Been some time. Damn Qeynos upstarts, thinking that they could bag themselves a wanted murderer AND a few Freeporters.
I guess that's what I get for deciding the Velahr weren't for me.
This Vera ratonga, a Ratelli rat, found me shortly after I left Velahr and right afore the Qeynosian bounty hunters showed up. She pointed me in the direction of a place called Bloodthorn, thinking I'd fit in nicely with their lot.
I'd made a little headway with them before the bounty hunters made me decide it was best to be scarce. Weren't one of them entirely, but I'd at least put up for Confession.
Anyway, I got back at the right time, I guess. There's a lot of change brewing for Bloodthorn, and I caught the wave as it was coming to a head.
Her wedding night ruined by betrayal, I watched Avarice stand at a point somewhat like the one I stood on when I was her age - she could either shrivel up, let everything weigh her down and kill her inside...or she could rise up and fight back, take what she needed and make herself whole again.
The kid fought back, boy, did she ever. The little pet spirit locked up in Pestilence had started getting my doubts about Bloodthorn up, her snide little comments about slaves and pets exactly the opposite of what Vera'd said I'd find here, but after watching little Shelly tonight, I ain't gonna let it get to me.
Found a lot of respect for the girl, since most else I know give up when confronted with their worse fears and the deepest betrayals, but she didn't - she came up swing, just like I did.
With her leading Bloodthorn, I know I'm in the right hands...took almost three hundred years, but I am at last.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Date: Scorchedsky - Steelday the 28th, 3725
Well, there has been an interesting turn of events in my life.
I've only been at the Mythic when I've been tired and ready to rest for a time, and the rest of my time has been spent within the walls of Freeport or nearby in the Commonlands.
When I first got to Freeport, I began investigating the political structure within the city, looking for a somewhat powerful contender to join - one that might be able to deal with a Koada`dal.
Oddly enough, I'd heard a few odd tales of the House Velahr - of how they work to further the goals of the Teir`dal yet somehow manage to include those of what the dark elves term as the "lesser races", without forcing them to remain as little more than pets and servants.
During the mid-evening, the leader of Velahr contacted me. Aimor Velahr is a rather commanding man...considering to me he's rather short; I can't fault him for that though, as the Koada have always been the taller elves.
After a long discussion of my personality, my history, and my ideals, I was invited to become part of Velahr. I met with Aimor and three others - Valshena, Cyriex, and Scypha - at the Velahr Household in South Freeport. Their holdings are quite impressive, though they sound as if they don't compare to what Velahr enjoyed prior to the cataclysms; I am still amazed by the sheer size of Freeport interiors and exteriors, as their high ceilings are so different from the ones found in Qeynos.
I have been given a gold trimmed crimson tabard with the House insignia on the chest, as well as a metal insignia brooch. Both are of fine quality, of a calibur that I have not touched since leaving Felwithe years ago. So long I have been outside the life of opulence that the titled and privileged enjoy, it is entirely strange to be surrounded by such once again.
Aimor has requested I procure some sort of illusion to use around those who are too greatly unnerved by the presence of a high elf, which while I am loathe to be what I am not, I can understand Velahr's position on such things - I am sure a Koada wandering into a meeting with a potential ally may cause things to go badly for the House.
He has also requested that I keep my history as silent as possible - that I refrain from revealing anything past living within the walls of Qeynos. Many Teir remain bitter with the Koada`dal of Felwithe, and few view the "turning" of one as the triumph it once was for them. But that is beneficial to me anyways, as I'm sure people would develop expectations of me if they knew I was from Felwithe, and the last thing I desire is to be expected to be a prim and proper noble Koada once more.
Valshena refers to me as Koada`Vie, almost as if it is a word that represents one of my race that has turned to the ways of the Teir`dal, though I am unsure. The word is vaguely familiar, I remember it almost as if it were a rumor or fairytale from my youth, but I cannot place my finger upon it.
It is quite possible that the word has different meaning to the Koada than it does to the Teir, but I cannot for the life of me recall where I have heard it before.
Interesting times are ahead, I am sure...
I've only been at the Mythic when I've been tired and ready to rest for a time, and the rest of my time has been spent within the walls of Freeport or nearby in the Commonlands.
When I first got to Freeport, I began investigating the political structure within the city, looking for a somewhat powerful contender to join - one that might be able to deal with a Koada`dal.
Oddly enough, I'd heard a few odd tales of the House Velahr - of how they work to further the goals of the Teir`dal yet somehow manage to include those of what the dark elves term as the "lesser races", without forcing them to remain as little more than pets and servants.
During the mid-evening, the leader of Velahr contacted me. Aimor Velahr is a rather commanding man...considering to me he's rather short; I can't fault him for that though, as the Koada have always been the taller elves.
After a long discussion of my personality, my history, and my ideals, I was invited to become part of Velahr. I met with Aimor and three others - Valshena, Cyriex, and Scypha - at the Velahr Household in South Freeport. Their holdings are quite impressive, though they sound as if they don't compare to what Velahr enjoyed prior to the cataclysms; I am still amazed by the sheer size of Freeport interiors and exteriors, as their high ceilings are so different from the ones found in Qeynos.
