fiercely to a one - particularly an armor-clad Ris'tralathin standing guard for the festival. His gaze did not leave his comrade and friend for a moment the whole night, and as he watched Talarias dance with that dark-skinned witch his grip on his weapon grew tighter and tighter...

-----

Thril came from his reverie with a slight smile. For once the memories that replayed in his mind had been good. He looked up through the branches of the Hullack's thick canopy and noticed that it had grown late - twilight was upon him.

He continued to gaze up at the darkening sky through the branches, heedless of the fact that his fishing pole had been tugged from where he'd wedged it between two rocks as he took his rest. Even as he gazed up, lost in thought, a rather large fish pulled it into the stream and carried it off as a trophy behind it.

Thril wouldn't have cared, though. The twilight was beautiful, and he'd always found the greatest pleasures when darkness and light met.

[mythosfakir]

Kiss

A lost elf.

She had taken her own life, he had heard from others.

She was miserable, lost, confused, and faithless, he had heard from others.

She had been given a second life by the Seldarine and she scorned it, he had heard from others.

-----

The brief picnic at the newly revealed swimming hole near Greatgaunt was a welcome distraction to Thril. True...his intent for gathering together this gaggle of elvish maidens was solely to herd a lost sheep back into the fold, as it were. But still, it was relaxing to truly feel among kin once more.

The Wardens were a family, true enough, but a distant family with each member concerned with their own affairs more than the affairs of the others. That's the way it had always been...the way it always would be - and should be.

Even so, Thril was lonely - bitterly and painfully lonely. He had been ever since those words he did not want to speak were forced from his lips. He hadn't seen nor heard from her since then, and while he was saddened by all that had come to pass he was also many other things.

Disappointed. In himself and in her. There should never have been any secrets, and he should never have allowed himself to believe in something that he knew was too good to be true.

Angry. No amount of violence - no amount of senseless hunting or taking himself to his very limits through pain and fatigue - could soothe the fierce inferno that burned in his heart. He was angry at facing the truth; at the kin who served as the gentle shove away from him - and even at the fact that he bore anger for his brethren at all. He'd seen how quickly an ember left to smolder could flare up and scorch everything to ash - he'd walked that path, and he knew better than to let those feelings build again.

Determined. She loved him and he her, and together so long as they believed in one another things would be alright - they had to be. He'd make them alright. Just like every other problem, he'd stand boldly and stalwart to face this one, and in the end he'd prevail like all the times before. There was no doubt - no lack of faith. Only strength and the unyielding determination of a will forged by centuries of bearing the burden of living with oneself.

All these feelings were roiling inside of him, hidden by the mask that no one ever cared to look past. And even in that there was confusion...he wanted them to see his weakness, his frailty. But, at the same time, he knew that he had to appear strong for their sake as well as his own. The lost sheep would not return to a shepherd so embroiled in turmoil and instability. They needed to see that there was peace beneath the watchful eyes of the Seldarine.

It was a lie, of course, and even that lie - that mask - ate away at his heart. The Seldarine did not make elves perfect - they did not want them to be. Each trial...each struggle came about as a consequence of free will - of choice. And with each scar there came learning and growth. That was the way of the Seldarine, and he knew it, but it was not his place to show them weakness. No, he was a protector - a champion. He had to be strong.

And so he did - smiling, laughing, remaining calm and even-minded in approaching the lost one who had fallen so far so fast. He did not look forward to it...helping them find their way back always seemed to remind him of his own dark days and insecurities. Thankfully, though, this one was not his to guide - an angelic being appeared on the bank opposed to the small picnic and approached...

-----

"She is a witch, Talarias! And she has bewitched you!"

Hot words came from the otherwise quiet corridor where two mature elves now stood, clad in the regalia of kerynsuoressa. Ris'tralathin's breath was heavy with the smell of feywine, and it offended Thril's senses nearly as much as the words scented by it.

"Have you forgotten everything we learned, my brother? THEY are the ENEMY!" Ris shouted though the space between he and his brother-in-arms was small enough for a whisper. To them both, however, the distance had grown much more vast.

Thril eyed the elf sternly, certain that Ris was not drunk even for the amount he'd had. These words were from his heart...and that made their sting all the more painful.

The larger elf grasped Thril by his shoulders, turning and pushing him against the wall, their faces only inches apart while another league was put between their hearts. "Listen to me, Talarias," he whispered. "We have been children together...fought together, bled together, cried together, and made love together. Open your eyes, brother! She is leading you down a path of darkness - away from the Coronal."

Thril's eyes locked with those of the elf who was a friend, brother, lover, and more to him...and they would not yield! Ris knew that look. Every elvish warrior knew the look of Captain Talarias when he entrenched himself - and every elvish warrior knew that nothing short of the Coronal himself could move him while he held that look. And yet, he spoke again, begging.

"Talarias, please! I love you. I have always loved you. Do not trade that for a dark-skinned witch's whisperings. Don't you understand? You and I - we - are eternal..." the words came soft and sweet from lips that had just been aflame with anger. And when they met Thril's own and locked with them in passion unbounded they were cool, gentle, and wonderful, and spoke more than his words ever would.

The kiss was intoxicating.

-----

The band who arrived late - consisting of dear Dornak whom Thril had not seen in an age or more, Dusk whom he'd traveled with that same day, and Hannah the young squire whom he believed held Cald's eye as well as others he did not know as well - had taken the campfire and pot of blessed stew that the angel had left the elves.

Thril was grateful for the messenger's coming - infinitely grateful that the angel had done what he feared he would waver in doing and saved the lost one from that lonely path that ends in nothing. But he could remain no longer, and the slightly tipsy elvish lass who'd just had her first taste of Elverquisst provided the perfect opportunity for him to make his escape.

They excused themselves before Thril followed after Sapphique - his common confidante and project these last few days. She was young...she reminded him much of all the important elvish women who had been a part of his life.

Her youth reminded him of his daughter - inquisitive, curious, and strong enough to seek her answers on her own. Her kindness and generosity reminded him strongly of Sharaliriel - particularly to that oafish brute who seemed to be after another of their kin for questionable reasons. And her smile and soft voice reminded him so painfully of Alindariel - the one who would never know just how deeply she had shaken him.

