Help (un)Wanted

[Synful_Blood]

All bunnies in this quest have been approved via AIM.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining over the bustling population of Scara Brae. Children were laughing, birds were singing, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. The haggling housewives haggled more amicably with the more amicable and less avaricious shop keepers.

What in the nine hells was wrong with the world today!?

Sitting under a big tree (in the deepest shade she could find, a refuge from the noontime sun), sat perhaps the only unhappy soul in Scara Brae on that day. The sinking state of Syneare's pleasure was only exacerbated by the apparent cheer with which the world around her seemed full to bursting.

Amadar. Amin feuya ten'ron.

The scene around her made her skin crawl with the loathing she felt for each and every one of the pitiful beings that crossed the path of her blood-red gaze. Finally, she could no longer bear the sight of so many happy people, and she took out Mellon en Amin -- her Friend, her razor, her only console in her (perpetual) distress.

The blade was as clean as always, she took pride in keeping Mellon in its best possible condition. Maybe she needed a new whetstone for it...but she would try and find one later.

Now, though, the soft gleam of the blade in the dappled shadows of the tree called to her, making her scarred arms tingle with anticipation. It was like a toxic love, a perfect love...a love that gave what she want and took what she wanted it to take.

A gentle stroke across each arm started her pain/pleasure, slicing gray skin from gray skin and letting her impure blood slide down her arms like a filthy caress.


Amin naa fauka
Amin milya i'huine
Tumba, ve'estela tanya wanwa.

Ulua, melagar.
Kela tuulo'quenat amin
Umartempla nat'ilpoika

Lava i'huine amin sana.

Yes...that was what she wanted. I'huine -- the darkness. Then she wouldn't have to deal with these happy people or this happy sunlight or those pesky and peskily cheerful animals.

Her smile spread wider as she let Mellon bite her deeper, opening a long gash down the slender arm -- it was a series of scars over that one spot, a favorite site to cut. The greater the agony, the greater the ambrosial sense of ecstasy as she slowly lost consciousness.

She wiped Mellon with its cloth and folded the blade, tucking it back into her pocket before sitting to watch the blood pool out.

Translations

>>>Fools. I feel disgust for them.<<<

>>>I am thirsty
I long for the darkness
Deep, like a lost hope.

Pour, my blood
Leave my body
Cursed impurity

Let the darkness claim me.<<<

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah always looked forward to days like these. He had been enjoying his little stroll around the city of Scara Brae, hands locked together behind his head and a slight grin crossing his lips at the sight of young children playing games in front of their houses while their mothers were preparing lunch for the family. The weather, in his mind, was perfect. Not a single cloud in the sky. Hell, it was even warm enough for him to have left his jacket back at the inn, but he considered it his "trademark piece", and would rather be caught dead than be without it. Yes, it was days like these that made him happy to be alive.

However, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a glitch in what was otherwise a perfect day. At first glance, the elf resembled a china doll crafted by an insane asylum inmate, but upon another inspection, she seemed to be bleeding. Quite badly. And to unnerve him further, he could see that underneath the wayward strands of black and white hair, she was smiling. Elijah's aura of contentment slowly dissipated, but he continued past the tree the elf was lying under.

Hey, dumbass! What're you doing, just leaving her there? Elijah's conscience was right. What was he thinking? Wasn't it a part of the unwritten adventurer's code to help any damsel in distress, no matter how little the distress was or how un-damsely the lady appeared? He sighed, turned around, and approached the tree.

"Hey, you gonna' be okay? You look a bit pale... Here, let me help you with that wound..."

This is my first actual rp, so I'm sure I'll catch onto the nuances of the whole process sooner or later...

[Synful_Blood]

Suddenly another presence loomed before her, some human with a freakish shade of black hair. He was spouting some sort of nonsense at her that she didn't understand, but his face was contorted with concern and his frost colored eyes were gazing pointedly at the blood flowing down her arm.

That absolutely wrecked her lifted spirits. Why couldn't they leave her to bleed in peace? She asked nothing more of this overly happy populace but that they leave her alone in her misery. What of her would they, could they understand? Nothing. They couldn't possibly know what it was like to be her.

"Kela amin a' i'huine, edan." Her tone, mostly apathetic, took a slightly irritated and commanding ring. That should have made her wishes clear, and just in case they hadn't...

As a warning to him, Syn took control over the blood now spilling from the long wound on her arm, letting it coil in the air, snakelike. If he didn't get the hint and leave her alone, she'd kill him.

"Leave me to the darkness, human."

