Elwen

A tall, slender Elven maiden, her hair braided and pulled up into an intricate bun, enters. "You are Damon Inferel, correct?" she asks quietly. "I heard your request for a mercenary. I am Iriador Wintermist, Elven sorceress and spellsinger. Would you be interested in hiring me?"

Elwen stands in the center of the room, singing, and her song resonates with sheer power, a spell to investigate what has happened here. However, Damon's entrance and subsequent spell startles her enough that she loses the spell. She turns and looks sadly at him. "You truly do not remember, do you?" she asked.

Aural once called Elwen “a riddle wrapped in an enigma.” He said that he got the phrase out of a book he read once, but it suits her. No one really knows her, not even Aural-and he’s her twin, a powerful psionic to boot! I’ve known her for some years now, and even with my Empathy, I can’t figure the girl out. Quiet, gentle, and serene, but utterly fierce in battle: a loving, dutiful daughter and friend who will do anything for those she loves, but also a ruthless enemy who won’t think twice about betraying someone who displeases her. Calm and collected, but also unpredictable and tempestuous. A bright, vibrant person who radiates life-but who would throw their life away without a second thought. Of all my friends, Elwen is the one who scares me the most. Aural is a fighter…he won’t give up no matter what the odds are, he has this completely unshakeable will to live. So it is with most of my friends…well, except Elwen. She seems to have that, too, coupled with her incredible strategic knowledge…but behind that calm façade is something else. Elwen is too willing to throw her life away to win, or to benefit someone else she cares about. Even the way that her greatest love, Damon Inferel, met her is reflective of it. She had stolen the Mirror of Darkness, a powerful but cursed artifact, because it granted its possessor a single wish, any wish they wanted…for a price. Her beloved elven mother, Amnestria, was dying: Elwen was willing to go to any length to save her…and did not balk at the price the artifact exacted-her life. Not her elven life, /both/ her lives. Damon, who had been sent to retrieve the Mirror, offered to split his life with hers…the mirror couldn’t decide which of them to kill, and it granted her wish and let them both live. It is like she has a hidden death wish that wars with her will to live. I’m worried that one day, her penchant for self-sacrifice will override her innate survival instinct. She doesn’t let her emotions sway her actions as often as the rest of us do, but when it happens, she is completely driven by it. Elwen simply can’t see anything else while her emotions have her driven. She simply doesn’t realize what effects her actions have on the rest of us. Her friends…those she cares about and those who love her. She would die to protect us, die to atone for all the evil she once committed, as she has tried to do so many times already, she would die without a second thought and without regrets…but what Elwen hasn’t learned, in both her lives, is that no matter even if you die with hope, death is still death. Death is still an end.

(OOC: sorry that I'm bringing in another character, but he won't be in the RP for long.) Elwen bows her head, long dark hair falling to cover her face. As she turns her face away, the single glint of a crystal tear shines in the light, clinging to long eyelashes. A small blond Elf enters the room just then, and rushes to the harper's side. Despite the difference in their coloring and height, it is obvious that they are twins, since their features are so alike. "Chiya?" he asks gently, pain in his bright blue-green eyes. "Why are you crying?" Elwen remains silent, and when she speaks, it is in an eerily calm alto voice, that doesn't answer his question. "Why are you here, Aural?" "Roselyn sent me." Aural says, handing his twin several vials filled with a strange potion. "With more of these." Elwen takes them without a word, turns, and leaves the room, probably headed to the Quarters of Rahsash. A frown crosses Aural’s face, and he turns to regard Damon. His eyes darken, and in several quick, light steps he crosses the room to grab the taller half-demon by the collar, pick him up, and slam him against the wall with a strength that belies his diminutive frame. “What have you done to my sister, Inferel?! Elwen doesn’t cry, and she did!” The elf’s eyes narrow even further, and glow with a strange, intense light. When he speaks next, his tenor is backed by a supernatural force, the echo of his powerful psionic powers, abilities that rival an Adept mage’s in pure strength: he is speaking both out loud and telepathically, placing a binding “spell” on the other man, so there is /no/ possible way he can forget. “Damon Inferel, you will hear my words and /never forget/ them.” Aural says darkly. “My sister almost died for you once already. If she dies because of you this time, then I /will/ kill you.” The psychic drops the half-demon to the floor and turns to Zariah. “Elwen has gone to the Quarters of Rahsash, presumably to investigate what lies within-she told me through telepathy, the gift we share. I would stay and investigate the death of the crows with you-“ The black shape of a female crow drifts downward and arranges herself on his shoulder. “But I have other duties to fulfill for now. I will see you again.” Without another word, Aural turns and runs out the door.

