Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 8, 2019 10:12:32 GMT -8
The hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end at the sight before her, the disturbance of an area that had been locked and was still so, as she had checked the other door to make certain, frightened her. Getting caught here would make her look guilty of attempting to escape even if it was not her intention to do so. Her bare feet barely disturbed the dust and she would enter the room touching the seat before the book to see if it felt warm. The glasses were left, and therefore someone would be back for them, it was dangerous for her to remain and yet her curiosity drove her further. Watching the figure dance around on the edge of the music box she found the notes familiar and it filled her with a longing for home that made her heart hurt within her chest a bubble resting in the center there.
Vith would heal, they would save him, but could she be saved in return? Their path was one of resistance and uncertainty. It would be opposed on all sides, none would be pleased with it but she would fight as long as he was willing.
The glasses gleaming in the dim light she touched the edge of the metal surrounding them feeling for magic within the frames. Her time within the tower told her not everything was what it seemed and if it had even a hint she would raise them over the pages, not close to her face looking from a distance, through them.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 8, 2019 11:32:43 GMT -8
Feeling the padding of the chair it was still lukewarm and had been pushed out of its position at the table. Touching the glasses Myra would feel no magic from them but, glancing at the pages she would suddenly feel compelled to look at them further - and deeper. For there were no letters, yet she'd have the feeling that the letters lay right behind the blank on the pages and as it where, as if guided by the ballet music - they danced upon the paper, yet they were not there as such, but still the book told Myra a story.
The letters danced around conveying stories in a way that she didn't have to read the letters as such, but the pictures and words just kind of slipped into her mind and as the music played the book had a subtle grasp on Myra - as if the story was pacing forwards and ever more exciting and enthralling to follow. Stories about people she had once looked upon once or twice but hadn't know, stories about people she had known, which couldn't possibly be true and stories about what happened right now, in this very second. Stories about Arelthorn - and a master elf he couldn't please yet it was his duty. His collar grabbed by the sickly elf, a frown previously unseen on his face even as he had watched over this elf since his birth. Yelling, cursing, demanding... this elf was not pleased by Arelthorn's words.
The dancer stopped... a 'click' brought the music to a halt and the words stopped. The stories stopped as if they had never been here, a dream gone like the morning mist. A shadow standing a few feet before Myra at the doorway gleaming in the light, the figure unclear for it was as if she had just exited a glance into a very, very far away place - eyes yet to adjust.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 8, 2019 11:48:43 GMT -8
Drawn in by mystery and trapped by the imagery that flashed through her mind she could not look away for it was no longer upon the pages but within her mind. It was magical in nature the way it flowed through and watching things unfold, people move in ways unimaginable and yet it occurred. Careless enough to allow herself to be sucked in she had sank into the chair her legs still weakened from the hard ride the exertion of giving her own strength to the horses in order to speed them on and help them survive as well.
Then a more familiar face, a recent one, came to light. Arelthorn. He was being scolded, rendered speechless by another who had power over him. It was obvious immediately that he was in a place of subservience to the one who was yelling. Myra wished to reach out to hm, to find out the reason that he was so dejected by this one person. The approach he had given her was not cold before, rather distant in his own manner, but her instincts told her that something within him was able to be trusted. His treatment currently was possibly related to her own interrogation and while it mattered not the reasoning behind it she felt indignant at the speech and tried to understand what was being spoken.
Then it disappeared. In an instant she was back in the room a fog over her eyes as she blinked. The dancer had stopped spinning, the music was gone, and while her mind was not extended she felt the presence of another. Scrambling backwards the chair was knocked onto the floor and she backed up her left hand on the table her right clenched at her side as she sputtered, “I’m sorry I did not mean to intrude-“ Clamping her mouth shut there was not much she could do at being discovered here other than hope that the person standing there was benign as her eyes adjusted.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 9, 2019 4:50:17 GMT -8
As her eyes adjusted she would see the shade much more clearly - his rounded ears, short white hair and wrinkles stood out the most, the clothes of a scholar on a fragile body the next one as the man took a single step back dropping the book he had carried with him and held his hands out before him with a shocked and frightened expression.
"W-who are you? How did you get in?!?" his surprised words caused him not to hear what Myra said about being sorry for the intrusion. His eyes lingered on the drow before it dawned to the old man that the one in front of him was drow and the only way in was through the open window - and that the prison cells were just above his library. "I'm sorry, but there is no way out of here apart from the open window, I cannot help you!" he said firmly though his body withdrew from her, yet he dared not run. Where would he run anyway, he had just revealed that there was no way out.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 9, 2019 5:28:28 GMT -8
Human, the very first thought that came to her mind was his race for his rounded ears and age betrayed him rather quickly. Shocked at his allowance here it was quickly explained that the was trapped. Was he cared for? Did he ask for access to the end of his days? Some scholars would find worth in such an experience and would happily spend their remaining days within a library that no one else had access to. The elves might view it as safe as he would never leave the library. Visible relief flooded through her shoulders relaxing as she leaned into the table for support.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she would tell him shortly after he took a step back, “Nor do I seek an escape, I will find my own way in the days to come. I came for information.”