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah, hand still extended to the elf, froze at the sight of the thin line of blood hovering in the air, closely resembling a cobra waiting to strike its helpless pray. Despite all of the alarms going off in the back of his head, he remained firm in his belief that this woman needed physical assistance (and maybe some mental, while they were at it). After a few seconds of silence, the elf repeated herself, her face still frozen in that "fuck off" look and her tone a little bit more threatening. "Blah blah blah, something or other." He still couldn't quite understand the message she was trying to convey, so he repeated himself as well, hoping that the communication barrier was only one way.

"Here, let me help you with--GRRRK!"

Before he could rattle off another offer for assistance, the floating coil of blood wrapped itself around his throat. The bitch attacked him! What the hell?! I just wanted to help you! After a few seconds, the pain of strangulation had brought tears to his eyes, and he fell to his knees, pathetically gasping for air and trying at the claw the blood noose. The elf's eyes watched him through random strands of hair, and at one point Elijah was sure he could see her crack a slight smile, finding enjoyment in the suffering of someone else. But, considering the matters at hand, he had other worries to contend with. Elijah reached inside his coat, fumbling with the dagger he kept therein. With a quick swipe, he attempted to cut himself free from the noose. However, more of her blood surged to where the dagger attempted to cut through it and held it there. He tried to pull it free, but to no avail.

Nice. What're going to do now? Elijah knew he had to do something quick, unless he felt like dying at the hands of some anorexic-looking, horribly twisted fuck of a woman. Thinking quick, Elijah decided to craft a small chunk of ice, roughly the size of his fist. He immediately brought it upside her head. Before he knew it, the blood noose dissipated and the elf slumped to the ground. Elijah followed suit, gasping for some much needed oxygen and clutching his hands around his neck to make sure that his head was still attached. After a few seconds, he realized that his neck, clothes, and now his hands were covered with the very blood she had been using against him. He felt a disgusted frown creep across his face as his eyes slowly drifted over to her unconscious body. Particles of ice were strewn about and a nasty gash ran across her temple.

He sat up and put his hands up to his mouth, a dumbfounded stupor overtaking him. Oh... Oh my... That wasn't supposed to happen... Suddenly, it occured to him that some of the townsfolk may have seen the somewhat violent exchange between the two. He risked a look at his surroundings, and lo and behold, a few of the housewives were already talking amongst themselves, adding a few creative liberties to make their story seem more interesting. Dammit, I need to get out of here! But... Where to go? This poor elf was in dire need of help. Elijah quickly snatched his dagger off of the ground, wiped the blood off of it, and put it back in its sheathe. He then wrapped the elf's arm (which wasn't bleeding as much anymore, but still looked like hell) around his shoulder, picked her up off the blood-soaked ground, and took her to the nearest clinic.

Roughly ten minutes later after Elijah and his out cold cargo arrived, the clinician was able to see them. However, the sight of a two people who looked like they picked a fight with a razor blade vendor unnerved him.

"Uh, excuse me, could you help her out, please? She's got this really nasty--"

"We don't help her kind around these parts," the clinician coldly interrupted.

Elijah's voice was beginning to crack with frustration. "Look, I stumbled upon this poor thing cutting herself--and enjoying it, I might add--, and then she attacked me for no good reason. I had to hit her with a chunk of ice, but I accidentally split her skull open. She needs medical attention!" Had his hands not been preoccupied, he would've slammed them down on the counter for dramatic effect.

The man, who appeared to have minored in apathy during his time in medical school, shook his head. "You are aware that that could qualify as assult, right? For all I know, you two could be a couple on the outs, and you decided to settle your differences with a death match." Once more, with gusto, "We don't help her kind here."

Elijah froze. Dammit, he's right. This doesn't look like an ideal setup, does it? Defeated by the man-nurse, he slowly turned and left the clinic, determined to find somewhere he could drop her off so she could recover.

[Synful_Blood]

Come on, Elijah, think. You can't just drop her at the side of the road...she might not wake up. And if the clinics won't take her kind...what did he mean, her kind? Elves? Or...well...I guess I can see his point.

The Elven woman's arms were covered with scars, and she herself barely weighed more than a skeleton. While it wasn't right that the clinician had denied her treatment, he could see that from a medical standpoint, she was the type that was likely to try to kill herself again...if that had been a suicide attempt.

The gash on the woman's forehead had stopped bleeding already, which was slightly worrisome, but she was still breathing, so she was still alive for the moment. But where could he possibly find help for her? He didn't know of anywhere else...

I guess I'll just have to take care of her myself...

With that thought, Elijah hefted his burden a little more securely and made the trip to his room at a local inn. After he'd done what he could for the woman, he took the time to clean himself up and change his shirt. The old one was likely ruined.

Great...just great.

~*~

She was bobbing along through the darkness and haze of blessed unconsciousness, but still, as always, she felt herself being pulled up toward wakefulness and light as though by an irresistible force. Idly, she wondered when she'd finally be allowed to linger on in the darkness forever, but this time obviously wasn't that.