Roselyn poured a cup of hot tea and closed Elwen’s long, slender fingers about it, bringing the cup to the girl’s lips. Perhaps the scalding liquid would bring some of her awareness back: the girl had a blank, vacant expression on her face, the same nothingness that had been there ever since she’d pulled Elwen out of the coma the harper had been in since Aural had rescued her from Dariel’s dungeons. The elf no longer wept, but Roselyn wasn’t sure whether that was an improvement or not. At least then she had been showing some emotion, some sign that there was a mind behind those bright gray eyes. Now there was nothing. Nothing at all. The cup fell from Elwen’s nerveless hands, shattering as it hit the table, spilling the liquid everywhere. Harsh, silent sobs racked the maiden’s willowy body, as she wept without a sound, tears once more spilling down her fair cheeks, though no expression came to those smooth, lax features: only those glistening tears. Her eyes became half-lidded, and her lips parted again to once more say that name, but this time, no sound came out. Even without her voice, it was obvious whose name Elwen was trying to say. “Damon.” Roselyn swiftly closed the distance between them and enfolded the girl in her arms, rocking her back and forth, whispering soft nonsense syllables of comfort to bring some measure of peace to the distressed girl. Damon. Elwen only knew one Damon, the man who happened to be her best friend. Damon…Inferel? Yes, Elwen had to be speaking of the half-demon. “Is she?” the familiar light tenor of Aural Moonflower came from the doorway of the temple. The slender blond elf walked forward to join his lover. Roselyn looked at him with pain-filled eyes. “Lirya’s getting worse.” Roselyn didn’t spare him the truth, knowing that as a powerful psychic, Aural would pick up on his sister’s impeding death: the death of both her souls. “I don’t know how long I can hold her in life. My powers aren’t strong enough to help her. I’ve taken care of all the physical damage, but whatever is killing her is beyond my reach.” Aural nodded soberly. He loved his twin, “Lirya” dearly, and finding out that the soul of an infamous kitsune thief, Elwen, had merged with that of Lirya’s before her birth, making her technically half-demon-and full elven, at the same time- hadn’t changed a thing. “And Elwen? Will she return to her kitsune form when Lirya dies?” Roselyn shook her head. “Elwen’s death-willed herself as well. They will both die if we can’t do anything.” Aural looked stricken. “But what can we do? There has to be something I can do to help.” Roselyn remembered Elwen’s whisper…Damon. Damon might be able to reach her. “Find Damon Inferel and bring him here.” Roselyn said. “Hurry!” The shape of a black crow drifted downward, and settled on Aural’s shoulder. Justeen, Aural’s familiar, who Elwen had summoned-before falling into her coma-to bring news of her imprisonment to Aural, and hence saving her life, for she would have died in those dungeons if she had not gotten word out. Except that it made no difference, for she was dying now. Aural turned and quickly ran out of the temple. (Aural, come back soon.) Roselyn thought frantically. (Or Elwen and Lirya will both be dead before you return.)

:Lirya.: the soft whispering touch on her mind was fleeting, hopelessly sad, resigned. Lirya Moonflower sighed herself, a whispery, sighing sound to match her counterpart’s soft, lilting alto voice. ~Elwen.~ Lirya replied, feeling the other’s presence warm and comforting in her loneliness, but she could feel the kitsune’s spirit flicker around hers, like a candle flame in the wind. So Elwen, too, had given up. The Elven girl closed her gray eyes and let the dominant fox spirit protectively wrap her exhausted, despairing psychic presence around her own, much weaker spirit. Elwen stroked her soothingly, with a phantom hand through ghostly hair, her touch a silent promise to Lirya’s grieving psyche. It was always strange here in their shared mind, they were one but at the same time, separate. :He doesn’t love us, Lirya…: Lirya wanted to cry at the sound of that soft, melancholy voice, and it sounded like Elwen was on the verge of crying herself. ~I know.~ Lirya agreed sadly, rocking back and forth. It was why she was dying…the grief was too much. ~I…I can’t go on. Not like this. The grief…loneliness…pain…~ Elwen’s gold eyes looked into Lirya’s gray ones, as the two girls, one a kitsune maiden-trapped in an elf’s body-and the other an elf maiden whose body housed both her soul and that of the much-older fox spirit’s, looked at each other. :I never knew what love was…: Elwen whispered. :Now I know. And he doesn’t love us. You die of the grief of an unrequited love. I never understood why Elves die of such grief, or of any grief…but now I understand why.: The pain of a slowly breaking heart…:Inari-sama, this hurts…: Lirya sighed, her own soprano a sad melody that harmonized with her other-self’s alto. ~And you? When I am gone, will you be free of this body, to return to your own kitsune form, your punishment ended?~ :Without you, I cannot ever hope to win him. And I cannot live without him…: Elwen said, her unearthly voice poignant in its utter finality. :So when you go…I go.: No more pain, no more sadness, no more loneliness, no more having to live with a completely unrequited love…nothing but peace. For both of them. :And it will not be so long now…: the fox finished for both of them. :Before this is over…: Notes: (and this story isn’t over…) Inari, in Japanese mythology, was the fox god/goddess. (I don’t remember which, sadly to say. I prefer to think of this deity as female, for some reason. If anyone knows, feel free to correct me.)

Elwen smiles sadly, realizing that his memory is magically blocked. The old pain resurges within her though. "I am Elwen, Damon Inferel. An old...friend of yours."