I have been given a gold trimmed crimson tabard with the House insignia on the chest, as well as a metal insignia brooch. Both are of fine quality, of a calibur that I have not touched since leaving Felwithe years ago. So long I have been outside the life of opulence that the titled and privileged enjoy, it is entirely strange to be surrounded by such once again.
Aimor has requested I procure some sort of illusion to use around those who are too greatly unnerved by the presence of a high elf, which while I am loathe to be what I am not, I can understand Velahr's position on such things - I am sure a Koada wandering into a meeting with a potential ally may cause things to go badly for the House.
He has also requested that I keep my history as silent as possible - that I refrain from revealing anything past living within the walls of Qeynos. Many Teir remain bitter with the Koada`dal of Felwithe, and few view the "turning" of one as the triumph it once was for them. But that is beneficial to me anyways, as I'm sure people would develop expectations of me if they knew I was from Felwithe, and the last thing I desire is to be expected to be a prim and proper noble Koada once more.
Valshena refers to me as Koada`Vie, almost as if it is a word that represents one of my race that has turned to the ways of the Teir`dal, though I am unsure. The word is vaguely familiar, I remember it almost as if it were a rumor or fairytale from my youth, but I cannot place my finger upon it.
It is quite possible that the word has different meaning to the Koada than it does to the Teir, but I cannot for the life of me recall where I have heard it before.
Interesting times are ahead, I am sure...
Date: Scorchedsky - Windday the 27th, 3725
I am now a citizen of Freeport.
With the assistance of a lovely Kerra woman I met at the Mythic, I was able to eliminate the last orc and traitor required to me by Matthias; after offing a messenger and some dock hand for him, he then insisted on having me confiscate various items from former rising stars and return them to him.
His last task made us laugh - some noble of Freeport was running off to Qeynos to be the Queen's bedmate. The idea of the pure Antonia Bayle getting it on with the likes of a scruffy Freeport noble is just hilarious - she had no accounts for taste if this is true, as the man is quite plain with the most aweful hairstyle on Norrath.
With my citizenship approved by that sketchy Matthias - he claimed to be like the eyes and ears of Lucan, the Overlord's shade and some crazy stuff - we took a long break from any fighting to secure me a place to live and some furniture to hold me over till I learn enough to make my own.
With a little bit of coaxing from the Courtesans that work the commons area of the second floor, I purchased a suite at the Jade Tiger Inn up in North Freeport. Nothing like seeing a pair of beautiful women dancing outside your door as you come and go from your home.
The place itself is absolutely huge. I can't even remember any suite in Qeynos that was that large with that high of a ceiling. We were able to hang the large feyiron chandeliers that came with long chains up without them being below the lower rafters - Sathra suggested building a bit of a loft somewhere in the apartment.
I think I may build one over the area where my bed is, and move my bed up there - turn the area its in right now into an office space of sorts, or maybe make that the tattooing and piercing area. There's just so much I could do for it, once I learn more about carpentry.
Sathra and I had a long conversation. She has a pretty poor living situation, so I invited her to stay in my Jade Tiger home. Turns out she grew up in Freeport, which sounded rather traumatic due to Lucan's cruel trick of putting the Erudites in with the Kerra; I found it creative torture, myself, but I suppose I lost more of my humanity than I'm willing to admit.
She asked me where I had come from, I guess I never really let on exactly how old I am in ways people pick up on. She seemed to think I was much younger than I am, though I've aged gracefully, even for an elf.
I sort of explained to her what happened in Felwithe, about killing my father for molesting me after almost ten years, about how the War of Fay broke out before we could make it off Faydwer...Willam dying so Loilorien and I could make it to Butcherblock then to Freeport.
We were so naive, thinking that Freeport hadn't changed that much since the spires were destroyed. We were wrong; the dwarves heard tale that the dark elves had taken Freeport before storming Faydwer. They were sending as many of the women, children and weak they could to Qeynos instead, hoping we would survive to tell what happened there.
The tale actually took a good deal of time to tell, and Sathra asked a lot of questions about it. She finally decided to call it a night, asking me to continue in the morning.
I left the Jade Tiger, and talked my way into being allowed into the Dark Bargainers. Freeport seems to have plenty of Teir`dal, and their facilities for crafting are the largest here, so I decided that was the best place to work on my skills.
Once I finished at the Jade Tiger, I finally made it back to the Raven, Mythic. Duvessa was waiting for me, apparently, as a server stopped me on my way in, informing me that I should go to her chambers. It wasn't much of a surprise, after the first night we spent together, though I suppose she wasn't aware of where I was or how long I would be gone.
We relaxed in her room, and I informed her of my citizenship before we settled down to sleep. Sadly, the peaceful sleep was broken by a servant with an urgent message; there were claims of violence within the Mythic, which was nearly impossible because of the extensive wards there and the golem.
