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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
Current Character Description - Thasmudyan Haverland
Change weighs heavily on this unassuming figure, so much that those who once knew him would be hard-pressed to recognize his careworn face. His age is indeterminate, but he appears around middle-aged, and he has the look of a once-powerful man fallen on hard times. He is very thin, and seems frail at first glance; his dark hair is streaked through with white, and his voluminous, torn and dusty grey robe hangs loosely on his frame. He wears no jewelry or other accoutrements of power or wealth; the casual observer might easily mistake him for a beggar, were it not for the exquisitely carved ivory staff that he bears. It seems to catch and reflect the light around him, giving him an almost ethereal, mystical apperance.
There is more to this man than it seems at first, though; he walks with a smooth, even gait, without a trace of weariness, and when he looks up, his eyes are a deep, clear blue. His features, though worn and lined with age, reflect a surprising sense of calmness. There is a quiet sense of inner strength about him that belies his appearance of frailty; indeed, he seems to exude a strange confidence, a powerful sense of self, the mark of a man called by a power higher than himself.
There is more to this man than it seems at first, though; he walks with a smooth, even gait, without a trace of weariness, and when he looks up, his eyes are a deep, clear blue. His features, though worn and lined with age, reflect a surprising sense of calmness. There is a quiet sense of inner strength about him that belies his appearance of frailty; indeed, he seems to exude a strange confidence, a powerful sense of self, the mark of a man called by a power higher than himself.
Current Character Description - Starla
Starla The Radiant Samurai She has a elegant slim build. Starla has sparkling blue eyes and long flowing Silver hair. Her armor gleams Radiantly as if she was bless by God himself. You notice that her blade has 'Bladesong' etched into the hilt. A faint humming sound echoes from this mysterious weapon. She smells of jasmine and Honey. Starla is a Supreme Shogun of the Order. Known as an Unrivaled BladeMaster,something about her tells you if she unsheaths her Blade,its not to kill but to Protect by any means.
Current Character Description - Sliver
A thick black robe covers every inch of this being, hiding its face in darkness and covering both hands and feet with it's length. The outline of the body can still be seen and one has to wonder what is underneath the robe. The head is bumpy, with two protrusions above where the forehead should be. The robe juts out in the back a bit, as if the being was carrying something around it's hips. The shoulders are wide and again with the bumps as if something odd lie beneath the robes. When it walks, the being has a slight jerk to it's step like the set of it's legs just aren't normal.
Current Character Description - Sanria Eosos
Sanria's long, wavy brown hair hangs loose and to just above her waist. It shines in the light, revealing small highlights of strawberry blonde. Loose tendrils whisp about her face and ears, framing a pair of brown eyes as dark as warm liquid chocolate. High cheekbones wear a flush of a light pink, matching the color of her tenderly bowed lips.
An hourglass shape hides beneath a jet black robe that reveals just enough to send the imagination wild: deep cleavage and prominent collar bones. At her small waist is a deep blue cord, knotted and dangling before her. Shapely legs can be glimpsed through the filligreed slit that runs to her upper thigh. Her hands are thin, supple, and graceful - matching her feet which are well secured in a pair of ballerina flats. She smells like the forest with the slightest hint of rose petals.
An hourglass shape hides beneath a jet black robe that reveals just enough to send the imagination wild: deep cleavage and prominent collar bones. At her small waist is a deep blue cord, knotted and dangling before her. Shapely legs can be glimpsed through the filligreed slit that runs to her upper thigh. Her hands are thin, supple, and graceful - matching her feet which are well secured in a pair of ballerina flats. She smells like the forest with the slightest hint of rose petals.
Dancing with Darkness
Sanria watched Velentham advance on Gilean with a finger outstretched. She knew the look on his face from many times before. When she said something he didn't want to hear. Then Velentham tried to cast a spell. It ricocheted in a field surrounding him. Just as quickly, a large man and his cohort burst from the trees, and Velentham snatched her into his arms.
His clutch was enough to drive the air from her, and Sanria felt as though she were choking. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!" Ice cold dread filled Sanria's veins. Kill her? The one who supposedly loved her so much?
Gilean came from the cottage as the other men slowed their advance. "You wouldn't." And Sanria felt Velentham tighten his grip, adjusting it, cradling her skull in one hand.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"Please... Velentham," Sanria begged. Something was definitely wrong.
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
It happened faster than Sanria anticipated. The whole forest was a blur of green, then instant and immediate darkness. Her face dropped into the humus-rich soil, but she could still smell it. She could feel something cradling her as though holding her back from plunging headlong into a deep abyss. She could not hear anything around her but a steady humming of magic. Though outwardly she may not have looked it... somehow... Sanria was still alive.
His clutch was enough to drive the air from her, and Sanria felt as though she were choking. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!" Ice cold dread filled Sanria's veins. Kill her? The one who supposedly loved her so much?