The first thing she noticed was a throbbing pain in her head -- which would make sense, because the last thing she could remember were stars exploding from her temple before the darkness embraced her. There was also a dull ache in her arm, and the feeling of being constricted. Syneare opened her eyes to look at what bound her arm, and found a long strip of cloth wound to make a crude bandage. There was another one around her head.

Amada. Eller nae iltehta ume amin.

She started unwrapping her arm, pointedly ignoring the human that was watching her.

>>>Fool. There was no reason to help me.<<<

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah quietly observed from the opposite end of the room as his unwilling guest slowly and painfully sat up and removed the cloth covering her arm. Well, oh boy, today has been quite strange, hasn't it? You find an elf who was bleeding profusely sitting out in the middle of town, and when you offer some help, she wigs out and tries to kill you. So what do you do? You whack her upside the head, and damn near kill her. He told his conscience to shut up, because it was it's fault that he got into this mess in the first place.

He was still a little upset about the elf's blood spilling all over his shirt and jacket. The shirt was easily replaceable, but the denim jacket had sentimental value to him (not to mention it was a great place to hide his weapon). He had washed it while the elf was still out cold in a rain barrel behind the inn. Not all of the blood came out, and now his jacket smelled like stale death with a hint of that lovely spring rainstorm freshness. It was currently draped over the chair he was sitting in order to dry.

Well, I do feel sorry for hitting her hard enough to render her unconscious for a few hours... Maybe I should apologize by taking her for dinner. Maybe one of those joints where they deep fry everything... She looks like she could stand to gain a couple of pounds. He thought about that for a second. Eh, maybe not. She might try to shove a chicken bone into my eye socket. Elijah continued to watch the elf unwrap the cloth concealing the nasty mark he left on her head.

[Synful_Blood]

Syn looked at her arm, and scowled. It was already starting to heal...by the time the week was out, it would again be just a scar. Her hand then explored the gash on her head. She wasn't the type that hit herself over the head, and it had been a long time since she'd received such treatment. It was almost enough to make her go for her dagger and tear out the eyes of the human that had dared assault her.

She continued ignoring him, though. He was a fool for having disturbed her, and even more a fool for having helped her afterward...but she'd been drained of more blood than normal, so was weak. Even sitting up had been a strain on her body, and she could well imagine how difficult standing and walking would be.

Amada.

She still hadn't looked at her unwelcomed rescuer, and now she turned, putting her feet on the floor and bracing herself for the almost Herculean effort it would take to stand. She wasn't normally this motivated. She just couldn't abide the smell of human that permeated the room.

So she pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly and bracing herself further for the effort it would require to walk across the room and out the door.

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah continued to sit in his chair, watching the elf rise up from the bed with more than a little concern. She was having a world of trouble merely standing, her features contorted with exhaustion and pain, with a twist of anger. Refusing to look directly at him, she slowly made her way towards the door, but collapsed to her knees after taking two steps. Elijah wanted to help her up and back onto the bed; it was clearly unwise for her to leave the inn in her current state.

He sprung up from his chair and draped one of her arms over his shoulder. Her gray skin felt like ice across the back of his neck. Putting his free arm around her waist, he slowly helped his guest back to her feet. Her gaze was still locked on the door, and despite having no energy, she still tried to resist Elijah and his goodwill.

He softly laid her back down on the bed, making sure to drape a couple of blankets over her freezing body. He looked her over for a second. She's really not doing good right now. She definitely needs something to eat.

"Hey, I'll tell you what. I'm gonna' go out and see if I can't find us some dinner, okay? Just stay put, I shouldn't be long." As he turned towards the door, he muttered underneath his breath, "Not like you'll be able to go anywhere right now, regardless..."

There was no reason for him to say that last part so quietly. It wasn't like she could understand him anyway.

[Synful_Blood]

Syn almost let out a growl as she was grabbed and pulled back to the man's bed. All her concentration that had been strictly maintained up until her collapse was wasted, as was the effort put into her escape. Since the mix breed didn't normally put forth more than enough effort to lift her razor blade to her skin, when she tried to do something and found herself pulled back to the start, it was enough reason to consider murder.

If she wasn't so weak right now, merely the contemplation of the act would be enough to spark her motion, and the human would be lying dead after a flash of dagger. But now she couldn't...she'd expended what energy she had getting to the door, and couldn't even lift her head...or a hand. The blankets were heavy on her.

Then the human leaned over her, speaking in the drivel of his people, and vanished. Syn felt her anger rise slightly...as much as she had the energy for, anyway, and the curses ringing through her mind turned to the vile and accursed language of her father's people...but it had much more emphatic curses.

Vith uk.

F*** him.

