Elwen

The elf's eyes still glow with a strange, inner light...a light that isn't quite sane. Silently, he looks at his two employees. When he finally speaks, his alto voice is colder then the heart of winter's coldest frost. "My terms. My life story is my own and so is my business." he says in a tone that says that he means it. "Do not ask." OOC: I hate to sound mean and cruel, but DO NOT control my character. It is a real pet peeve of mine.

Elwen says nothing for one long moment, then a quiet phrase escapes her lips. "You lie."

My address is quite current as well.

Iriador sits, cradling a mug of tea in slender hands, slowly sipping and waiting for the others, mulling over Damon's instructions...and the fact that she had better think quick of a good excuse and hope that he didn't know how to cast any kind of Truthspell. "I wonder where he went and what kind of business he is doing..." Iriador whispers to herself, tapping her chin with one slender finger. Slowly, she gets up: no use waiting. She might as well seek out the others herself.

"They say that curiosity killed the cat." Elwen says quietly, not seeming to notice. The air around her shimmers, as if she is not completely there. "The Fifth Circle has closed...and it has come to this." she looks back at Lenore. "Death is only the beginning...those who have experienced Her embrace know. But you must move on...there are other worlds out there, and as long as you remain here clinging to what has been lost, you can never find them. You /must/ move on, you have played at life too long." her lips curve into a bitter half-smile, and her next words are the barest whisper of evening mist. "As have I."

Iriador sits moresely downstairs. She couldn't sleep, and what sleep she had, had been troubled by nightmares. She had finally come downstairs at dawn, completely ready for traveling. She approaches the demon, already recognizing him from his aura. (Inari-sama...that is the succubus who tried to kill me about a thousand years ago. And I thought Aural was excellent at finding trouble!) the harper sighs. (The past is over. Let it lie. As long as he does not recognize me for what I am, then all will be well. And if he does...I will just activate the Mirror.) "Damon." she says. "I have spent the night thinking...and remembered another way to disable Elwen's magic. There is a glyph that when painted on an ofuda-" ((OOC: an ofuda is a slip of paper painted with symbols used in various forms of magic.)) "And placed upon her neck will suppress her kitsune magic." (The thought of binding my souls terrifies us.) "I know how to create such a ward." (I should, after all!)

Calonderiel exited the tavern and walked down the dark alley that led away from it. He heard them coming, of course: humans were loud to an Elf, even if they had spent their lives trying to be stealthy, and couldn't sneak up on one. Nevertheless, he kept his hands deceptively far from the hilts of his swords and let them believe in their illusion. If they wanted a fight, then he would give them one. He waited until the last moment until he knew that they were almost upon him, then turned swiftly, drawing his swords in the same movement. He assessed them quickly: a pair of tall, heavy human men, who had more then a hundred pounds on him, and were surely much stronger. (So...they are stronger. Fine. I am faster and experience is on my side.) They shook off their surprise and charged. (Fools.) Calonderiel thought, and raised his blades. He knew the moment his sword touched the first one's blade that he hopelessly outclassed them. The fight, as expected, was short and disappointing. "So." Calonderiel said, sheathing his swords, and glaring down at his fallen opponents. "What did your master tell you about me? And what were you supposed to do with me once you defeated me-that is, /if/ you had done so?" "He told us we would be facing a fragile lass!" one of the men squeaked nervously. "Not some woman who could fight like the Devil Himself!" Calonderiel let the fact that he was not a woman slide. It didn't matter right now, anyway. "What were you to do with me?" "We were told to disable you and bring you to him!" the other one said. "That's all we know!" "Who is your master?" Calonderiel asked coldly. "We don't know! He was always masked and we never saw his face!" the first man said, practically wailing. "Please, have mercy!" A strange, fey light came into the Elf's eyes. He had cast Second-stage Truthspell on them both, and knew without the shadow of a doubt that they had told him everything. But he also knew that they were Shadow-servants themselves...not powerful ones, but they were not unwitting, they had willingly participated in the torture and killing of innocents. "Mercy?" Calonderiel repeated slowly and icily. "All those people you killed...they asked for mercy." he drew one of his swords again. "And you did not grant it. What makes you think that I will give it to you, Shadow-servants?" he paused, and the light from the afternoon sun threw his face into shadow, making him look like an angel of death. (Devaberiel...Hikari. This is for you.) OOC: Ouch. My chara is /such/ a cold, ruthless...person. I'm not good at describing combat, as noticed above. But guess what he did to those people who attacked him?