She went to go question what few patrons were probably left at that hour, and I tried my best to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, I'm horrible when it comes to being woken up suddenly, and just never can get back to sleep easily.
Duvessa returned a short time later, citing it had all been a misunderstanding from what she could gather, and that it would wait until the moring to be finished. Even with her back in the bed, I couldn't sleep; once she was soundly dreaming, I slipped away downstairs to get something alcoholic, hoping it would knock me out.
I encounted Astald down there. He's this far too good for anyone's health paladin that lives at the Mythic. I tried to get him all flustered, and it was working pretty well, even after the lady friend he was waiting for arrived.
She's apparently entirely deaf, and more often than not, mute; he was teaching her to read and write while she was teaching him to sign words.
She used to have to sign. I never thought I was going to have to think about her being so helpless like that again. It had always been so easy to lie about it, to say she'd been slaughtered below the streets of Qeynos, to blame her death on the Bloodsabers.
But it isn't the truth. Its a pretty lie I tell myself and everyone else, to take away the guilt.
It was my fault she became that way, a shadow of who she had once been, a ghost of the woman I loved.
Damnit, I thought I could hide from that forever. Why the hell did my perfect new home have to be invaded by this? Why did this girl have to come here, of all inns, with her pretty little hand signs...just like the ones she had to use after.
Damnit.
I'm going back to bed before this drives me insane - Duvessa's presence is oddly comforting, especially when the contact is so intimate. It'll make me forget about...her.
With the assistance of a lovely Kerra woman I met at the Mythic, I was able to eliminate the last orc and traitor required to me by Matthias; after offing a messenger and some dock hand for him, he then insisted on having me confiscate various items from former rising stars and return them to him.
His last task made us laugh - some noble of Freeport was running off to Qeynos to be the Queen's bedmate. The idea of the pure Antonia Bayle getting it on with the likes of a scruffy Freeport noble is just hilarious - she had no accounts for taste if this is true, as the man is quite plain with the most aweful hairstyle on Norrath.
With my citizenship approved by that sketchy Matthias - he claimed to be like the eyes and ears of Lucan, the Overlord's shade and some crazy stuff - we took a long break from any fighting to secure me a place to live and some furniture to hold me over till I learn enough to make my own.
With a little bit of coaxing from the Courtesans that work the commons area of the second floor, I purchased a suite at the Jade Tiger Inn up in North Freeport. Nothing like seeing a pair of beautiful women dancing outside your door as you come and go from your home.
The place itself is absolutely huge. I can't even remember any suite in Qeynos that was that large with that high of a ceiling. We were able to hang the large feyiron chandeliers that came with long chains up without them being below the lower rafters - Sathra suggested building a bit of a loft somewhere in the apartment.
I think I may build one over the area where my bed is, and move my bed up there - turn the area its in right now into an office space of sorts, or maybe make that the tattooing and piercing area. There's just so much I could do for it, once I learn more about carpentry.
Sathra and I had a long conversation. She has a pretty poor living situation, so I invited her to stay in my Jade Tiger home. Turns out she grew up in Freeport, which sounded rather traumatic due to Lucan's cruel trick of putting the Erudites in with the Kerra; I found it creative torture, myself, but I suppose I lost more of my humanity than I'm willing to admit.
She asked me where I had come from, I guess I never really let on exactly how old I am in ways people pick up on. She seemed to think I was much younger than I am, though I've aged gracefully, even for an elf.
I sort of explained to her what happened in Felwithe, about killing my father for molesting me after almost ten years, about how the War of Fay broke out before we could make it off Faydwer...Willam dying so Loilorien and I could make it to Butcherblock then to Freeport.
We were so naive, thinking that Freeport hadn't changed that much since the spires were destroyed. We were wrong; the dwarves heard tale that the dark elves had taken Freeport before storming Faydwer. They were sending as many of the women, children and weak they could to Qeynos instead, hoping we would survive to tell what happened there.
The tale actually took a good deal of time to tell, and Sathra asked a lot of questions about it. She finally decided to call it a night, asking me to continue in the morning.
I left the Jade Tiger, and talked my way into being allowed into the Dark Bargainers. Freeport seems to have plenty of Teir`dal, and their facilities for crafting are the largest here, so I decided that was the best place to work on my skills.
Once I finished at the Jade Tiger, I finally made it back to the Raven, Mythic. Duvessa was waiting for me, apparently, as a server stopped me on my way in, informing me that I should go to her chambers. It wasn't much of a surprise, after the first night we spent together, though I suppose she wasn't aware of where I was or how long I would be gone.
We relaxed in her room, and I informed her of my citizenship before we settled down to sleep. Sadly, the peaceful sleep was broken by a servant with an urgent message; there were claims of violence within the Mythic, which was nearly impossible because of the extensive wards there and the golem.
She went to go question what few patrons were probably left at that hour, and I tried my best to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, I'm horrible when it comes to being woken up suddenly, and just never can get back to sleep easily.