Roselyn paced back and forth. The ice maiden had already expended her healing powers...while all of the wounds Elwen had sustained while being tortured in Dariel's palace for her theft of the enchanted harp were healed, she was mentally far from well. The girl simply refused to live: she would not eat unless Roselyn forced food down her throat, would not drink unless she put the cup to her lips. Her gray eyes were far away, glassy, too bright with the calm of madness: her body was still there, her power was still there, but it was if her mind was gone. Roselyn briefly toyed with the notion that whatever she had gone through had unhinged the elf/kitsune's mind, but her Empathy told her otherwise. All Roselyn could glean was that Elwen's slide into "insanity", into hopelessness, into shadow, had begun a long time before her imprisonment. Elwen had death-willed herself. Her elven self was dying of grief: but Roselyn knew, with a sickening feeling, that Elwen would not revert to her kitsune form on the death of Lirya Moonflower, but follow her elven self into death, for she had given up as well. When elven Lirya died of grief, which would happen soon, kitsune Elwen would die as well. A soft sound startled Roselyn out of her reverie. It took her a moment to realize that Elwen was crying. Silver tears flowed silently down pale cheeks, glistened in crystal eyes. Those tears frightened Roselyn, as much as reminded her that she was not dealing with a corpse, that Elwen was still alive. The elf's lips moved, to form a single word, and it whispered past her lips. "Damon."

Elwen puts her enchanted harp back onto her back. "Excellent idea, Lady Rune." the elf replies quietly. "But who can be trusted with such knowledge?"

*walks out of the shadows in time to hear her beloved speak this poem about her. The elf maiden blushes.* This is a wonderful poem, ashke...but I am not that wonderful. That's the only thing that /I/ find wrong with it.

Elwen's gentle face is grave. "Leaving a note would betray our location. However, if the killer is magically talented, they will be able to scry us out. Unless..." slowly, she removes the harp from her back, playing a few chords. Her sweet soprano rings out in a swift song, a spellsong designed to block all scrying.

This is based off of my two Changeling: The Dreaming characters, Liriel (Arilyn) Crawford and Sovellis Evenstar, both Sidhe wilders. There will be more stories featuring them...eventually. Sovellis gasped, his blue-green eyes fluttering open. Vaguely, he saw the slender figure that bent over his bed, her long dark hair falling over her face. Liriel Crawford-or “Arilyn”, rather, as she called herself, a name derived from her Faerie name. A name that she refused to tell anyone. “Arilyn.” His parched tongue managed to form the syllables of her name, as he sat up. The silent girl pressed something into his shaking hand-a glass of water, he somehow noticed. A light flared in the darkness, centered around a pair of slender, long-fingered hands, that shone with the white light of the moon. Arilyn had cast a cantrip and called up a light to illuminate the room: in the pale magic-summoned light, her already pallid face was even more colorless, though that did nothing to detract from her too-obvious beauty. “There is a light switch over there.” Sovellis quipped, pointing in that direction. Arilyn ignored him, as she was wont to do, and simply stayed where she was. He sipped at the water, the moisture welcome to his dry mouth, and said nothing more until he had finished it and put the glass on his nightstand. The teenager then reached over and turned on his lamp, fully lighting the room. “You really didn’t need to cast that spell.” The light faded from her outstretched hands, as Arilyn straightened up. “I’m curious.” Sovellis remarked. Arilyn walked over to his desk, picked up a pen and piece of paper, and began writing. She walked back to the side of his bed and held up the paper: in her neat, precise script, it read: *When are you not?* Sovellis scowled at her. “I am /not/ curious all the time.” The Sidhe said. *What do you wish to know?* Arilyn wrote. Sovellis, well used to the other Sidhe’s curse-enforced silence-she could only speak when given leave-made sure to phrase his reply as a question. Or several, as it turned out. “Why are you here? Doesn’t your orphanage have a curfew? And how did you find out where I lived?” Sovellis asked quietly, /very/ glad that he had the habit of wearing more then boxers to bed, otherwise he’d be bright red all over right now, what with a girl in his room: at least he was decently clad. “You have nightmares, Sovellis Evenstar.” Arilyn replied vocally for the first time, her quiet alto voice as musical as the melodies she produced from the flute she carried, though completely toneless. “You didn’t answer my last two questions!” Sovellis said, frustrated. “Why not?” “Because I did not wish to.” Arilyn replied in a final tone of voice, and he knew that that was all he was going to get out of her concerning that. Sovellis swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood, gazing up at the older girl: at 5’11”, Arilyn was a good seven and a half inches taller then he was, in their mortal seemings, and held the major height advantage. Her pen danced across the paper again, as she retrieved her clipboard from where she had left it on a chair: Sovellis had to wait until she held up the paper for him to read, as he was not tall enough without his boots to read over her shoulder when she was standing. *What do you seek, Sovellis Evenstar?* (And Arilyn calls /me/ curious.) Sovellis thought wryly, but spoke. “My past.” Arilyn’s violet gaze held him evenly. *Past?* “I only remember a few weeks of my life.” Sovellis reminded her. “Everything before those weeks is a blur. I don’t have those memories. I want them back.” *Forget the past.* Arilyn wrote. *It is over, and trying to remember will only bring you more pain.* Sovellis glared at her. “It is /my/ past, Arilyn. /You/ don’t have an empty spot in your skull where memories ought to be.” *Sometimes too much memory can be a terrible thing as well.* Sovellis blinked, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “Ono no Kodamachi?” he ventured at last. A quick nod, and Sovellis looked closer, seeing a rare /something/ flicker in violet eyes. Arilyn didn’t just have /her/ memories, the memories and personality of the long-dead Japanese femme fatale were embedded within her own: while most changelings lost the memories of their prior mortal lives, Arilyn was a throwback. She had the memories, life, personality-hell, the /essence/ of Ono no Kodamachi, who had been one of her fae soul’s mortal shells, still within her, intertwined so closely with her own psyche that it was hard to tell where she left off and the long-dead woman began. She had a “roommate in her head”, whose personality was overlaid over her own, and it must be living hell to share space in your head with the ghost of one of your past selves. A past self for whose love men had died, while Arilyn now was beautiful enough that one glance at her could kill-and did. Sovellis counted himself lucky that he was a supernatural being, better able to resist such an “attack”; otherwise he’d be dead by now, considering how much time he spent around the silent young woman. Still, Sovellis could see her logic: /he/ didn’t have that particular problem to deal with. /He/ had no memory, while Arilyn had a double-dose of it. “I suppose you’re right.” The blond acknowledged. “But I’m not looking for past-life memories, of someone I was once and who is dead now. If anything, I’m looking for the lost years of /this/ lifetime.” *Curiosity killed the cat.* was Arilyn’s tart comment. Sovellis’s heart-shaped mouth twisted into a scowl. “I am neither a cat nor a pooka.” He replied, just as tartly. “I don’t think that I have much to worry about in that department. Well-aren’t you going to /say/ something?” “I see.” Arilyn said in her soft monotone. “Sovellis, be wary. Time holds many secrets.” “And?” he questioned, not expecting /this/ turn at all. “You seek the past. But your past may be better off where it is now-lost.” Arilyn replied. “Why?” he was truly confused now. “Some things are better off never found.” Arilyn replied mysteriously.