OOC: Sure, you can join...but please, do your best to NOT kill my character. He's got something of an attitude problem...gives new meaning to the phrase "ice princess". *sweatdrops* He certaintly looks-and sounds-like a girl...Oh, almost forgot. Please, try to keep your control of my character as limited as possible. It's kinda a pet peeve of mine. Calonderiel can hardly believe his luck. It was obvious that the lady knight guessed correctly that he was male-thank the Goddess for that-and was actually interested in going all the way across the world to some forgotten city for a reason he wasn't going to tell her. "Very well, lady knight. I accept your offer."

(What I forgot to mention was that said kitsune is now trapped in the body of an elf...who is no longer as cold as stone...but who doesn't have anything to lose.) Iriador is still lost in thought. "Have either of you ever heard any legends of the kitsune Elwen?"

*smiles at her beloved* This helps me as well, ashke. Now all I have to do is figure out /how/ exactly Damon's personality changes from this RP to the man he is in "Shadows of Memory" and my other stories...he's not so "mean" in them. Thank you for the help.

"I would not care." Iriador says quietly, lost in her thoughts. "As long as you are not a womanizer, that is."

Life…what does it mean to be alive? You eat, dream, live, breathe, love, hate, and in the end, die. That is life, the sum total of experiences…real life may be hard, it may be rough, but it is /life/. You learn from your experiences, you learn from what you have done, and thus you /live./ You are real, you are not merely the figment of someone’s imagination. What you do will live on after you, into eternity, and will not be forgotten the moment a dreamer awakens. But intermingled with the normal reality of living, flesh-and-blood beings is another world...as it were. Long ago, Dreamers existed...normal beings dream, but the Dreamers’ dreams are as beyond an ordinary dream as a queen is above a peasant woman. Often, these dreams have the form of people, who live their lives without knowing that they are, in fact, not real, but merely illusions given shape. Real people live their lives alongside these living illusions, these living dreams, without knowing that they are, in fact, not real...even, at times, fall in love with these apparitions...for they cannot be distingished from the true-born. But the Dreamers have been dreaming for a long time now. They are tired...they do not want to dream anymore. But what will happen once the Dreamers awaken? OOC: Sorry to bore you all. But this is kinda necessary as a “history” kind of background. OOC, unless you are one of the Dreamers-and please, remember that ALL of you can’t be a Dreamer-you won’t know about the Dreamers and their living dreams. Most of those “living dreams”-what few remain-have no idea that they are not real. If you would like to be a “living dream” or a Dreamer, PM me. I’ll explain further. But if you’re just “normal”, you don’t have to. And now, the end of the boring history lesson...OK, maybe not. It’ll end...eventually. Within the crowded, smoky tavern, seemingly untouched by the noise of the people around, is a slender figure, cloaked in black. It is impossible to tell whether this person is male or female, because of their (considerable) delicate beauty, but it is obvious from the gracefully pointed ears and cat-slit, deep violet eyes that they are one of what humans term “the Bright Fey”, or the Elves. Long pale white-blond hair-silver in some lights-is tied back in an intricate braid, as the elf silently sips their drink. Calonderiel Le’lorinel. The so-called “Last Dream”. It is hard to believe that such a beautiful being could never be real-truthfully, maybe /not/ so far from the truth-but Calonderiel has never been real. And he knows it. He knows his destiny. To let the Dreamers awaken...to end that which has bound them in slumber. And once the Dreamers awaken...his life will end, as easily as if he had never existed. Behind his violet eyes, memories play...of the bright-eyed little girl who had been one of the Dreamers, and oddly enough, the most powerful. She of the silver laugh like bells, who had laughed while she had brought his own dreams to an end. The one who had told him it was futile to dream, for he was a dream himself. And more then merely a dream. “You are more then a dream now. You have been touched by the Shadow.” she had said. “More then a dream.” she giggled. “You are the dream who will end all our dreaming at last.” Calonderiel shakes himself out of his memories and stands, glaring at his half-finished cup of sake. He had absolutely no head for alcohol...but nothing nonalcoholic was worth drinking /here/, anyway. He scowled. No use waiting...he /was/ here for a reason. Shouting at the top of his (not considerable lungs), and standing on top of a chair-though Calonderiel is tall, he’ll never get attention any other way-the Elf manages to get his point across. “If anyone is interested, I am hiring mercenaries.” the Elf mentally curses his soft alto-that combined with his looks, NO ONE is EVER going to believe he is male-and continues. “Basically, the job is simple...enough. I am journeying to the ruined city of Everien, and while I am not helpless, I am not stupid enough to go alone, either.” he surveys the tavern, and mentally sighs. “Is anyone interested or am I just wasting my time here?”