Gilean came from the cottage as the other men slowed their advance. "You wouldn't." And Sanria felt Velentham tighten his grip, adjusting it, cradling her skull in one hand.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"Please... Velentham," Sanria begged. Something was definitely wrong.
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
It happened faster than Sanria anticipated. The whole forest was a blur of green, then instant and immediate darkness. Her face dropped into the humus-rich soil, but she could still smell it. She could feel something cradling her as though holding her back from plunging headlong into a deep abyss. She could not hear anything around her but a steady humming of magic. Though outwardly she may not have looked it... somehow... Sanria was still alive.
Footsteps in the Fog
Sanria snapped awake. She found herself in a deep blue bubble looking out into a forest. Before her was a cottage and a man who looked so deeply troubled, but why, she did not know. "D... do I know you?" She heard Velentham snap his fingers and knew he was trying to provoke the man in the door of the cottage. She walked forward, but was stopped by the boundary of the bubble. "Careful, love," Veletham said. "Sanria, why don't you tell our misguided friend our news."
"About... our baby?"
"Very good, love."
The man in the doorway had dropped to one knee, looking incredibly pain filled. Still, Sanria could not place the face before her. In her mind was a thick fog, so thick it kept her from seeing anything before staying in the inn room with Velentham. The man asked where she was being kept and whether she was happy there. Sanria wanted to tell the truth of her misery, but with Velentham's eyes upon her, she knew better than to say anything negative.
The two men continued talking and Sanria could tell they knew one another, and hated one another by the same breath. Velentham lifted the bubble-like veil and Sanria found her feet rooted in place. Even if she had wanted to, there was no way for her to walk. The man in the cottage was growing desperate. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
Sanria looked over at Velentham. The feeling in the pit of her stomach growing stronger. There was always something not right about him, and while she couldn't put her finger on it, this man seemed to know. "That's enough, Gilean." Gilean. the name sounded so familiar. "Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." That wasn't possible... was it?
"Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?"
Then... something went wrong.
"About... our baby?"
"Very good, love."
The man in the doorway had dropped to one knee, looking incredibly pain filled. Still, Sanria could not place the face before her. In her mind was a thick fog, so thick it kept her from seeing anything before staying in the inn room with Velentham. The man asked where she was being kept and whether she was happy there. Sanria wanted to tell the truth of her misery, but with Velentham's eyes upon her, she knew better than to say anything negative.
The two men continued talking and Sanria could tell they knew one another, and hated one another by the same breath. Velentham lifted the bubble-like veil and Sanria found her feet rooted in place. Even if she had wanted to, there was no way for her to walk. The man in the cottage was growing desperate. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
Sanria looked over at Velentham. The feeling in the pit of her stomach growing stronger. There was always something not right about him, and while she couldn't put her finger on it, this man seemed to know. "That's enough, Gilean." Gilean. the name sounded so familiar. "Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." That wasn't possible... was it?
"Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?"
Then... something went wrong.
Current Character Description - Rakasha
Did you hear that? You must have heard giggling! Ah, there it is again! What have we here? A halfelf with a bear? And she's beautiful! Cascading raven hair, deep mysterious eyes, and a tantalizing smile. This is Rakasha, Lady of the Winds, she leads the Illuminati along with others. You know you must go on your way, yet can't take your eyes off her.
Current Character Description - Rahvin
A large, well muscled half-orc with broad shoulders and strange arcane markings stands here. His hair is shaved into a mohawk which has been braided and hangs down his back. His chest heaves with each breath as he attempts to contain his anger. On the right side of his shaven head is a tattoo of a large black tree, the mark of the Legion of Blackwood. On the left side is another tattoo, this one depicting an empty eyed human skull. He wears a loincloth made from elfskin leather and a bone chestplate. Twining down both arms are more tattoos in arcane and divine representations of the powers that rule him. Death, Honor, and Nobility trail down his right arm. Justice, Power, and Righteousness trail down his left. He carries a long curved sword belted at his waist and a large ironwood shield strapped across his broad back. A large cave bear roams nearby and steps forward with a low growl as you approach.
Current Character Descriptions - Psycho Sin
Before you stand a mass of souls swirling and diving. The colors and sounds are almost overwhelming pushing you back as elves and orcs lost souls battle over control of the beautiful creature before you. The body is surrounded by black flames, they seem to burn into your armor attempting to draw your soul into the collective insanity contained in the eternal entity of psycho. Without hesitation the common that surrounded you has blossomed into beauty. The rancid corpses around dance and the mud under your boots gleems. When there are flowers they bloom. Psycho is in perfect balance with the dead and living feeding and spreading beauty both in life and death.
He stands before in Radiant Red Armor, a large tribal dragon is etched into his armor along his flanks created with powerful magic. His Black Flames dance around his arms and shoot up his weapons. This Esper seems to overcome vulnerabilities to weapons and is ready to Mobilize against the forces of Evil.