Duvessa returned a short time later, citing it had all been a misunderstanding from what she could gather, and that it would wait until the moring to be finished. Even with her back in the bed, I couldn't sleep; once she was soundly dreaming, I slipped away downstairs to get something alcoholic, hoping it would knock me out.
I encounted Astald down there. He's this far too good for anyone's health paladin that lives at the Mythic. I tried to get him all flustered, and it was working pretty well, even after the lady friend he was waiting for arrived.
She's apparently entirely deaf, and more often than not, mute; he was teaching her to read and write while she was teaching him to sign words.
She used to have to sign. I never thought I was going to have to think about her being so helpless like that again. It had always been so easy to lie about it, to say she'd been slaughtered below the streets of Qeynos, to blame her death on the Bloodsabers.
But it isn't the truth. Its a pretty lie I tell myself and everyone else, to take away the guilt.
It was my fault she became that way, a shadow of who she had once been, a ghost of the woman I loved.
Damnit, I thought I could hide from that forever. Why the hell did my perfect new home have to be invaded by this? Why did this girl have to come here, of all inns, with her pretty little hand signs...just like the ones she had to use after.
Damnit.
I'm going back to bed before this drives me insane - Duvessa's presence is oddly comforting, especially when the contact is so intimate. It'll make me forget about...her.
Date: Scorchedsky - Soulday the 26th, 3725
So its all caught up to me finally.
This chit is like bad history repeating itself - its like I'm a kid, back in Felwithe, telling them over and over that my father molested me, but no one listens because they saw him as being to "respectable".
Respectable. Yeah, whatever.
Yeah, I killed a man. Yup, that fop is dead as a door nail. He deserved it.
But apparently its alright for a rich and randy man to grab a woman, drag her back into an ally and force himself on her; at least that's how I feel when they told me it was murder - I didn't even get a chance to explain myself to that bitch Antonia, which I had always been told was my right as a citizen. They told me that "trash like me" doesn't get to speak to the Queen, because she won't talk to dirty murdering whores like me.
All because he's some high class merchant's son. Woo-hoo, he's just so special and more trustworthy than some Koada who dresses like an Ayr.
One of 'em had brains though. He believed me, as it wasn't the first time he'd heard of that brat dragging a woman off and screwing her brains out. He told me that his father was paying off the guard to keep it quiet, and that most of the girls who came forward would suddenly vanishi, their families claiming to have sent them off to some exotic location for more training.
He was sick of the lies, the deception, and so he helped me escape - told me some rat named Yuri could give me the name to someone in Freeport that could get me citizenship there.
I didn't quite make it that far, not yet.
I ended up at this gigantic inn out in the middle of no where, close to half way between Qeynos and Antonica. This place is absolutely huge, and has everything a person could ever desire, or at least it seems that way to some street rat from Castleview.
Maybe luck, maybe fate, but I met the owner - a woman named Duvessa El'lar. There was just something about her that drew me to her, maybe its because she looks so young but is so old, like I am...well, I'm younger than she is, but I'm older than most folk I meet...or maybe it was just that power she seems to radiate. I was told later on she has been a wizardess for almost her entire life, and that she possessed great skills most wizards could only dream of.
Whatever it is, I took to her well and to my surprise, she took well to me. We worked out a business arrangement where I could tattoo and pierce here, even down in the common areas, so long as there weren't squimish people about and the piece wasn't going anywhere personal.
That first night I was here, we ended up going to the baths - which I've not seen such baths since I got thrown outta Felwithe - and getting to know one another better, talked about how we took so well to each other. It was late when we finally left the baths, so I ended up just staying in her room - which I won't complain about too much.
Since then, I've already done one tattoo session with this girlie named Jellica; she really gets into being tattooed, has a lot of work she wants done, so she's staying here with me till its finished. Its taking a lot of time away from being able to promote myself downstairs, but the compensation is worth it.
Unfortunately, day three has turned out to be horrible, as I recieved word there was public notice about my conviction, which meant that anyone from Qeynos would have a preset idea about who and what I was.
Screw 'em.
An even greater headache has come from all the damn paperwork and bull's chit from Freeport - as a man named Dysin pointed out, I gotta work through Matthais Seigemaker, who tries to find any innocence left in a person's soul and snuff it out.
He wanted to stoke my rage and anger at Qeynos by spilling the blood of orcs. He seems to think that in slaughter I'll find some sort of pleasure that is damning to my soul. In all honesty, I could care less about an orc dying by my fists because they're just animals to me - they're the same, slow, vile beasts that haunted Crushbone which makes them inconsequential in my world.
Fighting is an art to me though, and I found myself immersed in my work, finishing off hundreds of orcs before my body demanded rest. I'm down to needing to find some traitor by the last name of Mochdre - seems to be a family of traitors from how Matthais talked - and some orc that'll answer to Geifr. He assured me there were few of Geifr's clan left, and that only a couple tended to wander out in the Commonlands.
Now I'm beat, dirty and still annoyed. I'm hitting the baths then sleeping - I'm hoping I don't wake Jellica when I get back, girlie's already passed out.
