Post by Deleted on Sept 21, 2013 1:46:02 GMT -6
Wind and rain gusted and ripped through the spindly trees on the side of the mountain. The topsoil was thin, though the moisture just barely held it together. Of course, this triggered mudslides in the worst of weather, but the rain wasn't hard enough for that to be much of a worry for the elf that moved through the trees. His old staff had been abandoned for a longer one, crooked and bent with knots in the wood at several points. While before he dressed mainly in light browns, now purples and blacks were scattered across his person, the many over lapping pieces of cloth compensating somewhat for their shabby condition. He hadn't taken much care of himself or his belongings for the past while.
Black pointed ears picked up a sound in the distance. It was the low rolling of thunder. Paces became faster as he trudged down the mountainside looking for a better place to take shelter. Though he was already mostly soaked, he wasn't interested in being buffeted by the worst of the storm with no shelter. The skinny and barely leafed trees offered nothing. The slanted ground and thin soil offered as little for the flora as they did for the elf himself.
A particularly steep section of slope appeared in front of him. Psylar clenched his jaw and leaned back to try and keep his balance as his feet lost traction and he slid quickly down the slope. He drove his staff into the ground in front of him to help stabilize himself and to slow him down. Right near the bottom, the elf's left foot caught in a root that was sticking out of nowhere. he let out a loud yell has he stumbled into a tree. It was a swear in his native language -- a dialect used by the Drow. It didn't resound as much as it would have due to the rain, though it was quite loud.
The dark elf pushed himself off the tree, a snarl on his face. He inspected his staff quickly as it had been in between himself and the tree he had flown into. Though it was muddy and he could tell the wood was weakening slightly from the constant wet conditions, it was still fine. Rolling his shoulders, he let out a huff before continuing forward. He knew he needed to keep moving. Not just because of needing to find shelter, but also to keep him mind clear for at least a little while., Movement was one of the only things that helped. The adrenaline from traveling quickly, especially with something hostile crossed his path that he allowed himself to release some stress on. The instincts to kill and attack, to sneak quietly from behind upon prey, they were almost overtaking him now.
For his whole life the dark elf had suppressed his instincts in order to try and better himself. Removing himself from his race of his birth, he traveled alone before becoming a druid -- exactly the opposite of what his race was born to be. The Drow fed upon chaotic instincts, living as mercenaries, rogues, thieves, and assassins mainly. some took up more magical paths, going so far as to become dark wizards or sorcerers. Or anti-druids.
Druids learned to work with the land, to try and create balance in nature and in magic. They cared for the flora and fauna as they learned to expanded their own powers with the help of nature. However, the dark elves had figured out a way to entirely oppose that. They feed of the land, draining it of life in order to manipulate the animals and even the plants around them for their own gain and power. They killed and destroyed everything in their path when they used their powers, usually leaving black scars upon the earth behind them where nature has been drained and destroyed.
However, the Drow were not quite as magical in nature as the other races of elves, and as such not many had the ability to learn such strong abilities. Only a few were found to have these talents, then were separated to learn their new walk of life. When Psylar had still been very young, he showed very strong signs of being able to work with nature. As Anti-Druids were the most rare type of magic caster, he was quickly put into training. He excelled faster than the others, a prodigy. Despite all the recognition he gained, the young elf was nonetheless miserable. He detested what he was taught, but didn't feel powerful enough to fight back.
Years of this training passed before Psylar became fed up. No longer being able to withstand what he was being taught, and the kinds of things his people did on a regular basis, he left. It wasn't peaceful though. When he was apprehended, his let himself go. Many lay on the ground, and he remembered little of what happened. However, what he did remember was the demonic grin he had felt spread across his face, and the frantic, crazed beating of his own heart, like a war drum. After this he fled, and vowed to never let himself do harm like that ever again.
Nevertheless, Psylar had never forgot how it felt to give into his instincts. The exhilarated joy of savagery and rage. The unabashed insanity. The power.
A new sight jolted him out of his memories. His chest was constricted with his own memories, and his frown was set deep into his face. Ahead was a rock overhang with a thorny bush on one side. A small somewhat sheltered cave was created by this. His already hurried steps broke into what was nearly a full out run, and he ducked down into the crevice. As he lowered himself onto the ground, his body began to scream with pain and cold. While he was moving and distracted it hadn't been so bad, but now his face contorted as he curled up into a protective ball. Every muscle he had was sore. Every joint was locked and stuff with cold. With his staff beneath his head for the smallest bit of fake comfort, he already felt his tired body begin to seek out a nearly comatose sleep. He welcomed it. He closed his eyes and blocked out the sound of the world around him to the best of his abilities. In his drained state, he quickly began to drift off.
Old images drifted through his mind. They were mainly of Wildgard, as he was now getting so much closer. The tree house of the watchers, with a few other elves he had learned to at least somewhat trust. He understood them. Yuu Mii and Eli had been the leaders and the ones he'd known best, and images of them drifted in then out of his mind. After them, he remembered the bear. He hadn't ever spoken to her much, through he had been curious and watched her from a distance. He had watched many from afar of course, but she was one he'd had more interest in. The bear, and the lynx too, had interested him greatly. The fellow druid had always seemed quite kind and intelligent to him. Though, a little bit off kilter. Then again, nearly all in this land were at least a little off kilter.
Finally, though Psylar had tried to suppress it, the last image that floated through his mind before he fell asleep was of his sister. Jubilee. His heart was heavy with her memory. He still wished her well, wherever he was. He didn't want to remember the terrible thing that they had wandered upon that had separated them, most likely for good. Luckily, he drifted off to sleep still with the old, happy Jubilee still smiling in his head.