No, seriously, this isn't as bad as you think it would be from the description. The story starts 35 years before FFX, and it tells the story of the High Summoner before Braska-an original character. Most of the characters in this story are originals (if modeled after myself and people I know), with the older game characters /maybe/ making an appearance. So, without further ado-the story. ~Elwen~ A Guardian tells her story… Prologue: Looking Back In the temple in Bevelle, in a hall devoted entirely to remembrance are statues of those that came before and murals of colored glass, depicting those who guarded them, those who fought and lived and died for what they believed. Colored glass that bears my own face. My friend, my buddy, my adoptive sister: her statue stands in this hall, for she succeeded, she reached the end of her journey. A journey that I came with her on. And in the end, I could not save her. She died to bring the Calm: that was a long time ago, thirty-five years. Her Calm has long ago come and gone, and another High Summoner gave his life to bring another Calm, another death, more deaths in this endless spiral, endless cycle. The cycle goes on: their deaths meant nothing, mean nothing, as the spiral turns and the cycle goes on, the cycle went on. Memory. Remembrance. Colored glass and statues. Her statue is wrong, all wrong: she was quiet, was sarcastic, but never so cold and aloof. The woman is dead: memory is all that is left. They call me a legendary guardian, like my nephew, the young fallen monk, aged before his time, the swordsman named Auron, the man who followed a path like mine down to the bitter end. Legendary-just “lucky.”, rather. I couldn’t save my friends: I knew Lynne was gonna die long before she even began her pilgrimage, when she first began training as a summoner, and I thought I had accepted it. All along, it was Scott who fought, every step of the road from when he learned of the price of the Final Aeon, on the last road leading into Zanarkand. But in the end, I tried to stop her. I failed. I still have nightmares about that last room, standing before Lady Yunalesca, that beautiful unsent woman with a heart like ice, and her words of doom still echo in my mind. All of what we believed in was false. Sin would return, for it was eternal, and every Aeon that defeated it would become Sin in its place. Cruel pointlessness, that whole Summoner’s Pilgrimage. I knew what I had to do. But I was not strong enough to turn them aside. I damned them both, and I cannot save them. I stood in that room and watched Lynne and her beloved go together, hand-in-hand, into the final darkness, unafraid, and knowing that one would die then, that Scott’s life would be given for the ultimate power and Lynne would die wielding it, for that small span of false peace. I watched as she returned, alone, her sparkle lost and forever changed, an emptiness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. That was all I could do, watch. Watch as she summoned the Final Aeon, watch as her life ended and her eyes closed in death. Watch the spiral turn and it all happen again. That was her story. That was his story…Theirs ended. This is my story. It still goes on… But how did it begin?

Elwen stands, her gray eyes faraway for a moment as she considers the case. How /dare/ anyone kill crows. the harper thought darkly. Elwen herself owed her life to one of the noble birds-the harp she wore was a reminder of that, that perilous quest. "Where do we begin?" the soft-spoken Elf says quietly, her voice not raised in anger, though an edge may be detected.

"Why do you laugh, child?" Elwen says in her soft soprano: she has come up behind the human child. "Are you one that lingers upon this side after your time has passed? If you /are/ Lenore, you have played at life too long."

*blush* THAT interpretation certaintly did not occur to me.