It was dangerous to be around Saph. Dangerous to look at her, think about her, or even talk to her. He would not be some lovesick fool - he was better than that! And still...he did not turn her away nor let his fears and discomfort show. For her, too, he must wear a mask - always a mask.

The two reached town safely and without any incident besides a few bouts of soft laughter and traded smiles. When at last they entered the gates, the elvish maiden looked around and seemed nervous or unsure. It wasn't an uncommon expression for her, Thril had come to know, but perhaps the Elverquisst had made her somewhat less aware of how obvious her bashfulness was.

She spoke of having no further plans...and on the tail of that asked if she could stay with Thril - no matter where he intended to go or what he intended to do. It was her fortune and his misfortune that all he had intended to do was sit and brood, trying vainly once more to quell the fires of his heart. He would go to his spot...and she would be joining him. As they walked he smiled on the outside, but within he screamed at himself not to fall for the trap he was setting for his heart.

-----

"It's called a heartbond, Alindariel," Sinner spoke from behind his black-white mask. He'd come to Cormyr not so long ago and in his travels was pleased to find a beautiful young elvish maiden with striking midnight hair that was so pure and dark it bore a blue tint in bright sunlight; and she had eyes that shimmered like starlight. Beautiful, lively, a true elf who knew her gods. She was the first he'd met here besides the two elusive Wardens that captivated him so.

"A heartbond?" she asked, giving the masked elf a quizzical look. For so many months she'd traveled the roads and wilds of Cormyr among idiot humans and other foolish N'tel'quess who were more than willing to charge blindly ahead and get themselves killed. And then she happened upon this odd mask-wearing elf with a heavy heart and a dark past. The attraction was instant...swift and powerful enough that it could have been the work of the gods themselves.

They sat now together on a precipice overlooking the windy valleys not far from Suzail. She'd seen the face that hid beneath the mask - seen it bleed, and seen the tears, and she'd also seen the firm set of the jaw - the resolve buried so deep beneath the guilt. He was strong and brave...and she was drawn to him.

They talked for a long while, until daylight turned to dusk and dusk to twilight. He told her of the life he'd lost - the mistake that he'd made - and the redemption he sought. And then they talked of her goddess - of love. Of bonds stronger than life and death - of feelings and of futures.

And then a bond that had been forming was confronted and admitted, an oath taken - the mask lifted carefully.

Lips met beneath the twilight sky, cool night falling to meet the burning passions of the dying day. Words uttered as softly as they had been those many years before.

The kiss was a relief, a joy, and a promise.

-----

Another ball in the northern reaches of High Forest - a gathering of the three Settlements together for festivity and merriment before the onset of deadly winter when the snows and the gnolls would make the trade roads nearly impossible to travel. Thril stood, bedecked in fine silks of hues of blue and emerald and looking every part the noble elvish captain that he was with his ceremonial longsword at his hip.

He wore an intricate masquerade mask with silver dust inlaid in flowing vine-like patterns along the cheeks and forehead of the full-face mask. It was in the spirit of the ball - for everyone wore such masks; which made his search for Shara that much harder. She already seemed to be late, and he wouldn't put it past her to be up to another one of her playful tricks.

Across the floor a group of young elvish maids whispered softly among one another, casting playful and seductive glances Thril's way that were harder and harder to resist with each passing moment. Still, with them he knew it would only be a passing pleasure - a night or less of fun with little more to it. He'd likely already laid with most of them anyway.

He sighed behind his mask as he spun away from the girls, looking out over the dance floor for any sign of obsidian flesh, but he had no sign of the dark elf who haunted his thoughts in waking and his dreams in reverie - until he felt the delicate touch of long, slender fingers slide over his shoulders and felt warm breath at his ear.

"You look handsome, Captain Talarias. The garb of a noble suits you as well as your sword and armor do in battle," Sharaliriel whispered playfully from behind her mask which rested just barely against the tip of Thril's ear.

Her voice, her touch, the nearness of her body - all of it - sent a shiver down his spine and a surge to his loins. He wanted her - more than any other he wanted her, and not just tonight. Forever.

Thril went to turn, but the playful dark elf just spun with him, dancing in an odd way with his back to her and giggling in that way of hers that stayed in his heart. "Ah, ah, aaah..." she teased, gently flipping up his mask and stealing it from him before dancing back a pace, letting him turn around and gaze upon her at last.

He wished instantly that he still wore the mask for the roses that filled his cheeks and the wideness of his eyes that took her in unhindered, uncontrolled, and unabashedly. She was the image of beauty - her gown the most beautiful opalescent silk tinted - surely by enchantment - to glimmer a soft light-blue hue in the starlight and a darker midnight hue in moonlight. Her silver hair that shined like starlight itself was worn down, straight and perfect like a silver waterfall cascading down over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, love, and just the slightest hint of feminine self-consciousness from behind a beautiful masquerade mask made in the guise of Sehanine, inlaid silver star and crescent moon designs shimmering in the moonlight. Her dress revealed much of her flesh, showing off her pert, petite chest and her hands from the wrist.

She was magnificent, and she moved forward, bringing something from behind her back and slowly, carefully slipping it over his head.

It was a masquerade mask like the other, though not as fine. Thril knew instantly, though, that it was the work of her own hand. It was made of fine ivory, molded by magic and a careful hand, and shaped into the likeness of Thril's own face, though the expression was eternally locked to that of the stalwart, entrenched gaze he was renowned for bearing when the odds of a battle seemed insurmountable.

As she slid the mask into place she moved close, taking one of his hands in hers and placing her other hand on his chest before resting her head beside it and murmuring, "Talarias, I hope you like my gift to you. I know how you love these masquerades, and since I will be leaving on the morrow to return to the temple until next spring I hope that you'll never wear another mask but that one."

"I promise, Shara. It's the most wonderful gift I have ever received," Thril whispered back, holding her close as they swayed to the slow waltz. "There's something I want to give you as well."

From a distance a masked Ris'tralathin looked on at the two, his hand tight on the hilt of his ceremonial sword - a tick of sorts many of the warriors had developed to keep their emotions from overtaking them. He watched Talarias and Sharaliriel swaying to the dance, the witch holding herself to him like the life-sucking leech she was. Behind the mask his teeth were gritted and a single tear fell unseen as Talarias bent down, lifted her chin and then her mask - as she lifted his - and the two kissed passionately.