So now the cold and soaking wet elf lay under the stone overhang, deep in a dreamless and dead sleep. He layed there unmoving for hours as the storm eventually passed over and the sun eventually began to rise to a new, clear, blue sky day.
Black pointed ears picked up a sound in the distance. It was the low rolling of thunder. Paces became faster as he trudged down the mountainside looking for a better place to take shelter. Though he was already mostly soaked, he wasn't interested in being buffeted by the worst of the storm with no shelter. The skinny and barely leafed trees offered nothing. The slanted ground and thin soil offered as little for the flora as they did for the elf himself.
A particularly steep section of slope appeared in front of him. Psylar clenched his jaw and leaned back to try and keep his balance as his feet lost traction and he slid quickly down the slope. He drove his staff into the ground in front of him to help stabilize himself and to slow him down. Right near the bottom, the elf's left foot caught in a root that was sticking out of nowhere. he let out a loud yell has he stumbled into a tree. It was a swear in his native language -- a dialect used by the Drow. It didn't resound as much as it would have due to the rain, though it was quite loud.
The dark elf pushed himself off the tree, a snarl on his face. He inspected his staff quickly as it had been in between himself and the tree he had flown into. Though it was muddy and he could tell the wood was weakening slightly from the constant wet conditions, it was still fine. Rolling his shoulders, he let out a huff before continuing forward. He knew he needed to keep moving. Not just because of needing to find shelter, but also to keep him mind clear for at least a little while., Movement was one of the only things that helped. The adrenaline from traveling quickly, especially with something hostile crossed his path that he allowed himself to release some stress on. The instincts to kill and attack, to sneak quietly from behind upon prey, they were almost overtaking him now.
For his whole life the dark elf had suppressed his instincts in order to try and better himself. Removing himself from his race of his birth, he traveled alone before becoming a druid -- exactly the opposite of what his race was born to be. The Drow fed upon chaotic instincts, living as mercenaries, rogues, thieves, and assassins mainly. some took up more magical paths, going so far as to become dark wizards or sorcerers. Or anti-druids.
Druids learned to work with the land, to try and create balance in nature and in magic. They cared for the flora and fauna as they learned to expanded their own powers with the help of nature. However, the dark elves had figured out a way to entirely oppose that. They feed of the land, draining it of life in order to manipulate the animals and even the plants around them for their own gain and power. They killed and destroyed everything in their path when they used their powers, usually leaving black scars upon the earth behind them where nature has been drained and destroyed.
However, the Drow were not quite as magical in nature as the other races of elves, and as such not many had the ability to learn such strong abilities. Only a few were found to have these talents, then were separated to learn their new walk of life. When Psylar had still been very young, he showed very strong signs of being able to work with nature. As Anti-Druids were the most rare type of magic caster, he was quickly put into training. He excelled faster than the others, a prodigy. Despite all the recognition he gained, the young elf was nonetheless miserable. He detested what he was taught, but didn't feel powerful enough to fight back.
Years of this training passed before Psylar became fed up. No longer being able to withstand what he was being taught, and the kinds of things his people did on a regular basis, he left. It wasn't peaceful though. When he was apprehended, his let himself go. Many lay on the ground, and he remembered little of what happened. However, what he did remember was the demonic grin he had felt spread across his face, and the frantic, crazed beating of his own heart, like a war drum. After this he fled, and vowed to never let himself do harm like that ever again.
Nevertheless, Psylar had never forgot how it felt to give into his instincts. The exhilarated joy of savagery and rage. The unabashed insanity. The power.
A new sight jolted him out of his memories. His chest was constricted with his own memories, and his frown was set deep into his face. Ahead was a rock overhang with a thorny bush on one side. A small somewhat sheltered cave was created by this. His already hurried steps broke into what was nearly a full out run, and he ducked down into the crevice. As he lowered himself onto the ground, his body began to scream with pain and cold. While he was moving and distracted it hadn't been so bad, but now his face contorted as he curled up into a protective ball. Every muscle he had was sore. Every joint was locked and stuff with cold. With his staff beneath his head for the smallest bit of fake comfort, he already felt his tired body begin to seek out a nearly comatose sleep. He welcomed it. He closed his eyes and blocked out the sound of the world around him to the best of his abilities. In his drained state, he quickly began to drift off.
Old images drifted through his mind. They were mainly of Wildgard, as he was now getting so much closer. The tree house of the watchers, with a few other elves he had learned to at least somewhat trust. He understood them. Yuu Mii and Eli had been the leaders and the ones he'd known best, and images of them drifted in then out of his mind. After them, he remembered the bear. He hadn't ever spoken to her much, through he had been curious and watched her from a distance. He had watched many from afar of course, but she was one he'd had more interest in. The bear, and the lynx too, had interested him greatly. The fellow druid had always seemed quite kind and intelligent to him. Though, a little bit off kilter. Then again, nearly all in this land were at least a little off kilter.
Finally, though Psylar had tried to suppress it, the last image that floated through his mind before he fell asleep was of his sister. Jubilee. His heart was heavy with her memory. He still wished her well, wherever he was. He didn't want to remember the terrible thing that they had wandered upon that had separated them, most likely for good. Luckily, he drifted off to sleep still with the old, happy Jubilee still smiling in his head.
So now the cold and soaking wet elf lay under the stone overhang, deep in a dreamless and dead sleep. He layed there unmoving for hours as the storm eventually passed over and the sun eventually began to rise to a new, clear, blue sky day.