Random musings of a mad elf (edit aborted, complete)

[Guest Valdar and Astralis]

A long, long time ago, 'Valdar' was my name. An apprentice planewalker I was, roaming the void free'er than any bird could be. Two teachers taught me well, one marked by chaos itself, the other, a Lawful paladin of a forgotten god. First of the darkwood elves to see the cold light of the deep, I was scarred. Scarred deeper than my skin, all the way into my soul by that first marking.

 

Oh yes, I have forgotten much.

 

I remember now. . .

 

I was young then, and my teacher insane. We chanced apon this plane of existance on one of our wanton roves across the multiverse. Out of curiousity, we decided to break in. . .and paid.

 

We were quickly overcome by three gods, which I now recognize as the faceless, the prince of Hate, and the Warlord himself.

 

***

 

I do not know what happened to my mentor, though I beleive he escaped. I . . .died here, in a way. A sort that one cannot wake from. But woke I did, remade a child, and I was Valedhel. For years, I toiled as a child of Tunare, never wondering why my ears were far longer than the other wood elves. Never wondering why my body was scarred even before birth, Never thinking about the chilling tatoo's on my arm I never understood. Until. . .

 

The rifts opening to the higher planes of this world awoke me. It was as if my memories were waiting outside the planar shell of this place, knowing a time when they could return to my body.

 

At last, I remembered.

 

It was Tunare who spirited me away from my first confrontation with elder gods. She hid me away, that they would not know-she knew me for what I was, and saved me for what I could become.

 

My path is yet long. The memories return, but I am not whole. Powers return, but I am yet weak. For now, I must hide, but I have been permitted by the grace of Tunare to re-take my once-name as a token for my memories.

 

So now, my friend, I wait and learn. The day for revenge is at hand. . .

 

***ooc notes***

 

Written to rationalize my name-change in everquest. It's missing a lot of content, which I intend to complete later tonight, or next year, depending on what time I get home

 

***ooc edit***

 

On second thought, I'll leave the muse as it is, it'll just get messier

 

***ooc edit 2***

 

Turned on durn ezcodes.

Edited by: Valdar and Astralis at: 1/4/03 7:51:57 pm

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest Blondemoon]

Even if it is for everquest (which I know next to nothing about, having never played), I like this. It leaves me wanting more.

[Zadown]

Somewhere on Norrath a storm rages on. Agnarr reigning in Karana's place rides the sky, stepping between the angry clouds with footsteps of thunder. The trees of Kelethin creak and sway, but Valdar does not notice ... he is deep in contemplation, trying to catch the memories his death scattered (or perhaps he is only contemplating his drink). Nevertheless, the wood-elf ranger stares at his mug of mulled wine as if it had all the answers he needs.

 

The great elven trees shake as another gale hits them, and a branch hits the window of the tavern. Valdar's sharp eyes flicker at the window, then return to his mug. He takes a sip or two, waiting for the drink to cool. The branch taps the window again, but the sharp sound is half lost in the cacophony of noises wind creates in a city of trees. Then, with a sharp bang the window shatters and long deadly shards whistle through the air, striking the table and the chair. Some of them ricochet from Valdar's shiny armor or are deflected by his axe and his sword which he now holds, sitting suddenly towards the window, taken over by battle reflexes. He jumps up deftly twirling his weapons and looks wildly around for an enemy, ears held ready at odd angle.

 

What he sees is far more odd than an invasion of his current home town. The eight shards, all deeply embedded in wood, all show different faces as reflections from somewhere else. As the faces whisper to him in a language no-one on Norrath knows, he feels a dreadful and chilling sense of deja-vu.

 

A dark elf priestess, clad in steel: You have lot to learn about hiding, apperentice...

 

A robed figure, elemental magic swirling around him as a fiery aegis: ... see the pattern, see how I hid. Soul apart...

 

A lizard in blood-stained clothes, skeleton capering in the background: ... hide the parts deep, take hosts and blend...

 

A cat-man, holding a drum, armored in dusty and dirty bronze: ... blend and vanish away...

 

All shards in chorus, almost whispering just before they fade to ordinary shards of glass, mutter something that Valdar only half-hears but which seems to unlock something in his head.

 

His mentor is here.

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Peredhil]

Tiptoes in and sits quietly in a corner, ignoring the chills and goosebumps of good writing.

 

 

 

Stilling his pounding heart and breathing through his mouth to avoid whistle-nose, he hopes not to frighten away a couple of his favorite writers come back after such a long time We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to.

 

W. Somerset Maugham