This chit is like bad history repeating itself - its like I'm a kid, back in Felwithe, telling them over and over that my father molested me, but no one listens because they saw him as being to "respectable".
Respectable. Yeah, whatever.
Yeah, I killed a man. Yup, that fop is dead as a door nail. He deserved it.
But apparently its alright for a rich and randy man to grab a woman, drag her back into an ally and force himself on her; at least that's how I feel when they told me it was murder - I didn't even get a chance to explain myself to that bitch Antonia, which I had always been told was my right as a citizen. They told me that "trash like me" doesn't get to speak to the Queen, because she won't talk to dirty murdering whores like me.
All because he's some high class merchant's son. Woo-hoo, he's just so special and more trustworthy than some Koada who dresses like an Ayr.
One of 'em had brains though. He believed me, as it wasn't the first time he'd heard of that brat dragging a woman off and screwing her brains out. He told me that his father was paying off the guard to keep it quiet, and that most of the girls who came forward would suddenly vanishi, their families claiming to have sent them off to some exotic location for more training.
He was sick of the lies, the deception, and so he helped me escape - told me some rat named Yuri could give me the name to someone in Freeport that could get me citizenship there.
I didn't quite make it that far, not yet.
I ended up at this gigantic inn out in the middle of no where, close to half way between Qeynos and Antonica. This place is absolutely huge, and has everything a person could ever desire, or at least it seems that way to some street rat from Castleview.
Maybe luck, maybe fate, but I met the owner - a woman named Duvessa El'lar. There was just something about her that drew me to her, maybe its because she looks so young but is so old, like I am...well, I'm younger than she is, but I'm older than most folk I meet...or maybe it was just that power she seems to radiate. I was told later on she has been a wizardess for almost her entire life, and that she possessed great skills most wizards could only dream of.
Whatever it is, I took to her well and to my surprise, she took well to me. We worked out a business arrangement where I could tattoo and pierce here, even down in the common areas, so long as there weren't squimish people about and the piece wasn't going anywhere personal.
That first night I was here, we ended up going to the baths - which I've not seen such baths since I got thrown outta Felwithe - and getting to know one another better, talked about how we took so well to each other. It was late when we finally left the baths, so I ended up just staying in her room - which I won't complain about too much.
Since then, I've already done one tattoo session with this girlie named Jellica; she really gets into being tattooed, has a lot of work she wants done, so she's staying here with me till its finished. Its taking a lot of time away from being able to promote myself downstairs, but the compensation is worth it.
Unfortunately, day three has turned out to be horrible, as I recieved word there was public notice about my conviction, which meant that anyone from Qeynos would have a preset idea about who and what I was.
Screw 'em.
An even greater headache has come from all the damn paperwork and bull's chit from Freeport - as a man named Dysin pointed out, I gotta work through Matthais Seigemaker, who tries to find any innocence left in a person's soul and snuff it out.
He wanted to stoke my rage and anger at Qeynos by spilling the blood of orcs. He seems to think that in slaughter I'll find some sort of pleasure that is damning to my soul. In all honesty, I could care less about an orc dying by my fists because they're just animals to me - they're the same, slow, vile beasts that haunted Crushbone which makes them inconsequential in my world.
Fighting is an art to me though, and I found myself immersed in my work, finishing off hundreds of orcs before my body demanded rest. I'm down to needing to find some traitor by the last name of Mochdre - seems to be a family of traitors from how Matthais talked - and some orc that'll answer to Geifr. He assured me there were few of Geifr's clan left, and that only a couple tended to wander out in the Commonlands.
Now I'm beat, dirty and still annoyed. I'm hitting the baths then sleeping - I'm hoping I don't wake Jellica when I get back, girlie's already passed out.
Story: A Dark Angel Falls
It was nighttime again.
In a lofty tower of a mansion inside of Felwithe, a petite lone figure sat in a window, eyes upturned to look at the sparkling stars as they began to appear. She was small, slight of frame and delicate of beauty; her skin was like an alabaster statue that had been dusted with apricot fuzz, her white hair shimmered in waves down her shoulders and back, ice blue eyes sparkled like the stars above, while her full lips were touched with a slight frown.
The girl couldn’t have been more than eight years old, so young for a mortal and extremely young for a Koada`dal. The child wore a simple white nightgown, which she hugged to herself as if she were afraid it would fall off when she let go. In the moonlight, she rocked back and forth rapidly, as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Slowly, the door opened with a soft creaking sound, causing the little girl to rock back and forth even faster; she did not turn around, because she already knew who was there. For as long as she could remember, he had always come into her room at night, had always done the same things to her and she knew he always would.
“How is daddy’s little girl?” she heard him ask softly, though his voice was like a razor to her ears.
She said nothing, and just continued rocking and looking out at the stars. As his hands came to rest on her shoulders, began to pull at the nightgown she wore, she wondered if somewhere out under the stars was someone who would make him stop someday.
Her distance didn’t seem to bother her father, as he carefully continued to undress her, moving her hands and arms away so he could tug off the nightgown. Even as she continued to stare upward at nothing after he pulled the fabric over her head and tossed it aside, he continued to smile his twisted smile.