He stands before in Radiant Red Armor, a large tribal dragon is etched into his armor along his flanks created with powerful magic. His Black Flames dance around his arms and shoot up his weapons. This Esper seems to overcome vulnerabilities to weapons and is ready to Mobilize against the forces of Evil.
Current Character Descriptions - Orn Stone
Here is a handsome and very strong young man with an air of vitality. He looks to be around nineteen years of age but has the demeanor of a somewhat younger youth. He has large, doe-like brown eyes and unruly waves of medium length blonde hair stick off from his head in random directions. His eyes are alight with warmth and curiosity while his plump lips and subtle pink cheeks are often placed in a smile. This man appears content to explore, learn, and laugh with his girlfriend yet, in between those laughs, a guarded sorrow haunts those sparkling eyes. Although he is still young, his body is strong and fit with the defined muscles of a full grown man.
Current Character Description - Nioma Eosos
This little girl is gentle and quiet with a pair of the deepest blue eyes around. Her hair is a very dark brown, looking almost black, and is wavy and thick. Her skin is pale except for the pink flush that is a constant accompaniment on her chubby cheeks. She is relatively slender for a two year old, lacking the thick weight that marked her more robust siblings at this age. She is a calm child, rarely acting out, and seems to be alert and sensitive to everything that goes on around her. She wears a small green tunic specifically tailored to a child of her size and in her mother's favorite color. She doesn't appear to have any aptitude for the arts of talking to trees, or growing roots. Instead, she spends time attempting to heal favorite stuffed bunny, though even that seems to be a rather misguided attempt. Still, her pleasing demeanor seems to more than make up for the fact that she seems rather normal...
Current Character Description - Maya Do' Urden
The woman before you is slender, a gossimar cape of spider webs draped over her body emphasizing her curves and not hiding much of the flesh beneath. However, the attire seems out of place on the human woman. Her eyes are a dull and rotton shade of brown, mirroring the hair that is, if possible, an even duller shade of brown and not overly nourished hanging scraggly over her face and delicate features. Black brands appearing to be of an elven language are woven over her body, a type of tribal rune painted out across her flesh. Silver spikes and rings are pierced into parts of her skin, following the curve of the tribal on her body, as well as around her nipples and underneath her right eye and lips. She seems to hold no weaponry, although the wild and turbulant expression in her eyes is an indication she just may never have relied on them anyway. Irrespective of the woman's chaotic and neglected appearance, the woman is beautiful.
Old Character Description - Mason Stonehammer
Mason Stonehammer is here wiping the blood from his lower lip. His battled armor shows he has fought many great long battles. He defends his government and strives for peace. His eyes glow a calm blue. His aura has a slight hint of peace as the room calms when he enters. Blood stained weapons of Tripower rest by his side. Mason Stonehammer phases slowly in and out of reality as if the realm cannot decide if he is of the gods. Slowly the room starts to lose the feel of peace as the presence of Tripower leaves as Mason exits the room.
Current Character Description - Maezura Kylin'tar
Murky white eyes peer from under the black and crimson rimmed hood of the lithe figure before you. The shadows itself flit about endlessly upon his grey skin as if they were part of him. The rest of his body is clad in dark leather armour with the vestiges of crimson and maroon. His arms hang loosely next to the hilts of a pair of weapons; a dagger and a blade twice the dagger's length.
Current Character Description - Lyvinnia Haverland
The young girl before you keeps her head bowed low, as if in humiliation. Her hair sweeping her face is a dirty white, like strands of a burnt brown litter the pure white abundence. Her skin is dark, not quite the ebony of drow, but nor the white of man or elf. Her ears pointed, peak out from her parting hair. When her eyes can finally be glimpsed, two twin orbs of the most azure blue stare out from under not quite slanted, and not quite rounded eyes.
Current Character Description - Leroy
Bundled in thick warm clothing with a large sack thrown over his shoulder, the stiff awkward gait of this short dwarf indicates the early stages of gout and arthritis creeping into his joints. A patch is sewn onto his tunic indicating his membership in the very special Short Bus Priest Crew, aiding those in need. Perhaps his magic can cure his own condition, or perhaps not?
He slowly hobbles along, whistling a merry tune.
Winking Out
Kaliadra chanted unceasingly. She could feel Velentham's energy ray through her spell. Containing his magic was much like holding back a river. Sweat trickled down her face and into the fabric of her robes. Her hands trembled with the sheer force of will.
Given that he could still cast, Kaliadra knew she had to narrow the spell. She pulled the bubble tightly around him. He would be unable to cast anything, but he was fighting. She didn't see him grab Sanria or hear his threats. She didn't know Matinus was behind her, watching.
Suddenly, a force brought her to her knees. She felt the familiar sensation of death lapping at the edges of her consciousness. Still, she kept chanting. She knew in that instant that Sanria was dying, that because of their link, she was dying as well. Only one thing was stopping their cross into the great beyond - Velentham's forgotten spell.