[Elijah_Morendale]

Roughly an hour later, Elijah returned with two decent-sized bowls, both of which contained fire-roasted chicken mixed with rice. After he shut the door with his foot, he walked on over to the bed where the elf was still lying, as if she hadn't moved since he left. He set her bowl on the night stand next to the bed, thinking that by now she might be able to muster the energy to feed herself.

He resumed his post in the opposite corner, heartily shoveling food into his mouth (the encounter made him miss lunch). After several minutes, he finally looked up. The elf hadn't even started on her own meal. "Eat. You'll regain your strength faster." He paused for a second. Oh, right. Why can't I remember that she doesn't speak common tounge? Thinking quickly, he decided to communicate in a manner everybody can understand.

He walked over to the bed, picked up her bowl, scooped out a small bite of sustenance, and held it inches in front of her mouth. A light scowl crossed her lips and she turned her head away. The fork followed suit, and she turned away again. This went on for about ten seconds or so, until Elijah started to get annoyed. He set down the bowl, and using his free hand, he gripped the elf's jaw and squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open, and dropped the food into her mouth. The moment he released his grip she spat the rice out at his face. He reeled back in slight disgust, taking a few seconds to brush a few errant grains of rice out of his goatee.

He raised his voice, something he rarely did. "Fine! Don't eat! Ungrateful bitch!" He stormed back to his chair to finish his own dinner.

Not long afterwards, Elijah was beginning to feel tired. He struggled to stay awake so he could keep an eye on the still motionless elf, but drifted off to sleep instead.

[Synful_Blood]

How dare he? How dare he try to interfere with her? How dare he try to force her to change? Syn seethed as the light slowly faded, making shadows dance along the otherwise unremarkable ceiling. The dance of the shadows soothed her...they were so dark and transient...real representations of life -- and not just hers. They represented every life, in its misery and evanescence. The shadows seemed to understand her, down to the tortured recesses of her soul...something that no living being could claim.

She could still taste the food on her tongue...disgusting, revolting. It tasted of old grease and paper, not fit food for anyone...and he was angry that she had refused it? She hadn't wanted his charity in the first place, should he be surprised that she hated him for trying to decide what was in her best interest? He was a human, she was many times the age of that whelp, and certainly wiser. Even if humans were (ever so slightly) superior to the Elves of Alerar, they were CERTAINLY more than inferior to the Elves of Raiaera. It wasn't for a human to tell an Elf what she should do.

As Syn fumed, she felt strength returning to her body, strength born of her hate and disgust for this particular man. She stood up, fingering her dagger, considering killing him in his sleep, considering slitting his throat and laughing as the sticky liquid gushed out...but there was too great a chance that he'd be discovered before she was away, so she had to spare him. For now.

The Elf, who only a couple of hours before had been too weak to walk, and only a couple of hours before that had been completely unconscious, strode to the door as if she was healthy. She pulled the heavy wooden door open and let it close behind her with a loud THUD, then made her way across the corridor and down the steps. She didn't know where she was, but that didn't matter.

She was going away.

[Elijah_Morendale]

The heavy slamming of the door had startled Elijah. After his heart settled back down to a reasonable rate of operation, he attempted to figure things out. How long have I been asleep? ...Ugh. It must be past midnight. He yawned, then decided to see how his guest was faring. He stumbled around the room, searching for the lamp, and upon finding it, struck a match and set the oil inside ablaze. The lamp gave off a soft glow, just enough for him to see that the elf had disappeared.

"Aww, what the hell..."

It didn't take him long to put together the events that caused the tremendous noise a scant fifteen seconds ago. Elijah contemplated his options, one being go find the elf, as she may still not be fully recovered, the other being lying in bed and continue dreaming about the redhead he met a few months ago in some far off tavern. Boy, that was some night...

He violently shook his head to rid himself of any leftover sleepiness. He knew that, according to his imaginary code of being an adventurer, that he must do anything he can for a damsel in distress, or at least make sure she's in good shape if all she wants to do is run away from him.

As he left the room, the voice inside his head kicked into overdrive. Face, it, there's no logical reason why you're doing this. She wasn't very appreciative of you saving her. She hates you. She even made you waste precious gold coins on food that she had no plan on eating. I bet she even wanted to kill you before she left. So, I'm asking you, what's the point? She's probably long gone by now.

Elijah continued down the steps and outside of the inn. All he could see was darkness, save for the light that the moon cast through the clear skies. He paused. If I was a spiteful, hate-fueled, suicidal bitch and a handsome gentleman like me saved her from whatever against my will, where would I go? I'd want to put as much distance between me and myself as much as possible... So probably the city gates. He immediately set out in that direction.