With a sigh, he began to run his hand through her hair, his fingers brushing against her back gently as he did so. His other hand reached down to her shoulder, forcing her to stop rocking while he petted her back and tussled her hair; soon his hand slide downward, coming to rest on her flat chest, fingers idly toying with the small bud of her nipple. She tried to keep rocking, tried to ignore the feeling of his hands touching her, tried to put her mind somewhere else where she might be safe.
Bending forward, he wrapped the first hand around her side, fingers forcing their way beneath her rear as he lowered his lips to kiss her ear. As his mouth traveled down her neck, his hand reached up between her thighs and began to stroke her mound; tears began to slide down her face as he lifted her up and turned her to face him.
Reflexively she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling, and buried her face into her arm. As always, he either did not see or did not care about how tear streaked her face was, as his hand rested on her rear to hold her close and keep her from falling while his second hand continued to pet between her thighs. Though she continued to cry, and the tears slid from her face and arm down to his chest, her father continued without even a pause – she knew that he didn’t care that she was afraid, that he was hurting her, and her helplessness made her angry.
Finally, he put a hand over the child’s mouth before forcing himself into her body; she screamed but it was barely audible through the large hand that nearly suffocated her. She tried to bite down in his hand, but only ended up biting her lip; she tried to kick him, to pound her fist into his shoulder and back only to find she wasn’t strong enough to do more than exhaust herself. Tears of shame and anger slipped down her cheeks, drops rolled over his hand, but he continued until he finally spent himself.
Each time after he finished, he seemed to be shaken, distant in some sort of haze of unreality. Mechanically, he lifted her upward and removed himself before dropping her onto the bed; he would then turn with a jerking motion, and stumble out of the room, leaving her a sobbing heap upon the bed.
Curling upon herself, the child sobbed herself to sleep.
“I can teach ya to figh’, girlie.”
The Feir`dal was a year or two older than she was, and they had been friends for the past few years. His skin was darkly tanned, and his eyes were like two dark pools of forest green that danced with the freedom all wood elves seemed to possess. Messy and unkempt, his sandy blond hair fell wildly about his head, its tips brushing his shoulders from time to time. Though he was barely eighteen, his voice was honeyed smoke and more like a grown man’s than a teenager’s, tinted by his woodsy droll.
“Good, but ya ain’t gonna like the reason why I’m askin’ ya to?” she replied, her own voice tinged with smoke and shadow.
She was sixteen now, and though she was lithe and wiry, she was not nearly as tall as the other Koada`dal her age, nor many of the Feir`dal her age. Long white hair fell down her back in waves, brushing the middle of her thighs constantly, held back only by a band of cloth and thin metal wire. Her features were sharp now, and held a rather alluring quality a siren would envy, heightened by how gracefully and fluidly she moved.
Dark green eyes looked into pale ice blue with concern that deepened when he found fear and anger reflecting back to him.
“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, Angel?” he asked.
It was then she finally hesitated, panic washing over her as her eyes darted about the area to be sure they were alone. Not satisfied with the distance between themselves and the guards, she grasp his wrist and pulled him deeper into the Faydark woods. After several minutes, when she was sure there was no one near them, she turned to face her best friend.
“Willam, ya gotta promise not to get angry, an’ that no matta what I tell ya, ya’ll let me take care of it,” she practically begged.
The older elf looked down at her, clearly shocked by how she was acting. They had been friends for some time, and he knew her as a tough as nails girl with eyes that were far to haunted for her age. He had never seen her cry, never heard her scream in terror, and never had her act so paranoid.
“What is it, tell me. I promise ya e’erythin’ ya asked me,” Willam replied nervously.
She took a deep breath, unable to speak for a long moment. He put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, only to have her jerk away and look up at him with frightened eyes. She had always been a bit avoidant of intimate physical contact, but he’d never really bothered to ask why, nor had he ever tried to do more than knock her in the shoulder or pat her hand. But her reaction still surprised him, and several alarms within his mind went off all at once.
“Ya can’t tell a soul, Willam. Not a soul, not e’en the King if he e’er asks ya,” she began. “But for as lon’ as I can remember, my papa’s come into my room each night an’ forced himself on me.”
Rage rose up behind deep green eyes, and strong hands balled into fists at his side – every muscle in his body was tense, ready to dash back to Felwithe and beat down her father. She could see the change in his demeanor, and she grasped his wrist tighter, a hand rising to turn is face so that he was looking at her again.
“No, Willam! Ya hafta let me do it! Ya hafta teach me how to fight him off, how to make him stop!” she begged, tugging at his wrist.
Willam looked down at her, his mind racing with images he never thought he would see, images of her father molesting her, images of her crying in pain and anguish as it happened. Everything in him was screaming to go take it out on her father’s hide, but after a few minutes, he realized why she had to be the one to do it.
