Post by Faljere D'ael Elderbaden on Feb 13, 2015 22:32:15 GMT -6
He wasn't supposed to be here.
The elf monk knew that.
Wildgard, sure. His return from his little excursion with dear Idina not a few months passed heralded only death and danger for everyone. The Raven was not there, Faljere knew, and his mind was still in the procedure of processing all of his past selves. The rambunctious ones having to settle for the calmer ones, while in turn the calmer ones having to understand the thoughts of the rambunctious ones. Even his own voice, which was fluid in itself and changed for each different persona, was becoming nothing more than a jumble of different accents.
But it was here, in the Monastery, that he shouldn't be. Thea was offering him protection from the dangers outside, such as any form of aggression from his nemesis, as well as the few but soon to be many that suspected Faljere to be that exact criminal. How had he fallen into such a position?
*
"Sarea! I--yes! The bard! You! I know you...I know...you are Sarea?" His hands were up in the air, excited like a puppy who had been offered a treat.
The girl in front of his looked fearful, although not of him. She was shy, blonde, and her smile was certainly broken. It was almost as though she dreaded meeting him. But why should she not? He had been...something before. Not a monster. Or was it a monster? He'd killed. He'd threatened the safety of those who otherwise he'd protect. He escaped his identity and became a new thing. Now he was back...nothing was quite as it should have been. Everything...all jumbled up in his head like pieces of stained glass waiting to be put back together but with so little time left.
She smiles, her hands behind her back, and replied. "Faljere! It...it is so good to see you, my friend." She did not hug him, she did not grab his hand and shake it. She kept her hands concealed and her face stretched in an attempt to appear sincere. But he could see something in her hands. He couldn't tell, but it was glowing blue, and when he finally began to feel the need to ask, all she dais was "I'm sorry."
*
"I'm sorry, too, Sarea," the elf monk sighed, his voice finally resolving. A mix of all the voices he'd once held, with the accent of the pretentious High Elves lined with the traditional Wood Elf intonations, such as long and sharp consonants, occasionally dull vowels, and slight aggression; and accent found only among those who lived by the Northern English seas.
Faljere began rummaging through the cupboards of the monastery's first floor, talking to himself as he got used to his new and settled voice, when he came across a familiar sight. A cup, clay and simple, but the one that Ieda used to make tea for him in. He'd taught her, too, how elven tea was made, and used this cup as an example.
The elf smiled and sniffed the inside of the cup. It was common for Wood Elves to sniff an item of importance, as smell in their culture was how they found food, which gave them life. Life to them was also found in the magic of the stars and the earth. The perfect balance. The earth held life and sustained all that walked upon it. It brought great gifts to live by. Under the stars, that life passed, absorbed by the small beads of light. Life passed was held in the stars, and life as it was held in the Earth. Life was found in food, and food could be smelled. Anything of great importance also held its won life, whether it was life past or present. This cup, like the stars, held life past of the True Monk's life.
Faljere placed the cup down and began to explore the rest of the monastery. He hoped he would be able to explore alone, knowing that Ieda wasn't there to greet him and that anyone else could possibly be an enemy. Still, he wouldn't turn away anyone willing to spend this moment with him.
These moments that would create life.
The elf monk knew that.
Wildgard, sure. His return from his little excursion with dear Idina not a few months passed heralded only death and danger for everyone. The Raven was not there, Faljere knew, and his mind was still in the procedure of processing all of his past selves. The rambunctious ones having to settle for the calmer ones, while in turn the calmer ones having to understand the thoughts of the rambunctious ones. Even his own voice, which was fluid in itself and changed for each different persona, was becoming nothing more than a jumble of different accents.
But it was here, in the Monastery, that he shouldn't be. Thea was offering him protection from the dangers outside, such as any form of aggression from his nemesis, as well as the few but soon to be many that suspected Faljere to be that exact criminal. How had he fallen into such a position?
*
"Sarea! I--yes! The bard! You! I know you...I know...you are Sarea?" His hands were up in the air, excited like a puppy who had been offered a treat.
The girl in front of his looked fearful, although not of him. She was shy, blonde, and her smile was certainly broken. It was almost as though she dreaded meeting him. But why should she not? He had been...something before. Not a monster. Or was it a monster? He'd killed. He'd threatened the safety of those who otherwise he'd protect. He escaped his identity and became a new thing. Now he was back...nothing was quite as it should have been. Everything...all jumbled up in his head like pieces of stained glass waiting to be put back together but with so little time left.
She smiles, her hands behind her back, and replied. "Faljere! It...it is so good to see you, my friend." She did not hug him, she did not grab his hand and shake it. She kept her hands concealed and her face stretched in an attempt to appear sincere. But he could see something in her hands. He couldn't tell, but it was glowing blue, and when he finally began to feel the need to ask, all she dais was "I'm sorry."
*
"I'm sorry, too, Sarea," the elf monk sighed, his voice finally resolving. A mix of all the voices he'd once held, with the accent of the pretentious High Elves lined with the traditional Wood Elf intonations, such as long and sharp consonants, occasionally dull vowels, and slight aggression; and accent found only among those who lived by the Northern English seas.
Faljere began rummaging through the cupboards of the monastery's first floor, talking to himself as he got used to his new and settled voice, when he came across a familiar sight. A cup, clay and simple, but the one that Ieda used to make tea for him in. He'd taught her, too, how elven tea was made, and used this cup as an example.
The elf smiled and sniffed the inside of the cup. It was common for Wood Elves to sniff an item of importance, as smell in their culture was how they found food, which gave them life. Life to them was also found in the magic of the stars and the earth. The perfect balance. The earth held life and sustained all that walked upon it. It brought great gifts to live by. Under the stars, that life passed, absorbed by the small beads of light. Life passed was held in the stars, and life as it was held in the Earth. Life was found in food, and food could be smelled. Anything of great importance also held its won life, whether it was life past or present. This cup, like the stars, held life past of the True Monk's life.
Faljere placed the cup down and began to explore the rest of the monastery. He hoped he would be able to explore alone, knowing that Ieda wasn't there to greet him and that anyone else could possibly be an enemy. Still, he wouldn't turn away anyone willing to spend this moment with him.
These moments that would create life.