The kiss was the beginning of the end.

-----

They sat and talked a while beneath the tree that Thril had always loved in Greatgaunt - high on the hill overlooking the square. It was far enough from the noise that none would hear them, but close enough so that they could see the goings on in the square below.

Saph asked questions as she always did, and Thril answered them as was his charge as champion and Warden. As their conversation carried on from topics dealing with the Seldarine, lost elves, and how to save those who don't wish to save themselves Thril noticed that the charming elvish girl was growing weary.

Without asking - for neither wished to deal with the awkwardness of such permissions - he gently moved her into his lap, where she quickly snuggled into the warmth of his chest that his mithril shirt left uncovered. It was a comfort to her - to an elf who had lost her family and had come to this foreign and strange land seeking to regain...something. Even she was not sure if she was looking for something tangible or something within herself, but what she did know was that this was happiness.

She listened quietly to the heartbeat of the elvish champion who didn't always have the right answers, but who always had some answer. She heard his voice deep in his chest - in his heart - as he spoke soft words. It didn't even matter what he was saying, just the sound was pleasant and the feeling.

Thril continued talking - and intended to continue to do so until she drifted into sweet reverie. Even as he did so, though, those roiling emotions tried to bubble to the surface once more. He felt fatherly, for clearly this girl needed him. And yet...he also felt the familiar tugging of lust - always there and rarely sated for long - and something more. Something that was lust but was more sinister...something akin to revenge but still so unfamiliar to Thril that he could not name it. And then there was pain, for Alindariel was the only one who had been this near to him in so many years. Feeling the warmth of another so close this soon - too soon - was like a knife to his heart, and the fact that it was not Alindariel added serration to the blade.

Thril was too lost in his own inner turmoil and external rhetoric to notice as the shy girl looked up from his chest and smiled a smile that was both mischievous and earnest. Without warning she rose up in his lap, gently taking his face in her hands, and she pressed her lips against his, pushing him back against the tree with the fierceness of her passion.

Thril was stunned, but he could do nothing. He could not throw her off or she would plummet off the cliff, could not run away for the tree behind him, and could not go left nor right for the rock on the one side and the sheer drop on the other. But had all those things not impeded him, Thril still could do nothing but return the passions of young Sapphique with intensity.

The kiss was his salvation and his damnation.

[mythosfakir]

The Unbreakable Mask

"I wonder, my son, when it was that you grew to despise your own kin so. Was it when you first picked up a sword? Or perhaps when you decided that the seat of a councilman was beneath you?" the words bit Thril keenly, but he remained steadfast and resolved.

"You are to be what carries on of me into the next generation, Talari-"

"Thril, Father."

"...Talarias. And despite that you cast aside your name as if it means nothing," Thril's father spoke the words as calmly as he could manage but a mixture of sorrow and anger swirled within his sea-blue eyes. How could he be expected to accept this...this...this insult - this embarrassment?

True it was that his son was renowned for his leadership and combat abilities - none questioned that - and he probably would've made for a wonderful councilor had he desired that path. However, as was the way with elves, Talarias would walk his own way...but the wise and patient councilor could not bear this. First he discards the name his parents had so lovingly given him - not for his own choice but for that witch's - and then he allows his seed to spill into her?!

And what cruel twist was it that made Erevan consort with Angharradh to allow that Dhaerow temptress to become pregnant with child?!

No, it was too much.

Too much shame.

Too much embarrassment.

Too much disappointment.

Too much...

Fear.

"Do not ever speak to me again, ...Thril," the councilor spat the name as if he were spitting out a wine left to ferment too long, his emotions finally overcoming him.

"You are not my son, and to me you are no better than that traitor whore who has leashed you and now keeps you as her obedient pet! May you, she, and your accursed spider-spawned child rot in the Abyss with the Bitch Queen herself!"

The door slammed, and somewhere in the darkness of Thril's heart hands belonging to no one and everyone slowly molded the ivory.

-----

Thril's eyes opened slowly, and the star-filled night sky slowly came into focus. He was laying on a bed of soft grasses in the Reverie Hall of the Keryma headquarters. His vision soon cleared fully as a single tear streaked unchecked down his cheek before being deftly brushed away.

He had been about the guild hall for more days in a row than ever before of late. He wandered the living tree's branches, balconies, corridors, and rooms listlessly; occasionally stopping at the library to write a poem or song - or by Isiolith's desk in the meeting hall to fix some of the clutter and gaze at the many hand-written maps the elvish ranger meticulously made. He even stopped by Entori's study and the Arcane Hall and tidied up the few disorganized notes and books he found.

It was gratifying...somewhat. It did little to fix the restlessness that consumed him, but it gave him time to recover from injuries received from his most recent venture. Unfortunately, though, it did little to ease the pain of the injuries to his heart - the cracks in his mask.

The more he sat idle or wandered, the more the past seemed to hunt him down. At first he attributed it to Alindariel and the distress she'd wrought him...but now it was unnerving. He had faced his past before and put it to rest - he had been required to in order to accept his atonement and be forgiven. But this was different...

It was not regret that dragged him back through those memories, and it wasn't guilt or fondness either - for not all of the memories were so terrible. Remembering the day his first child was born was something he'd trade for nothing and remembering the birth of his little girl as well.

No, it was almost as if there was something hiding there that he had seen before - but briefly. It was almost as if a part of him was screaming for him to take a closer look at something or to pay attention. Worst of all, Thril wasn't entirely sure if he was more perturbed by that thought...or intrigued.

After making the rounds again and finding Nakiasha at prayer quietly, Entori missing, Isiolith up to another one of her crafts, and guessing that Teneas was likely lurking about somewhere about to do his god's work yet again Thril sat himself down on the stool before the grand harp in the Art Hall and calmly began to strum the strings.

He lost himself in the music and it carried him back again.