Fifteen minutes into his trek, he spotted the silhouette of another person who was walking towards him. Squinting, he could make this person out as a human, a few inches shorter and a lot more buff than he was. Neither person attempted to make eye contact with the other. The figure inadvertently bumped into Elijah in the darkness.

Startled, the figure said, "Oh, I'm sorry! Didn't see you there!"

"Don't worry about it. Can't see worth shit out here anyways."

The two continued on their separate paths, until something clicked inside Elijah's head. He stopped in his tracks, and patted his pants. His pouch of gold had gone missing! He could've sworn that he had it two seconds ago...

"Hey! Wait a minute!"

Upon Elijah's exclamation, the other person broke out into a full run into the darkness. Screaming random obscenities, Elijah chased after him. However, despite his abilities as a runner, this guy was slightly faster.

[Synful_Blood]

Syn had made excellent time for someone who had maybe half the blood in her veins as a normal person. Truth be told, she'd had too much blood in her system before, by far, and so she'd felt strange and a little sick. Now she was only missing a little more than normal, and didn't miss it that much.

At the very least, it got her away from that over-bearing human. Who, honestly, did he think he was, trying to force his aid upon her? Whenever he woke up, he should consider himself lucky to still be alive.

Now she was walking steadily down a narrow cobblestone street, and buildings towering up on every side of her cast monstrous shadows in the sharp moonlight. It was a perfect night, free of the foolish and bubbly day-time crowd.

She took out Mellon en Amin, turning the closed razor in her hands. It was always comforting to hold it. Her razor gave her control, not just over herself, but over how others saw her. When she had been a child, growing up in Raiaera, she had been continually scorned for being what she was -- half Alerarean. Better to be half human than half scum. So she'd started cutting, both to rid herself of her tainted blood and give her some control over herself.

She could still remember the look on a village boy's face when he had seen the long scabs and scars for the first time...one of disgust and fear, more than normal. So she'd cut the sleeves from every garment she'd ever owned, proudly displaying her arms to the world, letting her mother's people see what they'd driven her to...and giving them a legitimate reason to fear her. If she would mutilate herself like that...why wouldn't she do the same to everyone else?

The reflective smirk vanished from her face as the silence of the night was broken by heavy footsteps traveling swiftly in her direction and someone started yelling in the human tongue. What fools took themselves to the street at her hour? She turned lazily, to watch and see if the offenders came her way, and slid Mellon back into her pocket.

She saw them in the low light, fairly clearly. One was a man, kind of short and stocky, and the other was the same foolish human from earlier. Amada.

She was going to let them keep running like fools, since they had nothing to do with her...but as she turned, the foremost man bumped her roughly in his haste, knocking her against a wall and jarring Mellon from her pocket. A common thief, he ducked down swiftly and grabbed the thing as it clattered loudly against the cobblestones, barely breaking his stride to do so.

As the other human rushed past her, Syn stared at the place where her blade had been, stupefied. She put her hand into her pocket, but sure enough, her razor was missing.

"Mellon en Amin!" she shouted after the thief. "Entula hyandamin!"

Gripping her dagger, she started after them, the thief and his accomplice. They would both taste the steel of her rage tonight, and she would get back her razor, her Mellon.

"Friend! Return my (razor)blade!"

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah witnessed the thief slamming full speed into another person, but he was too busy chasing after his money to see if the bystander was alright. They had been running for a good three or four minutes now, with the thief gaining distance ever so slightly. Elijah was used to running at high speeds, but knowing that eventually he was going to tire, he decided to take action.

In a rush, Elijah crafted a short, crude kunai dagger and flung it at his target. The ice dagger flew by the thief's head, taking a small bit of skin off his ear as it passed. He yelped and clutched his head with his free hand, but the pain wasn't great enough to break his stride. Silently cursing his bad aim, Elijah decided that his next shot would count. He created ball of ice roughly the size of his fist, and threw it hard enough that he stumbled in mid-run and nearly face-planted on the street. The thief quickly ducked into an alley, causing the the ball of ice to shatter harmlessly against a building.

Elijah, beginning to feel worn out, rounded the corner, only to discover that the thief had disappeared over a wall at the end of alley. You got to be kidding me... He paused for a few seconds to catch his breath, and made an attempt to scale the wall.

[Synful_Blood]

Although she ran on nothing but the power of her hate, hate was the strongest force the young she-elf had ever known. It was hate that had prompted the first wound, punishment for simply existing. It was hate that had given her power over the tainted liquid, and hate that had driven her to kill those more heavily tainted than herself. She knew how to hunt cowards.

Several yards ahead of her, she saw the thief duck into an alley, and without a second thought, she dashed through the street, thinking to cut him off on the other side. She had pulled a muscle in her leg and felt a twinge in her belly at each step, but that didn't matter. She was going to get Mellon en Amin back. And she was going to make its thief SUFFER.