Kaliadra could feel the vortex pulling at Sanria, using Kaliadra as an anchor, sucking at both their energies in the fight to keep them both alive. Unseen by Kaliadra, Colin's blades found their mark, and when Velentham's soul departed, Kaliadra's antimagic spell snapped back to her like a rubber band. The force and drain hit her full on, and in front of the boy, Kaliadra collapsed into a pile on the floor.
Given that he could still cast, Kaliadra knew she had to narrow the spell. She pulled the bubble tightly around him. He would be unable to cast anything, but he was fighting. She didn't see him grab Sanria or hear his threats. She didn't know Matinus was behind her, watching.
Suddenly, a force brought her to her knees. She felt the familiar sensation of death lapping at the edges of her consciousness. Still, she kept chanting. She knew in that instant that Sanria was dying, that because of their link, she was dying as well. Only one thing was stopping their cross into the great beyond - Velentham's forgotten spell.
Kaliadra could feel the vortex pulling at Sanria, using Kaliadra as an anchor, sucking at both their energies in the fight to keep them both alive. Unseen by Kaliadra, Colin's blades found their mark, and when Velentham's soul departed, Kaliadra's antimagic spell snapped back to her like a rubber band. The force and drain hit her full on, and in front of the boy, Kaliadra collapsed into a pile on the floor.
Current Character Description - Kineada
"There is no beginning, there can be no end..."
Standing at an average height, and with a strong physique that seems to clash with the wrinkles around his jade green eyes, the exotically clad fellow could be none other than Kineada, Wu Jen, Shadow Bushi. Once and again a follower of the fire-haired diety of passion and vanity, Kineada now walks his path with his own sense of purpose.
His outlandish dark green and black armor seems to shine with a brilliant light from within, perhaps a reflection of the fire in his eyes. Two swords hang at his waist, always at the ready, along with his repetoir of magickal spells.
Standing at an average height, and with a strong physique that seems to clash with the wrinkles around his jade green eyes, the exotically clad fellow could be none other than Kineada, Wu Jen, Shadow Bushi. Once and again a follower of the fire-haired diety of passion and vanity, Kineada now walks his path with his own sense of purpose.
His outlandish dark green and black armor seems to shine with a brilliant light from within, perhaps a reflection of the fire in his eyes. Two swords hang at his waist, always at the ready, along with his repetoir of magickal spells.
The Unbearable Pain of Elvishness
Kaliadra woke, her wounds suffered at the hands of Velentham's brutality healed by the craft of Gilean's healing. She found the priest curled up in a fetal position in his bed, and she turned away in silence. She had planned to make herself scarce, to leave, but she knew that the spell Velentham had cast on her was still there. If he found her unprotected he could torture her and no matter how painful or twisted he would grow, she wouldn't be able to die.
She walked down the stairs of Gilean's home to find the boy, Matinus, playing with his step-sister, Nioma. The boy stopped and looked at her and the little girl turned her gaze on her as well. "Doggie!" the girl squealed. Kaliadra could only assume the girl could see things that were normally hidden. She managed a smile when the voice of the demented Celestial called from outside:
"GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
"Children, upstairs to your rooms." They heeded.
Kaliadra followed behind them, detouring to the library where she stood looking out the window. She had passed Gilean as he wearily trod to his summons. She watched them and noted how confused Sanria appeared. The Celestial had no shame.
'Kaliadra,' the priest willed into her mind. 'Is there anything you can do? Can you stop him from casting? Take his magic?'
'So long as he does not see me or feel threatened, I could attempt a field, but he is much more powerful than I.'
'We have to act,' the priest said. 'She is here now, it's our only hope of getting her back.'
'I will do my best.'
'On my word.'
'Very well.'
They argued outside, postured, insulted, and Kaliadra watched unseen. The boy came to the door. "Is my dad okay?"
"He will be fine," she said. "Go back to your room and watch your sister. Keep her safe."
The boy had only just walked away when Kaliadra saw Velentham leave Sanria's side. 'Now!' came the command, and Kaliadra summoned every bit of raw energy she could gather into her spell to keep Velentham at bay.
She walked down the stairs of Gilean's home to find the boy, Matinus, playing with his step-sister, Nioma. The boy stopped and looked at her and the little girl turned her gaze on her as well. "Doggie!" the girl squealed. Kaliadra could only assume the girl could see things that were normally hidden. She managed a smile when the voice of the demented Celestial called from outside:
"GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
"Children, upstairs to your rooms." They heeded.
Kaliadra followed behind them, detouring to the library where she stood looking out the window. She had passed Gilean as he wearily trod to his summons. She watched them and noted how confused Sanria appeared. The Celestial had no shame.
'Kaliadra,' the priest willed into her mind. 'Is there anything you can do? Can you stop him from casting? Take his magic?'
'So long as he does not see me or feel threatened, I could attempt a field, but he is much more powerful than I.'
'We have to act,' the priest said. 'She is here now, it's our only hope of getting her back.'
'I will do my best.'