“Tunare as my witness, girlie, I’ll teach ya ta figh’ betta than anyone in all o’ Faydwer,” he growled. “One o’ the men from the Ashen Order taugh’ me e’erythin’ he knew, though he said he was only done half his trainin’, an’ now I’ll teach it ta ya.”
For weeks, high atop the mountains of Faydwer, William pushed Mornië through an intense training course, teaching her everything he knew about fighting as quickly as she could remember it. She had told her parents she was taking a trip into the Butcherblock Mountains to study the flora and fauna there for school, and the two had set out to the highest summit on the continent. There were many undead all over Butcherblock, most of them relatively brittle and easy to fight; they became practice dummies for the pair, and soon she had learned all William had to teach her.
“Ya know they ain’t gonna like ya doin’ this, Angel,” William said quietly.
The two elves stood outside of the entrance to Felwithe, down the small hill slightly, where the guards could not hear them. In the weeks they had been gone, Mornië had begun her last growth spurt and her muscles had become hard and wiry; anyone who was familiar with martial arts like those used by the Ashen Order or the Silent Fist monks would recognize where that muscle structure had come from.
“I know, Wills. But I ain’t gonna let him have his way any more,” she replied in a whisper. “A’sides, I know ya’ll come save me a’fore they kill me o’er it.”
He reached out and tussled her long hair, giving her a small grin before gently putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her forward.
“Go get ‘im, tiger,” he said quietly.
The wood elf stood on the hill, watching his friend as she walked into Felwithe. Her training had changed her, and she seemed to walk taller, with more confidence than before – if someone had told him that would happen, he would have laughed, as she was already the most confident woman he knew.
Dangerous as it was, it was the only answer they had. Her mother’s reaction confirmed what they were afraid of – that no one would be able to believe someone as upstanding and righteous as her father could molest his own daughter. She would be scolded for accusing him of such things, and his abuse would continue even after she’d spoken.
When the justice of a city becomes flawed, it is up to its citizens to find it on their own.
In a lofty tower of a mansion inside of Felwithe, a petite lone figure sat in a window, eyes upturned to look at the sparkling stars as they began to appear. She was small, slight of frame and delicate of beauty; her skin was like an alabaster statue that had been dusted with apricot fuzz, her white hair shimmered in waves down her shoulders and back, ice blue eyes sparkled like the stars above, while her full lips were touched with a slight frown.
The girl couldn’t have been more than eight years old, so young for a mortal and extremely young for a Koada`dal. The child wore a simple white nightgown, which she hugged to herself as if she were afraid it would fall off when she let go. In the moonlight, she rocked back and forth rapidly, as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Slowly, the door opened with a soft creaking sound, causing the little girl to rock back and forth even faster; she did not turn around, because she already knew who was there. For as long as she could remember, he had always come into her room at night, had always done the same things to her and she knew he always would.
“How is daddy’s little girl?” she heard him ask softly, though his voice was like a razor to her ears.
She said nothing, and just continued rocking and looking out at the stars. As his hands came to rest on her shoulders, began to pull at the nightgown she wore, she wondered if somewhere out under the stars was someone who would make him stop someday.
Her distance didn’t seem to bother her father, as he carefully continued to undress her, moving her hands and arms away so he could tug off the nightgown. Even as she continued to stare upward at nothing after he pulled the fabric over her head and tossed it aside, he continued to smile his twisted smile.
With a sigh, he began to run his hand through her hair, his fingers brushing against her back gently as he did so. His other hand reached down to her shoulder, forcing her to stop rocking while he petted her back and tussled her hair; soon his hand slide downward, coming to rest on her flat chest, fingers idly toying with the small bud of her nipple. She tried to keep rocking, tried to ignore the feeling of his hands touching her, tried to put her mind somewhere else where she might be safe.
Bending forward, he wrapped the first hand around her side, fingers forcing their way beneath her rear as he lowered his lips to kiss her ear. As his mouth traveled down her neck, his hand reached up between her thighs and began to stroke her mound; tears began to slide down her face as he lifted her up and turned her to face him.
Reflexively she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling, and buried her face into her arm. As always, he either did not see or did not care about how tear streaked her face was, as his hand rested on her rear to hold her close and keep her from falling while his second hand continued to pet between her thighs. Though she continued to cry, and the tears slid from her face and arm down to his chest, her father continued without even a pause – she knew that he didn’t care that she was afraid, that he was hurting her, and her helplessness made her angry.
Finally, he put a hand over the child’s mouth before forcing himself into her body; she screamed but it was barely audible through the large hand that nearly suffocated her. She tried to bite down in his hand, but only ended up biting her lip; she tried to kick him, to pound her fist into his shoulder and back only to find she wasn’t strong enough to do more than exhaust herself. Tears of shame and anger slipped down her cheeks, drops rolled over his hand, but he continued until he finally spent himself.
Each time after he finished, he seemed to be shaken, distant in some sort of haze of unreality. Mechanically, he lifted her upward and removed himself before dropping her onto the bed; he would then turn with a jerking motion, and stumble out of the room, leaving her a sobbing heap upon the bed.
Curling upon herself, the child sobbed herself to sleep.