My e-mail address is shadow_flarelhm@yahoo.com

Elwen smiles at Fountain, a mysterious, half-smile, and adjusts the harp she wears on her back, being careful to not let a single dissonant chord play. "I am Elwen-"star-maiden"-, harper by trade." The light of stars is in her gray gaze, and well has she earned her name, for she followed the starlight more closely then even most of her kin. Her eyes flicker back and forth-was someone else here? "Come out and show yourself."

Elwen enters the room on silent feet. The elf maiden listens to the conversations, and decides to offer her help. "I would like to offer whatever aid I can give." she says quietly, approaching Zariah. "Though I am new and am unable to do much."

It was cold, and dark. “Help me.” a ragged voice pleaded. She looked down to see an old woman lying in the snow, crimson all around her. The woman bent down, ignoring the fact that her white robes were trailing in the blood, but it was too late: the old woman was dead. So many others lay dead in the ruins of this once-beautiful city: all the rest of the Guardians had fallen, and she was the only one who remained, the only one of the Circle of Light. The Apocalypse had come, bringing death and sorrow and pain and destruction with it, humanity had fallen and would never recover. She sighed in sorrow as she straightened up, knowing her own failure had brought it to this. It was her fault and no one else’s. “Messenger.” A frantic, scared little girl gasped, clutching at her sleeves. “Leave this place, Elthia’s Herald. Leave, now! Flee while you still can!” “What?” she asked. “The Dark Lady comes seeking you, and his Lord.” The girl said through tears. “The One Who Cannot Be Named-ah!” A spasm racked the small form, and the child crumpled in on herself with a long scream, the light fading from her pale eyes. Sarya backed away, the dead girl falling limply forward to lie at her feet. She prayed briefly, clutching tightly her staff as her eyes searched the horizon. Another one. By the Lady Bright, another one! How many innocents had to die because of her failure? Hundreds lay dead and thousands were dying, while people hid in basements, hoping in vain that the darkness would not find them, would not claim them- “It seems you did not take the girl’s warning to heart, Sarya.” A familiar baritone voice called, and Sarya turned to find “The One Who Cannot Be Named” standing there, smirking. “Why do you stay? There is no hope. Your circle is gone, the Light is dead. What is there left for you?” A slender form ghosted up out of the shadows, cloaked in black. The Dark Lady, who was no lady at all. Pale and slender, he was silent, silvery-gray eyes holding no emotion in them. “Well…” the baritone-voiced man continued. “Then you might as well die with the city and those futile mortal beings who existed within it. It is better to die in hope…then to live in despair.” The silent Dark Lady raised a slender hand, as pain ripped through Sarya, and she knew, intimately, how the little girl had died, with no mark upon her. She reached out with her own dying consciousness in an attempt to find any goodness, any innate light, that still remained in the young man. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her heart stopped, squeezed until it burst by an invisible hand, and her spirit was ripped violently out of this mortal incarnation. The last thing that she was aware of was that it was her fault that this had come to pass. That it was her fault that there was no light left. *** Sarya awoke screaming, or she would have if she hadn’t already screamed her throat raw. Her neighbors were well used to her nightmares and her horrified screaming all night long, so they had long ago ceased to pound angrily on the floor and ceiling. It was just as well, because Sarya couldn’t help her nightmares any more then she could help being what she was. It was one of the many prices she paid for her powers and her immortality, all gifts given her by her goddess, Elthia, the Lady of Starlight. It was the price she paid for being Elthia’s Herald, the Messenger of the Lady of Starlight. Dreams that were forged of pure darkness, dreams that told what would Be unless she and the other Guardians of the Light worked to avert the coming cataclysm, dreams given each of them by their respective goddess. It was their duty, their onus, their sole reason for existence: to /change the future / so that what each Guardian Saw would not become a reality. Eyes the color of the changeable sea opened at last, and focused blearily on the bedside clock. The digital numbers glowed a steady red, showing 7:00. The woman groaned-it was Saturday, thank Elthia she did /not/ have work today-but knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. It was useless…if she did, she wasn’t going to get /any/ rest, and she would have to face /that/ again. Not a nice preposition by any means. “Coffee…” Sarya managed to mumble out, her abused vocal cords quickly healed with a touch of healing magic. It was something she did /every/ morning as a matter of routine, ruin her vocal cords after a night of endless screaming and then waste a little power to fix them, only to ruin them again. Well, she needed the routine, it was as indispensable for her as coffee was in order to get going in the morning. Sarya stumbled into her kitchen and groped blindly for a mug. Thank the Lady she had had the sense to turn the coffeemaker on the previous night, or she wouldn’t have coffee now. She certainly was in no condition to do it now. The guardian managed to locate a mug and the carafe filled with coffee, and poured herself a cup. Not bothering with cream or sugar, she gulped down the hot liquid strong and black: she had served a stint in the Navy once, under a totally different name, and had learned to eschew such frivolities, even gaining a measure of tolerance for ersatz coffee, though she still preferred the /real/ stuff. Also, it had been during World War Two, and what little sugar she could get had been used for other purposes. “Argh…” Sarya moaned as she dropped her head on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, being Elthia’s Herald was just more then she