'On my word.'
'Very well.'
They argued outside, postured, insulted, and Kaliadra watched unseen. The boy came to the door. "Is my dad okay?"
"He will be fine," she said. "Go back to your room and watch your sister. Keep her safe."
The boy had only just walked away when Kaliadra saw Velentham leave Sanria's side. 'Now!' came the command, and Kaliadra summoned every bit of raw energy she could gather into her spell to keep Velentham at bay.
Current Character Description - Icehawk
Standing an easy 5'9", his shoulders are strong, but his frame looks wiry. His clothing seems mundane, yet well made, a simple sleeveless shirt underneath a vest with a pair of breeches. The vest's backside is embroided with a shoulder-to-shoulder hawk, mouth open in a call. Beneath the vest, his tool-belt is hung with pouches of his crystals and components. Behind and off to one side, a bag hangs off his hip. He carries a toolcase that seems much too small for the multitude of things that he pulls from it's depths. Upon each wrist is a wristlet studded with crystals, and his collar bears a few more. From far, he appears to have a strange, scaled texture to his skin, yet up close, it seems smooth and normal. Could it have been a trick of the light?
Current Character Description - Colin Stone
Here is a tall man with a superbly muscular frame. Upon his massive shoulders sit studded leather shoulder plates which are strapped to his body by leather buckles crossing his bare chest. Strips of iron studded leather hang from his waist in a protective skirt, displaying his thickly muscled legs when he walks. The only other pieces of armor to be found are studded leather bracers upon each forearm, seeming to indicate that the best defense is an imposing offense. Slate grey eyes and chisled facial features are outlined by curly black hair that falls just past his broad shoulders. His smooth skin has a healthy tanned glow and displays every curve of muscle in exquisite detail. Despite this man's looming presence his controlled and contemplative gaze seem to indicate that he means no undue harm.
Current Character Description - Casandra
Before you stands a rather pretty girl, but there is something somewhat strange and distant about her. Her dark hair hangs down to her waist, and her eyes seem to hold many mysteries. Looking more closely into dark eyes you see that she holds great knowledge of the beginning and the end. A essence of both ultimate creation and utter destruction that is the void floats around her etherally, like a great shield of mist. Within her lies the careful balance of creation and destruction of what is, what has been, and what will be.
Old Character Description - Astafas Lochness
In the shadows, watching every suttle move made, lurks Astafas Lochness of Torregiano. He is tall with a very broad figure. He looks very strong as if he can carry the realm of Waterdeep on his shoulders. Long dark robes cover his massive body. A gust of wind blows his robes to the side reveiling that he has his strong hands tight around his weapons. The weapons he has wielded are stained with the blood of his foes. He moves away from the shadows, grasping his weapons even tighter. In one swift move, Astafas circles the room and appears in the middle of the room, blood dripping from his weapons. One by one lifeless bodies fall to the ground from the shadows. Astafas grins and states,"Long Live TriPower and begone Vector scum!"
Current Character Description - Alsin Fairfax
An entity of darkness stands there. He is no figmentation of the imagination, and close examination denotes it is a silhouette of a male figure contrieved mainly of muscle with few physical flaws. His build is that of a titan; lean yet muscular with his clothing tight fitting and adorning his body and figure. His height though, implies he is something else. His eyes glisten in a dull grey color with pupils that are purple and black swirled. The majority of his facial features appear goblin-like: a downward pointed nose, small eyes, and a narrow visage. On the contrary, he stands straight and tall, his ears pointed and elven-like, his skin color ebony with a hue of blue, and lastly he has a well groomed fu-manchu that falls about 6 inches below his chin. There is also a sheet flowing from his head that is either his jet black hair or a hood of black satin. Another look might reveal more, but the entity is gone. Perhaps it was imaginary, or perhaps it was just the shadow of some tortured soul.
Current Character Description - Relic Revenu
Pale fully-red eyes contrast spectacularly this Drow's dark ebony skin. Both of these hues darker and more washed-out than the average Dark Elf, quietly giving away a measure of the great amount of time his lifespan has encompassed. Neatly situated above his left eye, in an ink darker even than his skin, though almost faded beyond visibility, are three evenly spaced horizontal bars no more than a half-centimeter in width and twice that in length for the bottom most, somewhat smaller above that as they slightly taper upward. These markings join no others on his face, the rest marred only slightly by lines etched as a testament again to countless years of wear. His deep maroon lips remain permanently in a slight frown, though are otherwise neutral to the words that lay beneath them.