-----

Doer nin, ussta abbil, lu'nym'uer nindol linath
Ol zhah natha statha d'l'ssussun wun l'oloth
Whol il maglust gumash guy'ya l'maunech
Il maglust inbalus l'z'ress
Il maglust orn'la zah'har xuil mina

Usstan sundu, d'heen, d'nindel Olath Wenres
Vel'dos verve lauske sril'vee saph slyan'ssun
Vel'dos tsoss zhah ouvalyrin
Vel'dos erl'elee zhah morn'lo
Vel'dos kaas zhah Elistraee

. . .


Thril strummed gently on his harp as the words of his beautiful wife and lover drifted on the night wind. The stars were all out and the moon was bright and full, Sehanine keeping a vigil on the elves as they sat in the highest boughs of their treetop home and made music together.

The moonlight gleamed off Sharaliriel's beautiful silver hair and her similarly colored gown, which was made of a thin material that left little to the imagination. Thril, on the other hand wore fine silks in the fashion of blues and purples, adorned with garnet sequins cut just right to catch the light of the moon and glow seemingly with their own inner fire.

As his fingers delicately traced their way across the strings, he smiled in contentment and gazed upon his beautiful wife with her ebony skin and crimson eyes that Thril's sequins had been subtly matched to. She in turn gave him that mischievous, confident grin that had taken him at their very first meeting so long ago now.

Below them, quietly in bed their two children slept - or were supposed to be sleeping. Somehow, though, Thril rather imagined little Amiril was likely entertaining his sister Lirimielas by reading her her twentieth or so bed-time story this evening. The two children were his pride and joy these days - days in which all other forms of pride were kept from him.

He was labeled a traitor by many of those he'd spent years fighting to protect, and those who didn't call him a traitor nearly to a one believed he was bewitched by dhaerow sorcery. The wood elves treated him with open hostility for the most part, the sun elves insulted him and his wife to their faces, and even the moon elves - his nearest kin - would cast their eyes aside when speaking to him and whisper amongst themselves once he'd departed.

Still...there were those among the elves who cared not at all for the color of skin or the slings and arrows of bygone ages. Thril was far from ostracized...but it would be an understatement to say that there were a few friends who had not spoken to him in decades.

The melody slowly drifted to an end, and Sharaliriel held the final note with practiced ease and grace before giving Thril a modest smile and soft giggle.

"You sing beautifully as always, Shara," Thril smirked, moving his foot up onto the branch to tease hers.

"And you flatter as beautifully as always, Thril. If not for that silvered tongue of yours I'd never have been tricked into bearing your children," she laughed, giving his foot a soft kick before lifting her leg up over his and over his shoulder to let her calf rest beside his head, her toes stroking his hair in a display of her flexibility.

With a light chuckle Thril turned and kissed the calf before gazing down her leg, over the translucent cloth that barely concealed any of her beautiful dancer's form, and into those crimson eyes.

Their eyes met and as so often before Thril felt entrapped in those crimson orbs. They were like a pool of lava that flowed and moved with fiery passions at times and were cool and unyielding as stone at others. Thril had ever said it was dangerous to gaze into those eyes - for when he did he knew that he could hide nothing.

"My dearest ssinssrigg will there ever be a time when you take off that mask you wear?" Shara asked, her smile playful, but her eyes betraying a hint of true concern.

"What mask? If you mean the one you crafted for me, you shouldn't be so arrogant. I mean, it's fine and all, but hardly good enough to mistake for my true face," Thril grinned and said coyly, nibbling at her calf.

With a laugh Shara brought her other leg up to his free shoulder and clouted his head with it before letting it rest as the first was, a leg on either side of her mate's head. Without any fear she laid back on the single branch, folding her arms beneath her pert, supple breasts and balancing perfectly. She had no fear that should her balance slip, Thril wouldn't catch her.

"You may be able to fool others, ssinssrigg, but you'll never fool me," she said as his smile slowly faded and his expression became more serious. "You must learn, Thril, that the world does not hate you - nor does it hate me. We are but parts of the whole, and in the end it won't be what others say that determines where our spirits go. It will be what we did while living."

"I know, my beloved bond...but it is easier to give them a mask than the truth. A mask does not cry, does not show anger or fear. Corellon himself wears one for all of us," Thril reasoned.

"How so?"

"Well...we all surely know that as we feel emotions, so too does he whose blood we sprang from. Yet, as the Coronal he cannot let any weakness show."

"So it is a weakness to cry or laugh? A weakness to love?" Shara smirked, enjoying tangling up her beloved with his own words.

"No, no, not at all, Shara. It is never a weakness to feel those things, but there are times when it isn't wise to show them," he countered, put on the defensive as always by the wily, wise priestess who held his heart.

Shara's crimson eyes glowed softly in the darkness and her smirk turned to a full grin. "So you wear a mask. Instead of just feeling and living you'd rather feel, think about it, then decide whether or not others will approve, think about it some more, then choose whether or not to conceal it," she said playfully. With a laugh she pressed onward, "Oh! And let us not forget about the many different people as well. I wonder, do you go through this process for each individual or only the groups you perceive, my silly ssinssrigg?"

Thril chuckled, knowing he was beaten again. "Perhaps you're right," he said, smiling and tracing his fingers over one calf as he kissed the other gently.

"Of course I am," she giggled. "But Thril, you must never forget something," and at this her face turned solemn, her eyes flashing a deeper crimson in the moonlight.

"There is no such thing as an unbreakable mask."

[mythosfakir]

Peace

"Left...right...right...left...feint...right...lunge...parry...counter...lunge...reverse...left...right..." Thril sang softly, bringing his wooden blades to bear against the much smaller elf that was his opponent this day.

Amiril, Thril's son, with gleaming silver hair like his mother but the emerald eyes of his father and a mischievous streak combining that of both of his parents grinned as he tried to dance to the instructions. His skin was pale and almost ashen...paler than Thril's with a grayish tint - likely owing to his mother's heritage. The other elves often ridiculed him for his mixed heritage, but his parents had done well in teaching him to be patient and understanding.

"Right...right....feint...parry...counter..."

Little Amiril was entering his eleventh summer, and so Thril had begun teaching him the art of his sword dancing. Retired now from the militia and knights, Thril spent his days with his family and his bondmate. A few years more under his tutelage and his son would be ready to seek apprenticeship with the knights himself - as Thril had done more than a century ago himself. Unlike his father, though, Thril was not going to try to choose a path for his son. No, the boy would choose for himself - and live with the choice.

