By the Riverbank

The faint tinkle of the gently flowing river behind the cottage whispered by as Gilean once more plunged his shovel into the soft earth.  He stood waist deep in a hole at least three feet wide and just over seven feet long.  His cousin had been very tall, as were all of his kind.

Gilean wiped the beaded sweat from his brow and tossed another shovelful over the side.  Gilean could have asked Kaliadra, or even Sanria, to create the grave for him with magic, but in some small way this was part of his pennance.  After all, Velentham, the monster that had caused so much pain and turmoil, was his cousin.

In his mind, Gielan could try to rationalize Velentham's actions.  Celestials by their nature were prone to arrogance, pridefullness, and even fanatic wrathfulness.  His cousin had gotten a healthy dose of all of those along with an extra touch of imbalance.  Telfenham, Gilean's uncle and Velentham's father, had tried to shelter Velentham and accomidate him. However once those traits, combined this his instability, were removed from Elysium and subjected to the strains of a Celestial traveling through the nine hells then being trapped on the material plane, it was too much. Velentham had become something just as bad as the demons he loved to slay.

But as much as Gilean tried to rationalize his cousin's actions he couldn't stop himself from hating the man.  Not after what he had done to Sanria... done to their unborn child.  Gilean stopped to wipe at his face again, silent tears mixing with the sweat.  If he were a lesser man he would have been happy to leave his cousin's corpse out in the forest to be picked over by animals and the remainder to rot into dust (and to be honest, a part of him wanted just that).  What he did now was for Telfenham, but also for himself, as small punishment for what his blood had wrought upon those he loved.

Those he loved... Sanria.  She was back home, safe, and for that Gilean was much relieved.  But Colin was also back.  The real Colin.  The Colin who loved Sanria.  The Colin who could never, ever seem to let Sanria go. Gilean didn't know the extent of Sanria's feelings on the matter.  He hadn't even had a chance to really speak to her.  He had only been able to heal her body and see her wake from what would have otherwise been certain death before being edged aside by Colin so eager to see her.  Then he had needed to attend to Kaliadra, so wiped out from the effort of suppressing Velentham and the strain of the life bond with Sanria.  And now, here he was, dealing with the lifeless body of his cousin.

He didn't know what was going to happen.  But to top everything off, Sanria was now carrying Velentham's child.  Gilean speared the dirt with extra effort at the remembrance of this fact.  Even with his cousin dead, his torment would remain in the form of a fully remembered Colin and his seed in Sanria's womb.  All Gilean could do was continue to dig this grave and cling to the fact that Sanria was home.  He hadn't lost her forever... at least he hoped he hadn't.

Gladiator

His mom shuddered and started breathing and Matinus finally let out his own breath.  He stayed watching for a moment, while Orn's dad moved in and held his mom's hand.  "Sanria.  You're ok."
"Colin?  What are you..."
"Gentle love.  You were badly hurt."

Love?  Matinus looked at his dad who just sat there, letting this guy say 'love' to his wife.  Matinus ran over to the couch.  "Mom!  You're alive!  I thought you were dead!  Kaliadra fainted upstairs and she's on the floor."
"Oh... alright.  Yes, I'll see to her," his dad said.

His dad left and Matinus ran around the couch.  He stopped when he saw Orn's dad kissing his mom's hand. This guy was doing something wrong, and Matinus could see it on his face.  He sat on the couch, sliding as close as he could to his mom's side. 

He watched him talk to his mom, he looked at her like he loved her, and that wasn't okay.  He looked at her like he might want to take her away.  "Mom, I missed you.   Sport ran away but Nioma still has Mr. and Mrs. Bunny.   She's asleep upstairs."  Matinus kept talking, hoping to get Orn's dad away from his mom.  "Dad wouldn't let me go look for Sport, but now that you're back maybe we could go look for him now!"
"Mom, huh?"

He buried his face in her sleeve with a grin.  He never had called her mom before.  He looked up again and Orn and his dad were leaving.  "You take care of her.   Make sure she gets better, ok?" Orn said.
"I'm going to read stories to her while she gets better."
"Sounds good."