She dashed into the square, finding the mouth of the alley, and in it was a man, chuckling as though pleased with himself and brushing off his hands. He stopped short when he saw the skeletal figure in his path, hooded with hidden eyes, and black and white hair waving from under her cowl.

"W-wait...easy, girl...put away the knife like a good girl." The man was a petty thief, not a fighter, and Syn didn't intend to let him rectify that mistake. She stalked forward, slashing clumsily with the dagger, making the coward backpedal.

"Lle sane Mellon en Amin. Lle umuva qualm."

The man was pressed against the wall, shaking at the threat of violence from such a death-like figure that he didn't get his wits about him in time. Syn slashed across his belly, letting him appreciate the pain of being disemboweled before she grabbed hold of his intestines, steaming hot from being within the man. She grinned wickedly, savoring the sweet stench of impending death, and the sticky fluids that now covered her hands.

There was a loud scream, which Syn allowed to continue for a few seconds before she wrapped the man's entrails around his neck and pulled, letting him slowly suffocate and bleed to death.

When the last, ragged attempt at a breath had passed for her victim, Syn wiped her hands on her duster and searched frantically through the man's pockets until she found what she was looking for -- the smooth handle of her razor. Hands shaking, she flipped the blade open, hands running gently over the blade. Not a scratch. The half-elven maiden sighed thankfully, closing the blade and holding it to her face, as though it was a lover's hand.

Diola i'hyanda.

"Yallume...cormamin lindua ele lle." She held the razor fiercely, her dagger lying unloved on the cobblestone floor of the alley and her breath coming heavy from her toils. That had been too close.

"You took Friend. You will die painfully."

>>>Thank the blade.<<<

"At last...my heart sings to see thee."

[Elijah_Morendale]

He had all but given up on trying to find the bastard. He found that he was unable to climb the wall, and considering that he knew the streets of Scara Brae about as well as the science of gene splicing, there was no chance he would catch up to the thief. Frustrated, tired, and most importantly, broke, he sulked his way back towards the inn.

That's when he heard it. A bone-chilling scream cutting through the silence of the night. Elijah froze. It came from just beyond where he had lost the thief. His curiosity getting the best of him, he turned and attempted to navigate the darkened streets of the city, trying to find the source of the disturbance.

As he made his way through various side streets and alleyways, he noticed a faint odor in the air. It was a scent that seemed so foreign, and yet, so familiar... He followed this new trail for a couple minutes, until the stench became unbearable. Something isn't right here... As he drew closer, he realized what the odor was. Somebody had died a horrible and painful death nearby...

Elijah came to an opening, and his suspicions were confirmed. Even in the dim light that the moon offered him, he could see the corpse of the thief. His stomach was cut open, his innards spilling out into the blood-saturated street. Elijah felt his knees weaken, the stench of death completely overtaking him. What kind of sick fucker does this to someone? After a second, he noticed his coin pouch was also lying on the ground. Sure, this guy had just been brutally murdered (with a bit of style--Elijah had just noticed that he had been strangled with his own guts), but that was his money, dammit!

He turned his head to the side and cringed as he took a small step towards the body. A split second later, he heard the light scraping of metal against the cobblestones that made up the street. He opened his eyes and looked forward to catch a glimpse of what else could go wrong with his night.

Bad idea.

[Synful_Blood]

So he had heard his comrade, and with a foolish thought to help him, had returned to his location. They had probably been sizing her up all day, thinking that if they could get Mellon en Amin from her and run fast and far enough, she would have no choice but to spare their miserable lives. The corpse of the one guilty of actually stealing her blade was going to be the last thing that the overbearing human saw.

Her razor slid back into her pocket, and brandished her dagger at the man. They were both exhausted from running, but the thought of him with her razor made her hatred and rage flare up once more, and she stepped forward with murderous purpose, holding her dagger firmly in her hand.

"Lle sane hyandamin. Amin umuva e'gurtha essa lle no'i'ram...yassen agar lle."

You took my blade. I will write your epitaph on the wall...with your own blood. (lit, I will write your name in death on he wall)

[Elijah_Morendale]

Elijah didn't need knowledge of the elven tounge in order to understand what this phrase meant. The tone of the woman's voice, the way she was gripping her dagger, and her quick stride in his direction made it perfectly clear: She wanted to inflict some pain on him. He slowly backpedaled, his right hand instinctively reaching for his dagger. But when he gripped nothing but emptyness, he realized that he had left his jacket--and consequently his weapon--back in the inn. Damn! Not good...

He had two options at this point. Defend himself from the elf, or run like hell. It would take him a couple seconds to craft himself a decent ice blade, but by that time, he would've been her encore murder for the night, and idea he wasn't really cool with. So, he turned and ran the way he came.