Amiril fell off balance at the command of "feint" and so was forced to launch an actual attack, overcompensating with a slight grunt. Thril chuckled softly, bringing his blade to bear to parry and then throw wide the boy's own wooden sword. A quick thwack to Amiril's forehead and all was over.

"Ow! Father! That hurts!" the boy exclaimed, dropping his sword and holding the slight welt forming where he was struck. He glared at Thril who smiled back with laughing eyes filled with love.

"Indeed it does, Amiril. Best you remember that and not be so hasty next time. If you lose your balance it's always best to go on the defensive rather than take an offense. An unwieldy attack is seldom worth the price you'll pay for it," Thril's words didn't do much to ease the boy's scowl so at last he just chuckled and held out his arms. "Come, let's go see if we can beg lunch from your dear mother, and then I'll take you and your sister fishing for the day. Do you think that will ease the pain a bit?"

Amiril's anger dissolved completely at that and he hugged his father before being lifted to the older elf's shoulders and carried off to their home.

-----

"Where's Rimieh?"

Thril blinked curiously, eyeing the obviously distraught elven woman who seemed to want nothing more than death from her life. Something had happened to Elvaledith, and he could tell she was on the verge of tears - something he didn't believe he'd ever see from her.

He shook his head apologetically, "I don't know, but what troubles you? Perhaps I can help if you'll let me..."

They spoke for a long while - spoke of love, friendship, betrayal, and pain. These were things they both knew well, but in the end both were somewhat surprised at the outcome. Thril embraced an elf he didn't expect would ever welcome such, and in the embrace she found a warmth that would not betray her.

"Elvaledith, peace is not flowers and butterflies," he said.

"Then what is it?" came the almost sarcastic reply.

"Peace is living with yourself - it is knowing that in all that you do you are right and justified, and it is being able to wake each day and reverie each evening content in simply being who you are," he said softly as she left his arms. Her moment of weakness was past and he was no more use to her.

He understood.

-----

He walked with Alindariel to the beaver pond in the Bramble. He knew what she would say - had known it for weeks now. It hurt, but he knew this was the right path. He found peace in that knowledge.

They spoke for a while - of love and friendship but not of pain or betrayal. Deep in his heart a part of him wanted to bring those things up - talk of the pain she'd put him through or the betrayal that he'd allowed. He would not, though. There was no point.

The talk was uneasy - as uneasy as everything had been between them since Rimieh had caught her eye. It was inevitable, but Thril knew it was not entirely her fault - only mostly. He knew that there was truth in the words he told her - truth in the fact that he could not give her the love she desired because his heart still belonged to Sharaliriel. There was a lie as well, though, an insidious one made not to her but to himself.

She kissed him again, and while it was passionate he found no peace in it. He didn't expect he ever would again. What he'd thought was a bond forming was nothing more than the lust for something deep she'd never fully experienced before...and the lust for something deep he'd so desperately wanted to have again. Hers was the easier lust to dismiss, but Thril found peace in letting her go.

He couldn't help but smirk at the fact that her parting gift to him had been a sword. And with that blade in hand he'd continue to pursue his peace. Not a peace carved from victories in battle nor from blood shed.

He'd pursue the same peace he later spoke to of Elvaledith - the peace of loving himself and his People.

-----

The armed and armored elvish warrior approached the modest tree house belonging to Thril and his family. Lorinthalas was one of the few who still came to visit his long-time friend and comrade these days. He was less concerned about Thril's love for the dark elf woman and their children, and some suspected that he himself had a similarly stained heritage back in Myth Drannor...though if it was so even he did not know it himself.

He could smell the lunch cooking as he approached...venison. He smiled slightly and tried to ignore the growling of his stomach. He'd enjoyed Shara's cooking on many occasions before and found it to be delightful. Perhaps once his business was concluded he could sit and eat with the family.

As he neared the door he stopped, scowling fiercely as his sensitive ears caught the sounds of a struggle and tumult from beyond the portal. In a fluid motion he brought his bow from his shoulder and put an arrow to the knock, his brow furrowing as he crouched and slowly approached a window. Surely the others wouldn't...

The front door burst open with the sound of childish giggling and Thril's cries for mercy and help. A ball of wrestling elves rolled out of the door and came to rest at a very startled - and blushing - Lorinthalas' feet.

"Mercy! Mercy! Ack!" Thril cried as his children put him in strangleholds and wrestled with him, little Lirimielas giggling the most as she viciously strangled one of his legs.

She was smaller than her brother but also cuter - favoring her mother strongly. Her skin was as Amiril's - pale and ashen with a sooty tint to it - but her eyes were unlike either of her parents'. Instead of crimson or emerald they were pink - or a shade of red so light that it showed as pink in any sort of light; and her hair was a dark obsidian that contrasted well with her paler skin. Her cheeks were full as she was a few years younger than Amiril and still hadn't begun developing into her more mature and lasting form.

Even Lorinthalas' couldn't help but laugh softly as the little girl looked up at him, beaming an enchanting smile that was somewhere between bashful and playful, and said, "Good morning, Lori. Do you want to play with us? Father's not strong enough for both of us so maybe you should help him."

Thril's eyes as well went up at that, and Amiril didn't waste the the moment when his father dropped his guard. He pulled his wooden sword from his sash and brought it down solidly between Thril's eyes, shouting victoriously.

His victory was short-lived, though. Thril clapped his hands together, catching the descending blade and twisting it aside, pulling Amiril into a great hug, then rolling to draw Liri in as well until the three laid on their doorstep - breathless and laughing - and Lori just shook his head, replacing his bow at his shoulder.

"It seems, little Lirimielas, that your father is as full of tricks as ever. That's why I've come to visit today, in fact," Lori said, offering a hand down to his friend and former comrade.

Thril looked up at the words and the hand with unhidden curiosity and slowly got to his feet, ushering the children back inside and closing the door gently, calling after them: "Go and wash up for lunch! If there's a speck of dust on either of you, I'm eating your share!" The children's rushing and giggling could be heard from beyond the door and Thril smiled before turning back to Lori.