Framing his features, his ears stand prominently not betraying his ancient Elven roots. Though pointed as are most Elves', his left ear is absent the very tip. Defiant to the fact, however, this ear is heavily decorated with dozens of small golden loops, lining every available offering of flesh. Opposite this ear entirely, is home to but one adornment. His right ear bears a single teardrop shaped stud of a light cyan color pierced into his tragus. Between his ears his scalp has been shaved clean, free of all traces of the traditionally white Dark Elven hair. At his back are two scabbards, crossed though narrowly so; the hilts of the swords they contain resting only slightly behind and to the side of each ear, set this way for ease as they are drawn. The worn leather scabbards themselves, having a slight curve in them on the way to their silver-capped base, are adorned simply with the decorations that only battle could offer. The swords inside are rather long, causing the scabbards' bowed midsection to cross each other in the middle before extending back to their respective sides stopping slightly more than two feet from the ground.
On the Drow's feet two rugged black stained leather boots are worn, small iron studs decorating the heels and the toes. Tucked into their brim are, matching in color, a pair of roughly patched, baggy, leather breeches fastened with a thick, brown leather belt about his waist. The belt's buckle is crafted in the shape of a miniature masquerade mask. All along the length, have a dozen small holes been carved through, half on each side of the buckle. Small holsters, each with the protruding hilt of a dagger, have been secured to every opening, save one on the far right where a generously weighted coin purse has a strapping of its own. The Elf's right arm rests gently against this purse as if subconsciously guarding it. This arm and the respective hand are bare, though a long, wispy scar travels from the tip of his elbow in a spiral around the whole length of his arm making a sharp descent at the inside of his wrist down to his palm, where it ends in a crude tattoo of a snake's head filling a large portion of his palm, its red tongue snaking down the entirety of his middle finger. His left hand bears but a single ring on the appropriate finger.
Above his bicep on the same arm a piece of fabric has been tied in a knot, its color blackened due to dirt and grime from having never been removed. His torso is bare of clothing though bears several remnants of olden battle wounds, numerous scars of varying shapes and sizes. These scars are partially concealed by the two straps running across his chest, securing the scabbards and their cargo to his back. Fashioned similarly to his belt, are another dozen daggers fastened to these straps. They are slightly longer than the other in length, but are otherwise indifferent for all visual purposes. Around the Drow's neck is a single platinum chain, bearing a small stiletto as a pendant, resting between his collar bones; a trinket that is as simplistic as the rest of the man and everything he wears. Simple, yet it bears truths that a simple look cannot discern, but can be discovered somewhere in the depths of untold memories locked well behind the gaze of those red eyes.
Framing his features, his ears stand prominently not betraying his ancient Elven roots. Though pointed as are most Elves', his left ear is absent the very tip. Defiant to the fact, however, this ear is heavily decorated with dozens of small golden loops, lining every available offering of flesh. Opposite this ear entirely, is home to but one adornment. His right ear bears a single teardrop shaped stud of a light cyan color pierced into his tragus. Between his ears his scalp has been shaved clean, free of all traces of the traditionally white Dark Elven hair. At his back are two scabbards, crossed though narrowly so; the hilts of the swords they contain resting only slightly behind and to the side of each ear, set this way for ease as they are drawn. The worn leather scabbards themselves, having a slight curve in them on the way to their silver-capped base, are adorned simply with the decorations that only battle could offer. The swords inside are rather long, causing the scabbards' bowed midsection to cross each other in the middle before extending back to their respective sides stopping slightly more than two feet from the ground.
On the Drow's feet two rugged black stained leather boots are worn, small iron studs decorating the heels and the toes. Tucked into their brim are, matching in color, a pair of roughly patched, baggy, leather breeches fastened with a thick, brown leather belt about his waist. The belt's buckle is crafted in the shape of a miniature masquerade mask. All along the length, have a dozen small holes been carved through, half on each side of the buckle. Small holsters, each with the protruding hilt of a dagger, have been secured to every opening, save one on the far right where a generously weighted coin purse has a strapping of its own. The Elf's right arm rests gently against this purse as if subconsciously guarding it. This arm and the respective hand are bare, though a long, wispy scar travels from the tip of his elbow in a spiral around the whole length of his arm making a sharp descent at the inside of his wrist down to his palm, where it ends in a crude tattoo of a snake's head filling a large portion of his palm, its red tongue snaking down the entirety of his middle finger. His left hand bears but a single ring on the appropriate finger.
Above his bicep on the same arm a piece of fabric has been tied in a knot, its color blackened due to dirt and grime from having never been removed. His torso is bare of clothing though bears several remnants of olden battle wounds, numerous scars of varying shapes and sizes. These scars are partially concealed by the two straps running across his chest, securing the scabbards and their cargo to his back. Fashioned similarly to his belt, are another dozen daggers fastened to these straps. They are slightly longer than the other in length, but are otherwise indifferent for all visual purposes. Around the Drow's neck is a single platinum chain, bearing a small stiletto as a pendant, resting between his collar bones; a trinket that is as simplistic as the rest of the man and everything he wears. Simple, yet it bears truths that a simple look cannot discern, but can be discovered somewhere in the depths of untold memories locked well behind the gaze of those red eyes.