could bear. A destiny too heavy for any mortal, and it showed. She was, physically, in her midtwenties, the same she had been over two thousand years ago, when she had first answered her Lady’s Call. But emotionally, she had experienced much of the darker side of humanity over those long years, and it showed in her eyes: she had seen the betrayal and destruction of the Firstborn, of the Elves, her Lady’s people, by the very folk they were meant to help and to heal, she had seen it all. Her weariness, her heart-sickness, her knowledge of the coming storm showed in her eyes, eyes much too wise and weary for the young woman she seemed. And time was running out. It all hung upon the brink now…so, so close. Everything hung upon the edge of a knife…stray but a little, and they would fall, everything the Guardians had worked for failing. Her dreams were very specific on that… Sarya’s musings were interrupted by a familiar voice that yelled furiously inside her head. :Sarya, get that crazy cat away from me!: Sarya, amused, looked toward her balcony, where her cat stalked a lark. The songbird tried to flutter away, but it couldn’t escape for long. :Sarya, help me!: her friend pleaded, sounding /really/ desperate now. “Alright, I’m coming, just don’t get your feathers in a bunch.” Sarya responded, her mood instantly lightened. The petite priestess strode over to the balcony, opened the sliding door, and retrieved the unhappy ball of white fur. Sarya soothed her annoyed pet as she carried her into the bedroom and shut the door. :Why are you soothing /her/? She’s not the one who was nearly eaten alive!: the lark complained, shifting into a dark-haired, young-seeming man of medium build. “Your cat’s crazy, Sarya!” “That’s what you get for not coming here the /normal/ way, Bob. You /had/ to come in bird form, didn’t you.” Sarya remarked lightly. Bob growled. “I hope the others get here soon.” Sarya walked back into the kitchen, not caring that he saw her in only pajamas-he’d seen her in less, after all-and poured herself another cup of coffee. This was going to be a long day. *** Twenty minutes and several cups of coffee later, Sarya was finally ready to face the day. Neatly-if casually-dressed in jeans and a nice, purple top-, she sat at her kitchen counter with Bob. “When are the others going to get here?” Bob asked impatiently. “You’ve asked that /twenty times/ already.” While Sarya was normally quite an even-tempered person-at least after 10:00 A.M.-, she was getting more then slightly annoyed by Bob’s line of questioning. “So?” Bob asked. “Wait a little while longer.” The First Guardian advised tightly. “But we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes already!” Bob moaned. “And?” Sarya in the morning prior to 10:00 A.M., even after her required caffeine intake, was merciless. “You’ve been alive since the Renaissance. You can wait a little while longer.” Bob’s vulgar reply was cut off in the middle of a very anatomically impossible preposition, just as someone knocked on the door. “Right on cue.” Sarya said, glaring at Bob as she crossed her living room to answer the door. “If you say anything, I’ll make you sing soprano. The /hard way/.” Bob wisely swallowed whatever he had been about to say. Sarya opened the door and admitted the two women who stood there, one a classically beautiful Japanese woman, and the other a tall, once-gawky American with short hair that was dyed a rather shocking violet. “Lauri, Bright.” Sarya greeted the Second and Fourth Guardians warmly. “What did we miss?” Bright asked, well, brightly, her violet eyes sparkling. “You missed Sarya about to rip Bob’s head off.” Lauri replied dryly. The tiny woman looked up at her counterpart and lover and shook her head, correcting herself after she took in Sarya’s mood. “My mistake. I believe we prevented Sarya from ripping other portions of his anatomy off. Maybe we should have waited a little longer…that way, there would have been another woman to join us.” Bob winced. “No thanks. I’d like those portions of my anatomy to remain where they are now, thanks.” “Oh, you’re no fun.” Bright complained. “Anyway, where are the others?” “Sorry we’re late.” a smooth baritone said from the door. The voice’s owner, a tall, handsome black man, entered the apartment, closely followed by an equally tall, elegant woman, who shut the door behind herself. “Traffic was horrendous. I hate driving in this city.” “I hate driving altogether.” His companion said. “You’re not that late, Mark.” Bright said. “We just arrived.” Mark looked relieved. “Oh, good. I was worried that we would be subject to the wrath of Sarya.” “No, our compatriot was.” Lauri said, waving an elegant hand dismissively. “Karen, how are you holding up?” “Well enough.” The woman replied. “Marianne has been laying low for a while.” “So has Dain.” Sarya reflected with a frown. “What about the rest of you? Have the other Defenders been inactive lately?” Everyone else in the room nodded their heads. “Does anyone find it more then a bit suspicious that the Circle of the Dark has been inactive lately?” “What about Henry and Victor?” Mark spoke up. “They aren’t accounted for…and none of us have regular dealings with either of them. Karyl and Valyn do.” “And speaking of those two, where are they?” Karen inquired. “Karyl is always late.” Sarya said acidly. “He’d be late to his own death.” No one commented, as all of them knew quite intimately that Karyl Winchester did not know the meaning of the phrase “on time,” and probably never would. “But Valyn? It’s Saturday, he doesn’t have school.” Lauri said musingly. “And this isn’t normal for him…he’s usually very prompt.” “Val is very responsible. But what could be keeping him?” Karen murmured. The door slammed open, to reveal Karyl. “Karyl, we don’t need to ask.” Sarya said sharply. Karyl held two hands up in a “what?” gesture, that had grown very familiar over the years. “But do you know where Valyn is? He’s not here yet, and we both know that’s not like him.” The Fifth Guardian’s face darkened. “I was hoping you guys could tell me.” The other Guardians of the Light exchanged looks. “You mean to say that you don’t know?” Bright said slowly. Karyl nodded.