"I'm glad you've come. Shara will be happy to have another for lunch, but before we sit and eat perhaps you can tell me exactly what brings you here, my friend," Thril said, his smile undiminished. He thought that Lori had finally come to tell him that Toria was with child and he himself would soon be a father. He couldn't have been further from the truth, and his smile faded as soon as he heard the words that would mark an end to his peace.

"The council wants you to take us on a raid deep into the heart of the gnoll lair to the east," Lori said. Then, lowering his voice and moving close he finished. "The Dhaerow are supplying them."

[mythosfakir]

The Death of Talarias Di'ren
Part I: She said, 'Don't Let the Hatred of Others Become Your Own'

The council hall was deathly quiet and even beyond the living walls not a creature sounded though it was midday. It was as if all things held their breath for the inevitable proceedings within.

The scene told the tale before ever a word was spoken. In the center of the circular room, elvish elders surrounding him, stood Thril. He was garbed in the silks of a diplomat - an affair he had not adorned in many years and one he detested. All around him the elders passed judgment on him with their eyes save one. Torias would not look him in the eye - would not even allow his eyes to rest on this creature that he had once lovingly called his son.

Many children would feel the weight of their parents' gaze, but Thril felt the weight ten times more because it was not there. Years had passed since they last spoke, and it seemed those years had done absolutely nothing to change his father's feelings. But then...no, Torias was not his father now. He was just another elder who threatened his peace.

"Why have I been called upon from my home and my peace, noble council?" Thril's voice filled the room boldly. He was not like these elders - he was not aged nor wise. He was youthful, proud, and passionate. "I am told you wish to assault the gnolls in their lair. In my time as a warrior, we did so often and each time more simply moved in. This time will be no different."

"This time could not be more different Talarias," Anayira - a weathered elvish woman who had born two children and raised them to see them depart the Settlement on their world journeys spoke. Her silver-blue eyes rested on the indignant elvish warrior before her with something soft in them. Pity, perhaps, or maybe it was motherly affection. Regardless, despite the softness in her eyes, her words were firm and decisive.

"There is evidence that the dhaerow are involved now."

"I have never faced dhaerow. What reason have you for asking me out of my retirement? This is not a defense of our home but an attack on foes that have yet to come within sight of our walls," Thril sighed, knowing that Anayira spoke for all the council and not just herself. They had rehearsed this. They were prepared in ways he was not.

The elvish councilwoman nodded patiently throughout Thril's dialogue, and when he was done she allowed silence to settle for a few moments before speaking again.

"You're an experienced warrior-"

"Was a warrior."

"Have you forgotten all of that, then?" Anayira's tone was patronizing - a mother scolding a child.

Thril bit his lip at his misstep and relented, "No."

"Then you remain an experienced warrior," she continued, adding emphasis to the last word. "You're also responsible for no small number of effective strategies in various encounters, and you have a high respect among the People."

It was the truth...but not the full truth, and Thril knew it. He would have her say it, though. And to that end he began again, "This has nothing to do with the fact that I am bonded to a dark elf, then?"

Immediately quiet murmurs circulated about the council hall, old elves scowling and whispering to each other as Thril watched, smirking slightly until Anayira held up her hand for quiet and order. She leveled her gaze on Thril once more, but this time all softness was gone from her eyes and an offended fire seemed to flare within them.

"You presume much, Talarias, if you think this council concerns itself with your personal life to that extent. It is common knowledge whom you have taken for a wife, but that has no bearing upon our decision to ask this of you," her words were calm but there was heat behind them, not a flame or wildfire but the low heat of embers sparking as the fire dies down. She pressed on until the embers too cooled from her voice: "This request is placed upon you because it was you who chose long ago that you would defend our home in martial affairs - just as we all chose to defend it by granting our wisdom in council. As the Seldarine teach, we each do our own part as an individual to make whole the People."

"So your request will stand no matter my words?"

"It is a request, Talarias. You may refuse it, as you well know."

It was only half true. The council may have been making a request in appearance, but the truth was that Thril had no choice. If he refused to aid in ending a potential dhaerow threat against the Settlement it would look even more that he was a traitor to his own people. In his heart as well, though, he knew he truly could not bear to refuse. He would protect his people and his family - and the only way of doing that was to accept their request.

"Has my father no words, then?" Thril asked, knowing the answer but hoping against it. "I have never faced dhaerow before and have only the tales of how terrifying they can be. Will my father not offer words before I depart to prepare?"

The heads of the council elders all turned as one to regard Torias - who still would not look at Thril. Under their gazes he did not so much as squirm nor blink nor show any sign of discomfort. This creature before him was of no relation nor concern to him. Thril was nothing.

"Who are you that I should have words for?" the councilman asked, his tone bitter yet holding deep within it a sliver of hope that his son would at last come to his senses.

Thril bit his tongue until it bled. He wanted to scream, to cry out, to leap across the room and force his father to look him in the eye. Why could that fool not let the matter rest? Would he spend the rest of his many years hated by the only elf whose love and respect he desired above all others?

A few surprised gasps went up as a small trickle of blood made its way out the clenched corner of Thril's mouth and down his chin. His answer was a growl more than words.

"I am Thril, Father, your son."

"I have no son named Thril."

With that Thril bowed low and turned away from his father, fighting tears. At his back, Anayira spoke again, "Make your preparations, Knight-Commander Talarias. You lead this raid and are expected to return with the head of the gnoll chieftain as well as definitive proof of dhaerow involvement. Only with the latter will the council grant the full mobilization of the warriors for an all-out assault. You will be leading a band of a dozen of our finest - including many whom you've fought beside often. You will depart within the tenday before the snows melt."

"As the council wills and for the peace of the People."

And with that, Thril left the council, wiping away the blood. His anger could not have been greater, though on the outside he looked calm and collected. His stride gave away his inner turmoil, though, as he made his way quickly home. He hoped to get there before Sharaliriel and the children returned from the forest so that he would have time to himself to deal with things.

He came to his treetop home and stopped at the door, his jaw slack and eyes wide at what he saw. What had once been his home was now a ransacked tree smeared with elvish grafiti and lewd pictographs of a white humanoid figure and a black one engaged in many grotesque sexual acts, many of which depicted the white figure in a submissive or subservient position; being whipped, being collared, being sat and stood upon.