“I can teach ya to figh’, girlie.”
The Feir`dal was a year or two older than she was, and they had been friends for the past few years. His skin was darkly tanned, and his eyes were like two dark pools of forest green that danced with the freedom all wood elves seemed to possess. Messy and unkempt, his sandy blond hair fell wildly about his head, its tips brushing his shoulders from time to time. Though he was barely eighteen, his voice was honeyed smoke and more like a grown man’s than a teenager’s, tinted by his woodsy droll.
“Good, but ya ain’t gonna like the reason why I’m askin’ ya to?” she replied, her own voice tinged with smoke and shadow.
She was sixteen now, and though she was lithe and wiry, she was not nearly as tall as the other Koada`dal her age, nor many of the Feir`dal her age. Long white hair fell down her back in waves, brushing the middle of her thighs constantly, held back only by a band of cloth and thin metal wire. Her features were sharp now, and held a rather alluring quality a siren would envy, heightened by how gracefully and fluidly she moved.
Dark green eyes looked into pale ice blue with concern that deepened when he found fear and anger reflecting back to him.
“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, Angel?” he asked.
It was then she finally hesitated, panic washing over her as her eyes darted about the area to be sure they were alone. Not satisfied with the distance between themselves and the guards, she grasp his wrist and pulled him deeper into the Faydark woods. After several minutes, when she was sure there was no one near them, she turned to face her best friend.
“Willam, ya gotta promise not to get angry, an’ that no matta what I tell ya, ya’ll let me take care of it,” she practically begged.
The older elf looked down at her, clearly shocked by how she was acting. They had been friends for some time, and he knew her as a tough as nails girl with eyes that were far to haunted for her age. He had never seen her cry, never heard her scream in terror, and never had her act so paranoid.
“What is it, tell me. I promise ya e’erythin’ ya asked me,” Willam replied nervously.
She took a deep breath, unable to speak for a long moment. He put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, only to have her jerk away and look up at him with frightened eyes. She had always been a bit avoidant of intimate physical contact, but he’d never really bothered to ask why, nor had he ever tried to do more than knock her in the shoulder or pat her hand. But her reaction still surprised him, and several alarms within his mind went off all at once.
“Ya can’t tell a soul, Willam. Not a soul, not e’en the King if he e’er asks ya,” she began. “But for as lon’ as I can remember, my papa’s come into my room each night an’ forced himself on me.”
Rage rose up behind deep green eyes, and strong hands balled into fists at his side – every muscle in his body was tense, ready to dash back to Felwithe and beat down her father. She could see the change in his demeanor, and she grasped his wrist tighter, a hand rising to turn is face so that he was looking at her again.
“No, Willam! Ya hafta let me do it! Ya hafta teach me how to fight him off, how to make him stop!” she begged, tugging at his wrist.
Willam looked down at her, his mind racing with images he never thought he would see, images of her father molesting her, images of her crying in pain and anguish as it happened. Everything in him was screaming to go take it out on her father’s hide, but after a few minutes, he realized why she had to be the one to do it.
“Tunare as my witness, girlie, I’ll teach ya ta figh’ betta than anyone in all o’ Faydwer,” he growled. “One o’ the men from the Ashen Order taugh’ me e’erythin’ he knew, though he said he was only done half his trainin’, an’ now I’ll teach it ta ya.”
For weeks, high atop the mountains of Faydwer, William pushed Mornië through an intense training course, teaching her everything he knew about fighting as quickly as she could remember it. She had told her parents she was taking a trip into the Butcherblock Mountains to study the flora and fauna there for school, and the two had set out to the highest summit on the continent. There were many undead all over Butcherblock, most of them relatively brittle and easy to fight; they became practice dummies for the pair, and soon she had learned all William had to teach her.
“Ya know they ain’t gonna like ya doin’ this, Angel,” William said quietly.
The two elves stood outside of the entrance to Felwithe, down the small hill slightly, where the guards could not hear them. In the weeks they had been gone, Mornië had begun her last growth spurt and her muscles had become hard and wiry; anyone who was familiar with martial arts like those used by the Ashen Order or the Silent Fist monks would recognize where that muscle structure had come from.
“I know, Wills. But I ain’t gonna let him have his way any more,” she replied in a whisper. “A’sides, I know ya’ll come save me a’fore they kill me o’er it.”
He reached out and tussled her long hair, giving her a small grin before gently putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her forward.
“Go get ‘im, tiger,” he said quietly.
The wood elf stood on the hill, watching his friend as she walked into Felwithe. Her training had changed her, and she seemed to walk taller, with more confidence than before – if someone had told him that would happen, he would have laughed, as she was already the most confident woman he knew.
Dangerous as it was, it was the only answer they had. Her mother’s reaction confirmed what they were afraid of – that no one would be able to believe someone as upstanding and righteous as her father could molest his own daughter. She would be scolded for accusing him of such things, and his abuse would continue even after she’d spoken.
When the justice of a city becomes flawed, it is up to its citizens to find it on their own.
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