He may had been tired from his initial chase after the thief, but fear of death had given Elijah a small amount of his strength back, allowing him to keep running at a decent pace. He could hear the woman's footsteps behind him. He didn't want to risk looking back to see how close she was.

Well, isn't this a fine mess you've gotten yourself into. But hey, you wanted adventure and excitement, and you got it. So what are you going to do now?

The adrenaline had begun to wear thin. He had to think of something, and fast! He could try his ice ball trick again... No, that's what got him into this mess in the first place. Besides, there's the chance that he'd trip and fall while turning to throw it. Then, the idea struck him that he could always duck through the various alleyways that seemed to litter Scara Brae. He had second thoughts about that as well. She obviously knows this city, otherwise she wouldn't have gotten to the thief before me. Well, I could always not be a wuss and fight her...

The alleyways it was. He quickly turned into a side street, and began to make completely random turns at whatever intersections he came across. The footsteps of the elf were slowly fading away... Maybe he did lose her after all.

He stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath, leaning up against a building. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to keep an ear out for the elf. Absolutely nothing. The night was dead silent, save for Elijah's heavy panting.

[Synful_Blood]

She ran, but he ran faster. And even the power of her hate couldn't keep her running through the stitch in her side, not now that she had Mellon en Amin back in her pocket, safe and sound. She was forced to slow eventually, but her eyes never left the human, and she saw him duck into an alley. She didn't see him come out, even as she walked slowly toward the mouth of the little street and her breathing evened out. That meant it was either another street, or he thought he had lost her.

Amadanedan, she thought with disgust, continuing her journey. She'd heard his footsteps stop abruptly, and no scrabbling for a foothold. He was crouching, perfect prey. And she took her time, letting him think he was safe.


Umaya i'huine nae natula me'a,
Umaya amin moota i're,
Lle agar umuva wahta i'malle'ondoo,
Ar'amin eleuva amarthlle.

She sneered, stepping into the alley with the moonlight at her back. She saw her prey, and twirled her dagger, rage rising once more as she saw him again, pinned and cornered like a helpless rat. She could almost hear the dagger crying out for blood -- and rightly so. It deserved to be fed sometimes, since only Mellon en Amin was allowed to taste her flesh and blood. And since she was feeding her dagger...she should let it glut itself on blood.

Her wicked grin grew as she stalked closer to him. She would write his epitaph in his own blood as it pooled out onto the cobblestones.

Foolish human

Should the darkness become light,
Should I suffer through the day,
Your blood will stain the street stones,
And I will see your doom.

[Elijah_Morendale]

It had been several minutes since he lost the sound of the elf's footsteps. He had regained most of his energy by now, but he still needed to find a way to safety. There's no way she would've given up so quickly... I completely forgot, elves have higher senses than humans... Heh. She's probably trying to trick me into thinking that I'm all safe and sound, crouched in my little alley... Then, when I least expect it... Bam!

That last thought made him shudder. He began to survey his surroundings, looking for an escape route. He was trapped, with the only way out being the way he had arrived. He also noticed a door across the way. He stood up and headed right for it, his hand fumbling with the door knob in the darkness. Locked. He quietly cursed his terrible luck.

Then, a small click. Elijah was startled by the faint sound: It was definitely a footstep. He felt his right hand grow cold, something he experiences whenever he uses his icecrafting abilities. He played around with the small chunk of ice in his hand, and smiled. I guess there's no other way out of this mess...

He closed his eyes and felt the bit of ice grow and form into a handle. He took a deep breath. The ice began to take the shape of his dagger, and upon completion, he gazed at it as he ran his finger over the edge. It was as sharp and as strong as it's steel counterpart. He felt a weak smile creep across his face. I don't think I've crafted anything with such accuracy before... Pity that I have to use this.

The smile faded as he looked up, his eyes resting on a silhouette fifteen feet down the alley.

[Synful_Blood]

Slowly she continued to approach him. She did not fail to notice his dagger, and she sneered. As if he thought he'd be able to best her. Certainly, she had less physical strength...but pain had no meaning to her. As he'd displayed earlier...it meant something to HIM.

Slowly she stalked him, holding her dagger in her right hand to stab, and readying her left arm to block his blow. He was the weak one here, this human, this thief. Death bothered him. She had no such qualms.

Sinome tyeluva coialle.

Gray lips twitched upward beneath a black hood. A bloodthirsty smile lit her fiendish face. This man, while not Drow, was a Taint as well. And it was in this alone (as well as her pain...and the color black) she reveled: to make the Tainted suffer and die.

>>>Here will end your life.<<<

[Elijah_Morendale]

I don't want to hurt you again... Please... Don't make me do this...