Verdict
"Velentham Arenfeld," said a deep baritone voice. Velentham looked down at himself. He was once more drapped in the trappings of his world - healthy skin glowing golden, long wings flowing down his back, a simple white robe belted and draped from his tall, slender frame. He looked up to see a long desk high above him at which was seated thirteen Celestials. Velentham knelt in a deep bow. The calm that radiated from being home was already beginning to soothe him. "You have arrived here after a death. You have been charged with three counts of mortal murder, coercion, kidnapping, and brutality."
"No..." Velentham said, standing up in a bit of a panic. "I had a mortal woman I wished to bring before you, to have her petition, she was to bear my child, we were all to be Celestial."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a lilting female voice. "You used your powers to push this woman. To pry her from her family, to slay her unborn infant to replace it with your own."
"No, I didn't... that's now how I intended..."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a high-pitched male voice. "You have been a bane to our race. We were forced to endure questioning at the hands of the Rilmani. We suffered to send one of our own to watch over you and his findings were more devious and diabolical than we could ever have imagined."
"I... it wasn't meant to be, she was supposed to be with me. She loved me!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a drawn female's voice. "Rather than upholding the principles of the Celestial people, keeping your ire for those of evil, you willingly spread them to an exile and the mortals around him."
"My cousin isn't worth our thought!" Velentham spat, his anger rising.
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a soothing tenor. "You were a burden before ever you caused the death of your father-"
"I didn't kill him!" Velentham snarled. "Gilean did! Eosos!"
"-and we allowed him to protect you in the pocket of planar energies he constructed to keep your rage contained. However, by your actions-"
"I did nothing! This is Eosos' fault! He took what was rightfully mine!"
"-you have proven yourself to be one of the lowest Celestials, unfit to remain in Elysium."
"No!! You can't do this to me!!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke the baritone once more. "Your sentence has been agreed upon, and you are to be delivered to the realm of Gehenna from this time until time indefinite for your crimes against the Celestial race, against the will of the tribunal, and against the lesser souls of the material plane."
"No..." Velentham whispered, his face horrified.
"This sentence is to begin immediately. Your time with the shimmering souls of Elysium is at a close. Berentas, escort Arenfeld to his new home."
Velentham felt the thick hands grip his arm and his knees gave way. He stared up at the tribunal, open mouthed. "No... you can't do this... I am Velentham Arenfeld, I cannot be placed in the midst of demons... I am a Celestial!"
"A fact," came the tenor, "that brings shame upon the very name."
In a flash of light, Velentham was whisked to the edge of Gehenna. His escort, Berentas, looked him over with the eyes of a garbage man finally delivering his payload to the dump. In another flash, Berentas was gone, and Velentham stared out into the boiling landscape of the lesser hell. It would be his view for eternity.
"No..." Velentham said, standing up in a bit of a panic. "I had a mortal woman I wished to bring before you, to have her petition, she was to bear my child, we were all to be Celestial."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a lilting female voice. "You used your powers to push this woman. To pry her from her family, to slay her unborn infant to replace it with your own."
"No, I didn't... that's now how I intended..."
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke a high-pitched male voice. "You have been a bane to our race. We were forced to endure questioning at the hands of the Rilmani. We suffered to send one of our own to watch over you and his findings were more devious and diabolical than we could ever have imagined."
"I... it wasn't meant to be, she was supposed to be with me. She loved me!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a drawn female's voice. "Rather than upholding the principles of the Celestial people, keeping your ire for those of evil, you willingly spread them to an exile and the mortals around him."
"My cousin isn't worth our thought!" Velentham spat, his anger rising.
"Velentham Arenfeld," came a soothing tenor. "You were a burden before ever you caused the death of your father-"
"I didn't kill him!" Velentham snarled. "Gilean did! Eosos!"
"-and we allowed him to protect you in the pocket of planar energies he constructed to keep your rage contained. However, by your actions-"
"I did nothing! This is Eosos' fault! He took what was rightfully mine!"
"-you have proven yourself to be one of the lowest Celestials, unfit to remain in Elysium."
"No!! You can't do this to me!!"
"Velentham Arenfeld," spoke the baritone once more. "Your sentence has been agreed upon, and you are to be delivered to the realm of Gehenna from this time until time indefinite for your crimes against the Celestial race, against the will of the tribunal, and against the lesser souls of the material plane."
"No..." Velentham whispered, his face horrified.
"This sentence is to begin immediately. Your time with the shimmering souls of Elysium is at a close. Berentas, escort Arenfeld to his new home."
Velentham felt the thick hands grip his arm and his knees gave way. He stared up at the tribunal, open mouthed. "No... you can't do this... I am Velentham Arenfeld, I cannot be placed in the midst of demons... I am a Celestial!"
"A fact," came the tenor, "that brings shame upon the very name."
In a flash of light, Velentham was whisked to the edge of Gehenna. His escort, Berentas, looked him over with the eyes of a garbage man finally delivering his payload to the dump. In another flash, Berentas was gone, and Velentham stared out into the boiling landscape of the lesser hell. It would be his view for eternity.