Explaining this she reached downward drawing up the chair that had fallen settling it upright both hands upon the top of it in order to keep herself in place, “My name is Myralthrine,” glancing to the music box she had an urge to share more than she had ever before with a stranger, “My house is Beleon, the music you listen to here is of my people and not there’s,” a rather pointed gaze fell to him, “You have seen things through this book,” half questioning, half knowing she would offer a proposition, “Perhaps with what little time I have to spend here you and I could learn from one another, sir.”
Giving rank to his age he had yet to offer his name, and if he gave it she would drink it in and call him by it freely, for in the darkness of the night and the few hours of freedom she had presented she would be as she now knew herself to be and would treat him in kind.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 9, 2019 6:15:40 GMT -8
"You're not..?" he said, her kind voice was surprising to him, yet it also reeked of exhaustion on her part - but even so a drow was not something to mess with. He had known drows and they were strong even when they claimed weakness and were quick to flare up in anger if one was rude to them. Regardless of her being a prisoner he would be careful with her, but he couldn't help but also pity her as he looked upon the drow that was clearly not in her best shape. As she was leaning towards the chair the old man took a few steps forwards and extended his hand with a friendly yet careful smile.
"I am Marchus Pallor, I came here many years ago seeking the fabled elven Haven - and found it. Now I'm seeing out my time here caught in my study by mutual consent!" he announced his smile softening up a bit more. "House Beleon..?" he said as he lit up remembering a few things from when he last visited the drows more than fifty years ago. "Tell me, is Mithrale Beleon still king og Azela? I remember his wife waiting their first child, she was such a beauty - very like... like..." he said and squinted studying Myra's face. "Wait did you say your house was 'Beleon'?!?" he said and stepped back again. "Why are you here of all places?!?" he asked taken aback by the person in front of her. "You're royalty for gods sake, they can't keep you in prison!" he said concerned.
"That... that music box and the Book of Branches was given to me when I visited Azela back then. By the wife... I forget her name... by the wife of Mithrale. She said she did not like what she saw in it - did not believe it but that a scholar like me might find its curse interesting." he said and looked at Myra, realising now how odd it was that he was speaking of her family like that. Perhaps they were even her parents? "Did... did you look inside the book while the music played?" he asked the drow.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 9, 2019 6:29:04 GMT -8
His hand extended the human custom was not unknown to her having spent years within their realms. Extending her own she shook his in return with a gentler touch in return for crushing his hand was not her goal. He spoke so clearly of things in the past and it pained her her to hear his tale but pleased her in a way for she had seen her family tree and the names he spoke of were familiar. Her father’s name, a man she had never met and was uncertain if he still lived even now so she could not answer his questions. He said fifty years and she knew the timeline to be correct. Having spent time in the Tower she had whittled away years but they did not matter outside of its depths for the outside world passed so differently. When she emerged it had been but a month later rather than the decades that had been spent roaming the halls searching for truth.
Lowering her hand back to the chair for support she allowed him to ramble and continue on as was his nature. A scholar who knew his craft and an elderly man she knew he had much to say and allowing him to say it would give her insight. “How I landed here is quite a long story but I will answer your questions to the best of my ability but I am afraid I do not know if he is still the ruling party but it is rumored his wife died in childbirth.”
That rumor hit her like a sack of bricks over the head. Her mother. Integrating the half truths of her homeland with her current knowledge meant that she had to acknowledge that she was the daughter of a woman whom had died bringing her into the world. “Her name was Yazale,” she finally got out distracted by her realizations until he brought her back down to the book, “I did look,” she admitted glancing back down to it, “I saw,” the more she considered what she had seen she realized the shadows had been purposeful over the face of the man yelling but his voice, his voice was clearing in her mind, it had been Vith, “things I cannot explain,” she settled upon something pained in her expression. Vith had been placed into a deep sleep, trapped there to allow his body to heal.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 9, 2019 8:21:03 GMT -8
"She died in childbirth?" Marchus was visibly saddened and sighed. "So that was what she saw in the book she gave me. Apparently humans only see the past and the now, though elves and drows may see the future too - it can certainly be a curse." he said and glanced at Myra. "I'm very sorry to speak so lightly about your... family." he said, opting not to call them her parents, as he wasn't one hundred percent sure. "Yazale yes... such a beautiful name." he reminisced.