Iriador scowls at herself, but is careful not to let anything show on her face. (Get your emotions under control, Lirya Moonflower, or Elwen, or Iriador Wintermist, whatever name you feel like calling yourself.) the harper tells herself sternly. (You do not need or deserve sympathy.) In less time then it takes to blink, the sadness is gone from her eyes, leaving no trace that any emotion has ever been there. Her face is a perfect mask of emptiness: beautiful as a marble statue, but as cold. She eyes Enos’s cup with suspicion, but appears not to have noticed anything. (Hn. Why would he order ale-but not drink it? Well, a thief must have a clear head.) “Weaknesses…not much about Elwen’s are known.” Iriador phrases her words carefully. “Personality-wise, she is known for being completely heartless/ruthless: she sent assassins after an ally of hers because he was being stupid.” (One of the things I regret most…) “Therefore, it may be assumed that she has no one she cares for, probably having killed them all off, and that approach may safely be ignored.” (I am NOT getting my family involved in this matter. Mother is dying…Father is grieving for her. Aural is still alive…and he is NOT getting involved in this mess. Inari-sama, he would likely land in more trouble then he can handle. Better that they think “Elwen” is completely heartless…they probably would not understand that I am not the person I used to be. Why bother wasting my time trying to convince them that I mean well? As soon as I make my wish, I am dead.) “Physically…she is very quick and graceful, relying mainly on her speed in battle. Strength is not her forte, but she has spent her lifetime mastering her skills at swordplay. Her skills at magic are equally strong, or stronger…” Iriador sighs. (That is, in my kitsune form. I do not command so much magic in Elven form…) “The stories do not tell her weaknesses…one must read between the lines.” She closes the book and puts it away. Her face does not give away what she is feeling: not even a flicker of an eyelash gives away anything more. The harper sits quietly, thinking, but nothing on the outside gives anything away. Only one with the gift of empathy can tell what she feels: Iriador has grown resigned to her death. She does not care whether she dies…in fact, she is planning to.

Well, the last movie I saw was the Two Towers, and I'm not really going to say anything...but last weekend, I finally finished watching the Neon Genesis Evangelion TV series. (Haven't seen either Death and Rebirth or the End of Evangelion yet...) Here is what I have to say: ep. 24 is my favorite, Kaworu/Kaoru (however the heck you want to spell his name!) is now my favorite character, *cries* and I don't understand the last two episodes! Argh! Can anyone who has seen Evangelion explain them to me, if they understand eps. 25 &26?

Elwen looks down at the little girl. "Many have said thus to me, child. I ask only because I am curious..." (And because it is not right that a child be so angry...)