Orn and his dad were gone and Matinus smiled at his mom.  "What stories do you want me to read?  Adventures, or stuff about tea or boring history books or healing books?"
"How about you start with boring history books," she said.  "I've had enough of an adventure to last me for a while."
"I'll go get one!"  And Matinus ran upstairs to the library.

Mom!

Matinus watched the elf woman standing at the window chanting.  He couldn't understand the words, but they were sure focused.  Her hands were shaking and she was sweating and he didn't know why.  He couldn't see what she was looking at, even though he wanted.

Then she fell on the floor.  He rushed forward to help her, but there was nothing he could do.  He had to get his dad.

Matinus ran from the room and flew down the steps onto a scene that horrified him.  His dad and Orn were laying Sanria... his mom... on the couch and she didn't look so good.  "She... she's..." But he couldn't say it.  If he said it that would make it real.

Orn came over and Matinus fell to sobbing.  He didn't care who saw him.  "No.  She'll be ok.  Your dad will take care of her," Orn said.
"She's not dead but I have to help her."
"She's not dead?  Dad!  She's not dead?  She's not?  Dad?!"
"Shhh... let him work.  He has to heal her."

Matinus watched, again, hoping his dad was as good with dead people as he was with pregnant ladies at the temple.

Art of Throm uth Bannon

Throm uth Bannon

Current Character Description - Zeltor Gor'lk

Dead, black eyes leave your senses cold. The presence of Death is palatable. Beneath the armors he wears, his grey-green skin is drawn tight to scarred bones. Every muscle and sinew is visable through his decay. Weapons hang freely from his sides, all of them blood stained and notched. He bears the mark of Time, engraved upon his chestplate and spaulders. Once a great Troll amongst the legions of Lord Cyric, a disease ate away slowly at his body until death encompassed him. Again he has arisen, leading armies of the living against the opposing forces. Contripuntal sounds of bone and determination reverberate with every lanky step, all while foaming retorts in a grossly mauled language shoot from his mouth like boulders falling on a halfling. With the new era upon us and the madness fading, Zeltor walks forward with a tried and true demeanor all while reaping the fields of the coming war. Vector has been tipping the power too long... Doma is gone but this transgression shall not be Forgotten.

We are a government. We have no care for your religion. You are free to worship any God, Goddess, or tree you so desire. We will offer you sanctuary within our lands for your ceremonies but we are not concerned with your deity.

Current Character Description - Vorcet Thophen

This man stands at five feet seven inches tall with a medium build and what appears to be slight shoulders, though it is difficult to tell with the long cloak drawn loosly over his body. He has brown shoulder length hair that is tied loosly behind his head with a leather thong, and a few loose locks of hair fall to the sides of his narrow face. His eyes have streaks of gold through the whole grey iris. The ebony staff he carries looks very ancient and well worn, however the jewel at the top swirls with a look of purpose and pulses with barely contained magic. The cloak he wears is made of long black velvet with magical spellforms embroidered along the length of the back. Well polished black boots can be seen peeking out from under the bottom edge of the cloak. The hint of a tattoo can be seen peeking up above his collar line at the base of his neck, a single star. What apears to be a bag of holding is attached at his hip to a woven leather belt holding up his leather breeches. A dyed red tunic covers his torso and a silver pendant displaying a shimmering magical rune.

Current Character Description - Throm uth Bannon

Tall and slightly gaunt in stature, this man's eyes of crystal green survey the world around him with an everpresent disposition of curiosity and inquiry. The neatly kept hair of jet black upon his head, is contrasted by thin streaks of a light gray disrupt. Smile lines adorn the beginnings of many wrinkles upon his face, though a heavy brow tells tales of dark times survived. A slight limp is noticeable within his step, though it does not seem to hinder his movement more than what is seen cosmetically. 'I have walked the line between what the greater society would call the rights' and wrongs for as long as I can remember. In doing so I have served Cruoris in the best way I know how. What is good? What is evil? This we cannot as mortal individuals answer. We learn... we move forward, and forward is where my vision lies.