All he wanted to do was help the poor girl. He thought he was doing the right thing. And now, it's come down to a dark alley, two daggers, and a slim chance of escape, let alone survival. Even in the dim light, he could see the elf's wicked, twisted grin. She was planning on teaching him the definition of pain and suffering.

Elijah felt his grip around the ice dagger tighten. If he wanted to survive, he'd have to stay focused. He raised his weapon in a quasi-defensive stance, and awaited her first move. She let loose with a quick slash that he attempted to parry. However, he lacked the proper defensive training (his "partner" as a kid was a straw dummy that lacked any offensive capabilities whatsoever), and misjudged her movements. Her blade lightly cut his forearm, not enough to cause injury, but enough to make him drop his dagger.

He grunted in pain as a small trickle of blood mingled with his flesh. As he clutched the wound, he saw the flash of the dagger being thrust at his face. He quickly sidestepped, allowing the steel death to freely pass by his face. Not losing a beat, the elf slashed downward. Elijah was quick to dodge again. Her arm passed by his head again, however this time, Elijah quickly grabbed her weaponed hand and jammed the blade of the dagger into the door, effectively wedging it into the wood.

The elf paused for a split second in surprise, and it was enough time for Elijah to shove her aside and make a break for the open streets.

[Synful_Blood]

Syn growled as she was shoved roughly aside, and immediately started trying to pry her weapon free. It only took her a few seconds to do, and as she started running back out of the alley, she caught a swift glimpse of a cold glint -- his ice knife that he'd tried to pull on her. She grabbed it, feeling the chill in her hand like an awaiting death. A grin crossed her lips as she continued her chase.

Yassen hyandalle, amin tyeluva coialle. Ar'yassen sina hyandaringwe e'hoonlle, lle tyeluva rangwuva naikamin.

But it was a futile effort. She couldn't see him, and his faster feet drew him safely away from her, though the maze that was Scara Brae. Eventually, lost and exhausted, she gave up the chase, leaning against the wall of a secluded alley. Rage heated her cold heart. Maybe she had not found that human, and maybe she had not killed him...but she would...oh yes, she would. She swore it by the dripping icicle in her hand, she would feel his blood running over her body as the life faded from his eyes.

A hand on her arm brought her out of her reverie. It was another man, saying something. She didn't care what he thought he was asking of her, her answer was "N'UMA."

Syn glanced around as he came in closer, and her nose wrinkled as he got close enough to smell him -- fetid and rank, as were all humans. There was no one else to see...no one else to tell. Swiftly, she stabbed into his throat with the ice pick. While it wasn't the death she wanted this evening, it would have to suffice. Tucking her dagger into her belt, the mixed-breed Elf walked away.

~*~

Elijah leaned against the wall of his room at the inn, drenched in sweat and panting. She wasn't here, which meant that he'd lost her. What hadn't she understood? He'd just wanted to help her, and for his efforts, all he'd gotten was mugged and cut.

Glancing down at his arm, the young man sighed. It wasn't too bad a cut, but it was still annoying.

Oh well...at least I'm still alive. After the course of the night, he was lucky for even that much.


>>>With your blade, I will end your life. And with this cold blade in your heart, you will understand my pain.<<<

"NO."

[Skie and Avery]

Story

Continuity: 6 - While I didn't get much background from Elijah, and it was random, it was the right kind of random.

Setting: 6 - I could have used more detail here. On whole, pretty average.

Pacing: 8 - While this might have nothing to do with Pacing, I was eating chicken noodle soup when I got to the part about Syn handling the squishy bowels of the theif. Thanks. I really mean that. *slurp* You guys did well here, kept me interested and the thread flowed along well, despite the areas of low action.

Character

Dialogue: 8 - As always, Syn, it's a pleasure to see the authentic languages used, and you used my favorite Drow word ever. Vith! Also, the use of the language barrier here was very nicely dealt with.

Action: 6

Persona: 6

Writing Style

Mechanics: 7 - Only a few minor errors, nothing that going over your posts out loud before tossing them up wouldn't do miracles to help.

Technique: 5 - I like both of your styles, but brevity seemed to be a big problem in a few of the posts. Both flavors, too. You don't want to ramble on about trivial things, but you also don't want a six sentence post to try and convey something complicated.

Clarity: 7

Wild Card: 3 - While I know there was an announcement up about the approval of bunnies, I really did not like how sometimes Syn would write FOR Elijah, separating it from her own posts with squiggy lines. I know there's a name for them, but I don't care at the moment. I really would have liked to see a conclusion from the writer of the last character I read about in a thread.

Total: 62

Spoils: When retrieving their things from the thief's body, both characters somehow walk away with some extra gold!

Synful_Blood receives 1082 EXP and 225 GP
Elijah_Morendale receives 992 EXP and 205 GP

[Letho]

EXP/GP added!