Along with the pictures were words: "Spider-licker", "black witch's dog", "Spawn of the Queen of Spiders", "Children of the Egg Sac" and worse.

The door had been kicked in and laid upon the floor, the windows shattered, and inside nothing had been left untouched. Sharaliriel's artworks were scattered upon the floor - many defiled as the house was - instruments and dining wares were broken and thrown about, pillows and blankets slashed to ribbons. All this greeted him as he wandered the desecrated hallways and rooms of his home.

When he had taken full stock of things he came back to the kitchen and found a chair with a broken leg. He fixed the chair enough so that it would hold his weight with a dangerous wobble and then collapsed in it, simply staring ahead at nothing while his rage boiled inside him.

It was clear from this that he had been expected to refuse the council's request. Whoever had done it would remain unknown forever...for it truly could have been anyone. As he looked around at the destruction he felt in himself two paths forming. One led away from his People, and one led him closer to them.

He sat amid the destruction and ruin that his own people had wrought on him with their hate, and a fire burned in his heart.

-----

Sharaliriel returned with the children not an hour after Thril had, and when she saw the devastation a disappointed scowl twisted her expression. The children saw the symbols and read the words, and Lirimielas started sobbing and clung to her mother's gown. Amiril just stared as his father had - wide-eyed and slack-jawed - until his mother gently pulled him close with his sister and the three embraced upon their shattered doorstep.

Thril heard the crying as Sharaliriel carried Liri into the house. He rose upon seeing her and their eyes met. Without a word they communicated, Shara shaking her head just slightly as she carried their daughter and ushered their son upstairs to their rooms. She'd spend the next hour repairing their bedding and cleaning the mess as much as she could before putting the children to reverie, promising that the eve would be filled with joy to undo even this great sorrow.

As soon as she left them she breathed a heavy sigh, her delicate shoulders drooping for only a moment before she regained her composure and made her way back down to the kitchen with gentle footfalls. She found Thril repairing the door and approached, moving at first to put her arms around him but stopping as if sensing that it wasn't what he needed nor desired at the moment. Instead she bent and went about picking up the pieces.

They worked for many moments and she was the first to speak, her voice soft and quiet but her words still bearing confidence and strength, "I suppose this means you refused their request, ssinssrigg"

"I did not. I will lead them to hunt for the dhaerow," Thril replied, and Shara hesitated in her cleaning at the edge to his voice. They had spent too many years together for her not to have seen his anger before, but this was different. His voice was cold and thick with hatred. She eyed his back closely as he growled, forcing the door back onto its hinges.

Calmly she moved to him and slid her slender arms beneath his and around his chest, pressing herself against his back and closing her eyes. She could feel his heartbeat as she spoke, "Mmm...I have always loved this place the most. When I hold you like this it is like our very hearts beat as one together."

Thril stopped with the door and just stood, his body rigid and trembling slightly. "My father would not wish me well before this task..." Thril spoke softly, his rage subsiding momentarily into grief.

Shara squeezed him tighter and kissed the back of his neck, "Your father is very convicted in what he feels is right. He cannot see your pain, Thril, and so you must be strong and patient. One day he will see."

"I don't think he will ever see, Shara."

"He will, and I will earn my place with you. I will go with you to hunt these dhaerow," she spoke softly, but as she ended her words were convicted.

Thril at last turned, gently embracing her but keeping his eyes locked on hers. "You cannot, Shara. You must stay here with the children," he said, his voice firm and unyielding as he pushed his grief and anger away.

Shara frowned slightly, "Since when do you tell me what I cannot do or what I must do, ssinssrigg? Are we humans now for your anger? Will you strike me next like a drunken oaf?" Her eyes flashed with anger of her own as she gazed up at her husband, and he winced under that gaze.

"I wouldn't dream to control you, my love, but I'm thinking for your safety and our children's," he explained, his voice soothing.

"Do you think I will not be safe at your side, Thril? You give yourself too little credit and give my goddess even less."

"It isn't that, Shara."

"Then what?"

"Think about it. You, I, and a band of elvish warriors heading off to battle dhaerow? It would be very convenient for you to become "lost" in the course of the fighting...or for a stray arrow to claim you - a stray arrow fired from an elvish bow," he spoke and with each word his anger grew and Shara's eyes grew wider. And yet he pressed onward, blinded by his anger to the obvious disbelief painted on her face.

"And are we to leave our children here alone? What if those who did this to our home return and wreak the same upon their bod-"

Thril's words died instantly in a loud smack as Shara's hand flashed in from his left. His eyes were wide after the slap, his face stinging and her eyes flashing dangerously.

"How dare you, Thril Di'ren," she growled, narrowing her eyes and looking every part of her drow heritage at that moment. "How dare you suggest that our People would try to kill me or that they would try to harm our children!"

"What has happened to you? Have I cursed you so with the burden of my love that you've become so mistrusting of what you've spent your whole life fighting for?" she asked incredulously.

"They are not our People, Shara!" he shouted hotly at her. "They see you as dhaerow, as a traitor. They do not see you as they see me - or did you not see the grafiti upon the walls of our home?"

"You condemn me for mistrusting them? You have no idea what they're capable of! I'm surprised they haven't tried to ki-"

Another slap silenced Thril and he glared at her. "Stop slapping me!" he shouted, rubbing his stinging cheek again.

"I'll cease hitting you when you stop being a child," she replied in as hot a tone, though she did not yell. "You cannot be like this, Thril..."

Her voice and expression softened into sadness as she gazed at him and continued, "You will go to fight for your People. You will go to risk your life, and if you have lost your faith in them you will die, my beloved. You are letting their hatred destroy you, and if it does I will be destroyed as well."

"Don't you understand, Thril?" she said, "Don't let the hatred of others become your own."

He did understand, but even understanding how he'd come to fear the very thing he'd spent most of his life protecting did not change how he felt. His jaw set and his face took on the expression of the mask she'd made for him.

Her eyes left his and sought the floor, tears cooling the swirling crimson lava within them. She would not win this time. She could feel his heart as he could hers and she knew that she was not going into battle with him.