*Elwen makes a face* Ai...the formatting went and broke on me...

*the young elf maiden eyes the half-elf warily* I hope that was a joke, sir. If it is, it is not a funny one. But to forestall any bribery, here is the next installment of Shadow and Starlight. Sarya awoke screaming, or she would have if she hadn’t already screamed her throat raw. Her neighbors were well used to her nightmares and her horrified screaming all night long, so they had long ago ceased to pound angrily on the floor and ceiling. It was just as well, because Sarya couldn’t help her nightmares any more then she could help being what she was. It was one of the many prices she paid for her powers and her immortality, all gifts given her by her goddess, Elthia, the Lady of Starlight. It was the price she paid for being Elthia’s Herald, the Messenger of the Lady of Starlight. Dreams that were forged of pure darkness, dreams that told what would Be unless she and the other Guardians of the Light worked to avert the coming cataclysm, dreams given each of them by their respective goddess. It was their duty, their onus, their sole reason for existence: to /change the future / so that what each Guardian Saw would not become a reality. Eyes the color of the changeable sea opened at last, and focused blearily on the bedside clock. The digital numbers glowed a steady red, showing 7:00. The woman groaned-it was Saturday, thank Elthia she did /not/ have work today-but knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. It was useless…if she did, she wasn’t going to get /any/ rest, and she would have to face /that/ again. Not a nice preposition by any means. “Coffee…” Sarya managed to mumble out, her abused vocal cords quickly healed with a touch of healing magic. It was something she did /every/ morning as a matter of routine, ruin her vocal cords after a night of endless screaming and then waste a little power to fix them, only to ruin them again. Well, she needed the routine, it was as indispensable for her as coffee was in order to get going in the morning. Sarya stumbled into her kitchen and groped blindly for a mug. Thank the Lady she had had the sense to turn the coffeemaker on the previous night, or she wouldn’t have coffee now. She certainly was in no condition to do it now. The guardian managed to locate a mug and the carafe filled with coffee, and poured herself a cup. Not bothering with cream or sugar, she gulped down the hot liquid strong and black: she had served a stint in the Navy once, under a totally different name, and had learned to eschew such frivolities, even gaining a measure of tolerance for ersatz coffee, though she still preferred the /real/ stuff. Also, it had been during World War Two, and what little sugar she could get had been used for other purposes. “Argh…” Sarya moaned as she dropped her head on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, being Elthia’s Herald was just more then she could bear. A destiny too heavy for any mortal, and it showed. She was, physically, in her midtwenties, the same she had been over two thousand years ago, when she had first answered her Lady’s Call. But emotionally, she had experienced much of the darker side of humanity over those long years, and it showed in her eyes: she had seen the betrayal and destruction of the Firstborn, of the Elves, her Lady’s people, by the very folk they were meant to help and to heal, she had seen it all. Her weariness, her heart-sickness, her knowledge of the coming storm showed in her eyes, eyes much too wise and weary for the young woman she seemed. And time was running out. It all hung upon the brink now…so, so close. Everything hung upon the edge of a knife…stray but a little, and they would fall, everything the Guardians had worked for failing. Her dreams were very specific on that… Sarya’s musings were interrupted by a familiar voice that yelled furiously inside her head. :Sarya, get that crazy cat away from me!: Sarya, amused, looked toward her balcony, where her cat stalked a lark. The songbird tried to flutter away, but it couldn’t escape for long. :Sarya, help me!: her friend pleaded, sounding /really/ desperate now. “Alright, I’m coming, just don’t get your feathers in a bunch.” Sarya responded, her mood instantly lightened. The petite priestess strode over to the balcony, opened the sliding door, and retrieved the unhappy ball of white fur. Sarya soothed her annoyed pet as she carried her into the bedroom and shut the door. :Why are you soothing /her/? She’s not the one who was nearly eaten alive!: the lark complained, shifting into a dark-haired, young-seeming man of medium build. “Your cat’s crazy, Sarya!” “That’s what you get for not coming here the /normal/ way, Bob. You /had/ to come in bird form, didn’t you.” Sarya remarked lightly. Bob growled. “I hope the others get here soon.” Sarya walked back into the kitchen, not caring that he saw her in only pajamas-he’d seen her in less, after all-and poured herself another cup of coffee. This was going to be a long day.