*nods* Got it. *snickers* Has anyone (besides Brute) figured out the irony involved with Iriador? Description: The sorceress/wandering harper known as Iriador Wintermist-or Lirya Moonflower- is an enigma. Very young for an Elf-barely 110 years old-she has been in more scrapes and foiled more evil people's plots in a few short years then most people can conceive. A price is on her head, for most of those evil people want her quite dead. Tall-about six feet, EXTREMELY unusual for an Elf (I created this character before I knew we were going by D&D standards. *sweatdrops* I've described her in other stories as six feet tall, so I can't change it now.)-and slender, with gray eyes that hold the light of stars in them, she wears her long black hair tied up in an intricate bun. Dressed in a simple dark gray, she does her best to downplay her looks-but cannot hide the fact that she is one of the more beautiful women alive, a source of constant irritation to her. Iriador's pale face is typically emotionless, and she speaks in a sweet but calm soprano, perfect for her spells-for though she has the innate magic of a sorcerer, she must sing her spells like a bard. (spellsinger...that's how I adapted her concept.) However, sometimes her voice changes, to an eerily calm, otherworldly alto, and at that point, her personality undergoes changes as well. To those gifted in magic/empathy: Iriador is VERY unusual. She seems to have two separate entities within her...one belonging to this world, and one not. In addition, she is MUCH more powerful then she lets on/demonstrates... Does this help anyone? Oops, I forgot to mention. Iriador (and Elwen, by extension) is chaotic good: she does good and helps others, with absolutely NO regard for law. (obviously, a certain kitsune has had a change of heart in recent years: my stories about Elwen tell why.)

Iriador glares. "My name is /Iriador/, NOT Iry." (This man irritates me. If I were still the person I was, I would have killed him by now.) "Ask Damon when we get started. But with your attitude, you'll never get anywhere. Elwen has lived more then a thousand years. How many have you lived? Twenty? This is not going to be as easy as you think." (It definintely will not. Who is going to think of looking right in the middle of the band sent to hunt her down, for the very person they are looking for? And when I use the Mirror, that guarantees that they will not be paid. I just need to get clear of this place...)

"No." Iriador replies. "According to all the stories, Elwen /never had/ any one motive...she just did what she wanted, with no regard to law or whether it was good or evil." she sighs. (I never had motives when I was still a full kitsune. But those days are over...this time, it's different. I will do anything to save my mother's life...even sacrifice my own life. And I know that is the price of the Mirror...but it matters not. I do not deserve to live...and she does.) OOC: Oh, aren't I so evil? Has anyone figured out from reading her thoughts, what Iriador's secret is? And the best part is that IC, none of you can possibly know what it is!

Uh...if I post a bio on Iriador, it'll give away entirely too much. *sweatdrops* All I'm going to say is that she's not what she seems...

"Elwen is a kitsune. To the unenlightened, that is a fox spirit." Iriador says quietly. "A /very powerful/ one, even by the standards of demonkind. She has never been caught." (Yes, I was never caught...) she sighs. "Very powerful, very canny, and a master strategist. And completely ruthless when it suits her whims." (Not anymore...) "That sums Elwen up in a few words."

Iriador opens a bag she has carried with her and extracts a book from it. "I am fascinated by old legends...and the legend of the kitsune Elwen is one I am /very/ familiar with." she says dryly. "Calling her 'powerful' is an understatement."

Iriador faces her employer. "I do not care how much I work for. Money is of no importance to a harper with a price on her head. Pay me whatever you wish."

Iriador slaps the arm off her, and stands, glaring at both the fighter and the bard, obviously /not/ appreciative of the attention from either of the two men. Her expression is once more guarded, as she turns to the man named Enos. "No, thank you. I do not drink." the harper/sorceress says politely. Her gray eyes darken as her thoughts take her for a moment. OOC: Thoughts marked in (___)...and italics in /___/. (Mother...please, hang on a little while longer.) she thinks sadly, thinking of the dying elven woman. (So, they are hunting for me. The best place to hide is in plain sight...so I will not be caught before I use the Mirror.) A sad expression crosses the young Elf's lovely face. Obviously, these are dark thoughts.

Iriador regards Senora enigmatically. "'Darker forces?' Well, I have my own reasons for taking on this quest...each to his own, is the saying. I do not believe our employer will much care what our reasons are, as long as we get the job done." The sorceress sighs. "Inari-sama, what a mess..." OOC: Inari is the fox goddess and creator of the kitsune-NOT commonly worshiped by elves!!

The sorceress looks around, and notices the cleric. With silent steps, she walks over to her. "Are you, perhaps, interested in finding this Elwen? My hands do not heal...all I am useful for is to destroy." her expression remains guarded, neutral, emotionless. "From your body language and the look on your face, you are indeed interested, lady cleric."