[mythosfakir]

The Death of Talarias Di'ren
Part II: The Brightest Light Casts the Darkest Shadows

The warriors made ready, bedecked in the finest enchanted armor and weapons the small elvish community's smiths and enchanters had to offer...which were still nowhere near as powerful as what their foes would be armed with should they encounter the dhaerow as expected. Thril had selected a dozen - twelve elvish warriors whom he had known each of for most of his life; if not all his life.

Among them were Ris'tralathin, who would not look Thril in the eye but who had made it clear by way of Lorinthalas that he would accept commands in battle and see to the safety of his brethren who fought beside him. Lori, himself, was going as well, the fine enchanted bow that had arrived for him from his family on the Isle seemed somehow an extension of his form - as natural upon him as his arms and legs.

The archer, however, kept casting Thril uneasy glances and looked constantly as if he was debating on speaking or not. Thril noticed and approached him, smiling warmly. "Be at ease, Lori. With your fine aim they won't ever draw near enough to harm any of our number. I very nearly consider telling the others not to waste time preparing for battle for fear our foes will be dead before our blades can reach them," he said, patting his comrade gently on the shoulder and then deftly checking over the archer's incredibly light chainmail.

"Thril...I need to tell you something. It's important, but I don't know if I-" he began, but Ris'tralathin's approach cut his words off instantly. Ris gave Lori a brief, but dangerous glare which turned the archer away to tend to his arrows and other supplies.

"Thril, the others are nearly ready. When will we depart?" Ris asked, his eyes looking anywhere but at Thril's face, a firm scowl marring his features. It hurt Thril more than he would admit, how distant their hearts had grown when at one point they had loved each other passionately.

With a heavy sigh, though, he nodded and prepared himself mentally for the trials ahead, forcing the unpleasant and emotional thoughts away.

"We leave with the break of dawn."

-----

"I will not do it, Ris'tralathin! And you should be ashamed for asking me," Lori shouted too loudly for the secrecy of their meeting by moonlight. It was but three days before they were to prepare for their raid, and Ris had asked to speak with his long-time friend and comrade in private in a secluded part of the forest not far from the settlement.

"Listen to me, Lori. You're the only one who can, and it must be done!" Ris hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "She must die if he's ever to be freed from her spell."

"He is not enthralled, Ris! He's in love."

"Love?! Ha! With a black-skinned witch. I will not believe it. Thril's heart is for the People," Ris' voice was strained and had a cold edge to it that made the chill of the night air slightly cooler.

Lori just shook his head quickly as a negative. The fact that Ris could even ask this of him - that he could even for a moment think Lori would do something like that - hurt and angered him. Not for his own sake, but for Ris'. Just how far would the jilted lover go with his blind "righteousness"?

"Ris'tralathin, you must free yourself of this hatred that has taken your heart. Sharaliriel loves Thril and he her. Why can't you see that? Why can't you understand that the color of her skin isn't the color of her heart?" Lori pleaded, but his words crumpled Ris' face into a wicked scowl and fires of anger burned in his eyes.

"So you too are taken with the witch? Begone then, Traitor! May Corellon smite you all into the Abyss for being so weak of faith and will!" he shouted, turning and storming off through the trees. That would be the last time they spoke to one another, and the meeting sickened Lori to his very core - a fearful anger that roiled in his stomach and tainted his thoughts.

-----

It was the eve before they would depart for the raid. Thril had told each elf to take the time until the sun rose for themselves. He asked that they pray to their gods, love their lovers, kiss their children, and think not of the next morning but of the days of peace to follow their success.

And so they had parted for the evening, and Thril returned to his still-tarnished home. It was amazing the effect that the graffiti had in turning his home into a place of unpleasantness and sorrow. His children were not there waiting for him. Shara had sent them to dine and reverie with one of the elders, and so when Thril arrived at his home and stared in the darkness at the spatters of pain upon the house he had built himself she stood in the doorway, crimson eyes glowing against the darker outline her form cast against the night surrounding them both.

There were no words as he closed the distance to her and their lips met in passion. Their hearts were both aflame with the full spectrum of emotion - from sorrow and fear to hope and even a hint of pride and joy - but as they kissed and melted into one another two hearts became a single, throbbing, pulsing entity where the discordant danced along to harmony's tune and love and lust aligned all the chaotic emotions until their bodies writhed and entwined as two serpents swirling beneath a sea of passion.

It may have been the last time they would embrace one another. It may have been the last time they would kiss or make love. Both know it. Both felt it keenly enough that it would have been an unbearable pain if the sea of passion did not cool and sooth the pain with its cauterizing heat. As their bodies mingled and danced and their voices sang the harmony that had been the tune to greet the conception of their two children, Thril's mind drifted away from him into two beautiful, roiling, churning pools of crimson lava.

Hours passed until, with beads of sweat dripping from both of their bodies, they laid in each others' arms amid the still somewhat ruined kitchen wherein their family had been formed and nourished so many nights. Upon the wooded floor they panted, nuzzled, and kissed - Thril, holding his strength and the second half of his heart in his arms as the afterglow washed over both of them.

Then, breaking the rhythm of their calm panting, Sharaliriel turned her glowing eyes up to meet Thril's. He managed a smile at her which she knew was forced for both their sakes, but she did not seem to care as she nuzzled more into his chest, reaching to the back of her neck and undoing the clasp of her silver necklace.

"Thril, my ssinssrigg, I will always love you. Our hearts are one, so bear that in mind as you go off to battle. If your heart stops, so too does mine," she whispered, lifting the medallion of her goddess to his neck and clasping it behind him so that the naked dancing maiden cast in dark metal rested atop Corellon's crescent moon about the warrior's neck. "I pray that the Father and the Daughter keep our hearts beating through this."

Thril eyed her for a moment, his smile gone and the facade of the stoic warrior in its place. "I will keep our hearts safe - from elves, from dhaerow, even from dragons and the gods if I must. I promise," he whispered in reply, placing his lips gently upon her silver hair.

She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, reveling in it for fear that it would be tainted by blood when next she smelled it. She thought to chide him for making such an impossible promise, but she didn't.

She wanted to believe him, and desired for his words to be true so badly enough that she did.