Burning the Throttle
The idea struck Velentham as he watched Sanria sleep under his spell. It was a simple ploy to get his cousin to leave the cottage and the safety of the ward, to get to Gilean and pry open his mind. He would be able to locate the necklace. He'd show up with Sanria. He'd have the bait so close to Gilean, he'd taunt him with the news that Sanria was now pregnant with *his* child.
There was no waiting. Velentham uttered a spell and both he and Sanria appeared at the edge of the forest by the cottage. He kept her sleeping, wrapped in a bubble of energy to protect her from anything Gilean would try to do. "GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
Velentham grinned as Gilean came to the door, gloated over the prize he held in the bubble, and taunted with everything he could imagine. Still, his idiot cousin wouldn't leave the ward. Velentham removed the bubble and forced Sanria to remain where she was. Then, his cousin started running his mouth. "You don't remember a lot of things, do you Sanria?"
"She remembers enough," Velentham said, turning Sanria's face to his. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
"That's enough, Gilean," Velentham warned, his arm around Sanria.
"Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." Sanria said, and Velentham could feel the memory forcing itself to the surface.
"He's keeping you a prisoner. Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?" Velentham growled, walking toward Gilean. Then all hell broke loose.
Velentham saw the shimmer that enclosed him and fired off a ray of energy meant to fry his cousin. The energy flew around him, encased in a field of antimagic. Unbelieveable. How his cousin had managed it, Velentham did not know, but as soon as he absorbed the magic, the bubble tightened, and he knew the next result.
Velentham turned quickly to see Orn and the Beast, Colin, rushing him. He grabbed Sanria, breathing quickly. His sword... he couldn't even conjure it. He was bested. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!"
"You wouldn't," Gilean said.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
With that, his insanity at full tilt, Velentham did to his woman and his unborn child exactly what he said. He heard the muted snap of Sanria's neck and as she fell to the ground, he felt part of his heart wither with her. There was nothing left but to be sent back to Elysium. He taunted the animal until Colin was upon him. He lay on the ground, begging to be returned to his homeland until the swords were thrust through him.
Velentham reached up to touch the blades that protruded from his chest. He laughed pitifully as the life left his body. Then his soul grouped itself into an orb. In a flash, the Celestial's soul crossed every boundary that Velentham could not physically cross, to find itself standing before the Tribunal on Elysium.
There was no waiting. Velentham uttered a spell and both he and Sanria appeared at the edge of the forest by the cottage. He kept her sleeping, wrapped in a bubble of energy to protect her from anything Gilean would try to do. "GILEAN! COME OUT HERE! I HAVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD SEE!"
Velentham grinned as Gilean came to the door, gloated over the prize he held in the bubble, and taunted with everything he could imagine. Still, his idiot cousin wouldn't leave the ward. Velentham removed the bubble and forced Sanria to remain where she was. Then, his cousin started running his mouth. "You don't remember a lot of things, do you Sanria?"
"She remembers enough," Velentham said, turning Sanria's face to his. "He's making you forget. It's him Sanria. He is the reason you can't remember. That's why he's keeping you confined too. It's not others he's trying to protect you from, he doesn't want you to be free."
"That's enough, Gilean," Velentham warned, his arm around Sanria.
"Remember Sanria. Remember what he's done. He's killed your baby. He's tried to ruin your life."
"Killed..." Sanria said, and Velentham could feel the memory forcing itself to the surface.
"He's keeping you a prisoner. Yes. You had a baby inside you. Not his. He killed it."
"Enough, do you hear me?" Velentham growled, walking toward Gilean. Then all hell broke loose.
Velentham saw the shimmer that enclosed him and fired off a ray of energy meant to fry his cousin. The energy flew around him, encased in a field of antimagic. Unbelieveable. How his cousin had managed it, Velentham did not know, but as soon as he absorbed the magic, the bubble tightened, and he knew the next result.
Velentham turned quickly to see Orn and the Beast, Colin, rushing him. He grabbed Sanria, breathing quickly. His sword... he couldn't even conjure it. He was bested. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!"
"You wouldn't," Gilean said.
"I won't let you have her, cousin. I'd rather her die than be with you."
"If she dies, you die. There is no way you're getting out of this."
"Then I'll go home and you'll be left with no one. Sounds fair enough to me."
With that, his insanity at full tilt, Velentham did to his woman and his unborn child exactly what he said. He heard the muted snap of Sanria's neck and as she fell to the ground, he felt part of his heart wither with her. There was nothing left but to be sent back to Elysium. He taunted the animal until Colin was upon him. He lay on the ground, begging to be returned to his homeland until the swords were thrust through him.
Velentham reached up to touch the blades that protruded from his chest. He laughed pitifully as the life left his body. Then his soul grouped itself into an orb. In a flash, the Celestial's soul crossed every boundary that Velentham could not physically cross, to find itself standing before the Tribunal on Elysium.
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