Greetings once more, honored ones. I, Elwen, the star-maiden, have come once more in hopes that I may be found worthy to enter your guild. The piece that I bring this time is an excerpt from my (unfinished) novel "Shadow and Starlight", a dream sequence that opens the work. Perhaps the Lady will smile on me this time... It was cold, and dark. “Help me.” a ragged voice pleaded. She looked down to see an old woman lying in the snow, crimson all around her. The woman bent down, ignoring the fact that her white robes were trailing in the blood, but it was too late: the old woman was dead. So many others lay dead in the ruins of this once-beautiful city: all the rest of the Guardians had fallen, and she was the only one who remained, the only one of the Circle of Light. The Apocalypse had come, bringing death and sorrow and pain and destruction with it, humanity had fallen and would never recover. She sighed in sorrow as she straightened up, knowing her own failure had brought it to this. It was her fault and no one else’s. “Messenger.” A frantic, scared little girl gasped, clutching at her sleeves. “Leave this place, Elthia’s Herald. Leave, now! Flee while you still can!” “What?” she asked. “The Dark Lady comes seeking you, and his Lord.” The girl said through tears. “The One Who Cannot Be Named-ah!” A spasm racked the small form, and the child crumpled in on herself with a long scream, the light fading from her pale eyes. Sarya backed away, the dead girl falling limply forward to lie at her feet. She prayed briefly, clutching tightly her staff as her eyes searched the horizon. Another one. By the Lady Bright, another one! How many innocents had to die because of her failure? Hundreds lay dead and thousands were dying, while people hid in basements, hoping in vain that the darkness would not find them, would not claim them- “It seems you did not take the girl’s warning to heart, Sarya.” A familiar baritone voice called, and Sarya turned to find “The One Who Cannot Be Named” standing there, smirking. “Why do you stay? There is no hope. Your circle is gone, the Light is dead. What is there left for you?” A slender form ghosted up out of the shadows, cloaked in black. The Dark Lady, who was no lady at all. Pale and slender, he was silent, silvery-gray eyes holding no emotion in them. “Well…” the baritone-voiced man continued. “Then you might as well die with the city and those futile mortal beings who existed within it. It is better to die in hope…then to live in despair.” The silent Dark Lady raised a slender hand, as pain ripped through Sarya, and she knew, intimately, how the little girl had died, with no mark upon her. She reached out with her own dying consciousness in an attempt to find any goodness, any innate light, that still remained in the young man. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her heart stopped, squeezed until it burst by an invisible hand, and her spirit was ripped violently out of this mortal incarnation. The last thing that she was aware of was that it was her fault that this had come to pass. That it was her fault that there was no light left.

As I stand here in the shadows Waiting for those who will call my name And bring me from the shadows I stand here so alone Chorus- Somewhere, out there, all alone I’m dancing under a streetlight Waiting for a car to stop, a star to fall Waiting for someone who can change my life I dance in the shadows, I dance in the light Forever frozen in these steps I’m stuck here, I can’t go anywhere Waiting for someone, waiting for someone Repeat Chorus I can’t go anywhere I can’t go back, I can’t go forward I can’t go anywhere, I can’t go anywhere I can’t go back, I can’t go forward, I can’t go anywhere Repeat Chorus Trapped within a dream, a prison of my making Searching for my own way out The walls are closing in on me And I don’t know the shape inside my skin Repeat Chorus I can’t go anywhere (I’m trapped within) I can’t go back, I can’t go forward (I don’t know the shape inside my skin) I’ve lost the heart of the creature called ‘me’ (What have I lost in Time’s ebb and flow) I’ve lost my way, and shadows dance pain (Can anyone help me?) Waiting for a star to fall (Waiting for someone who can change my life) Repeat Chorus 2x

Greetings, honored ones. I am Elwen, "Star-Maiden" if you prefer, and I wish to apply to this guild. My application, "Monologue" (for lack of a better title) is below. It's from a longer 'fic of mine. Monologue Christine: This prayer is for me tonight For the sister I could not save For the friend now chained to the darkness For all those who weep in the endless night For the loss of all I believed For all the hope cloaked in deceit For all that I have failed to do This prayer is for me tonight For the girl who should have lived to be old For her beloved who gave his life for his beloved For me who atones tonight and for forever more For what I should have done but was not strong enough to do For the deaths that were never stopped For the cycle that should have been broken but was not This prayer is for me tonight For all those who died in hope So that the rest of us don’t live in despair For me who must live with my sorrow, live my own life For me who seeks redemption tonight For what I have not done and should have For the deaths I was not strong enough to stop This prayer is for me tonight For the little sister who I guided to her death For her lover who suffers still, sealed in stone For the lies that I never saw through For the deceit I never questioned but obeyed For the infinite possibilities she spoke of once For the two I damned but cannot ever save This prayer is for me tonight For the next who must travel this path For the deaths that add to this chain For the next who must face what comes at the end For all those who follow in the years ahead For those who fight and believe and die For the lives cut short and the love that dies This prayer is for me tonight For the innocence I lost For the innocence I threw away For the fate I refused to accept For the fate that happened anyway For the teachings I curse now For all of what I never knew This prayer is for me tonight And it is the last, and the hardest of all For what I never was strong enough to do For all of what I have failed to do For the moment I had when I could have turned you both away The moment when I should have stopped you and stopped it all I loved you both, my soul-siblings And in the end, I let you both go I damned you both, and I cannot save you You, with your hidden passion and raven hair You, with your hidden darkness and black coat Thus I seek forgiveness tonight This prayer is for me tonight Thus I atone Can I be forgiven?