He tensed up in curiosity as Myra was about to reveal what she had seen, but rather it was a disappointed sigh that escaped his mouth. "It shows many things and some are so difficult for one to make sense of, that our mind cloak it for us. The books shows only truths, but our mind may obscure the truth or even alter it if we, really deep down, do not wish for it to be so." he explained to the drow.
"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" he said and walked back through the hallway returning a few moments later with a tray that had a teapot, its ornamention clearly of elven make, and two cups on it, putting it on the table and pouring for them both. "This will make you feel a lot better. How long have they kept you there?" he asked concerned and narrowed his eyes.
"I've been here for quite some time, but it is of mutual understanding with the pure ones. I work on studying a lot of things that only one with extensive knowledge of the outside world could have done, and that was why I was let into High Haven to begin with. Eventually as I felt age catching up I wanted to finish my life's work about the elves, drows, dwarves and everyone related to them - but the temptations of High Haven's beauty is poison for one who only has such a short a life as me, so I persuaded them to cage me into this old and unused library with an assortment of books from their current library so I could study without tempting myself." he grinned and chuckled.
"They made big eyes to start with because who would willingly isolate themselves from the beauty of High Haven? fortunately I made them understand though I also did not see how rude it would sound to them. But they respected my dedication and many probably don't even remember me being here any longer. Hopefully my guard will continue to though!" he laughed before sipping a bit of tea again.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 9, 2019 8:30:51 GMT -8
Taking a seat across the table instead of his own she replaced it and sat patiently while he began to jabber on about other things. As a scholar she expected such openness if he wished for his work to be fully respected and she had a better look at the music box while he went out of the room for a moment. “Thank you,” she would say at the tea as he handed it to her.
He spoke on the book at length and she would comment on it as well, “Just because one does not fancy the outcome or care for it does not make it any different. I have denied for a short while my own heritage in order to avoid the consequences of accepting it. I have been here but two days at most but I arrived not in the fashion my companion had hoped.”
Grimacing she allowed him to continue to and finish as she took a sip of her tea, “You are most kind Marchus,” she would wait rather more patiently than most and even smiled at his joke about his own guard. His disappointed sigh earlier would be met with a kinder response now, “Your interaction with the outside world must be limited then, if you would like I will tell you a tale of my own passage, it involves their own Prince and is not quite what I expected either. Nor quite what my parents who you speak quite glibly on might have wished for either.”
With his consent, which she knew she would obtain, she began, she told him of the search for the stone, of a fantastical tower, of meeting the rather highborn Prince in the bar and even smacking him off his chair. She spoke of meeting another, like her, she explained what Ashborn were but did not elaborate that it was her uncle. She spoke of the dwarves that he so studied and described the world beneath their own in which they felt the earth. She spoke of the challenges from there on out, of their arrival here, she even spoke of the city and expressed her sorrow for the outcome of their very journey to this point. Somehow it felt like he was doing her a kindness in listening to her story for she needed to speak of it, to allow another to hear it so openly and when she finished she would say, “I did not know of my parents, nor do I know if rumors are true. The king has not been seen in some time within polite society to my understanding as they stated his grief kept him chained but I think that matters are not truly what they seem now.”
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 10, 2019 11:32:15 GMT -8
"I bet two days is more than enough - I can only imagine being imprisoned here against my will, as a young lad I was very much the free spirit roaming as far as I could to meet new civilizations." he said and seemed to observe her a little closer. "Who was your companion again?" he asked curiously. "Is he jailed too?" his answer however embedded somewhat in the story that was to come.
"Sometimes you have to be isolated to put together something important, and I'd say that I have loads of stuff to write about still..." he said and smirked. "Yet you had me at 'tale'..." he nodded expectantly listening intently and excited at her tale. Marchus sipped his tea and put it down as she finished it and gave a wry smile.
"You hit Prince Vithkun?" he said and couldn't believe her guts. "He must have been positively furious!" he chuckled and shook his head. "To my understanding he was always the most short tempered and, possibly, arrogant, of the nobility. But of course the competition at that is 'fierce' to say the least." he said and shook his head. "It seems however as if you two have grown very fond of each other such shenanigans would not happen today." Marchus said understanding very well what the drow and the elf were feeling for each other even if Myra had not outright told him so.
"Myra..!" he said raising his finger to himself. "Before you go back, you must do something." he reached for her left hand placing it on the bottom of the music box sculpture. "If you use this idly, it will show fractions based on the chaotic stream of thoughts passing through your head, but holding something which contains importance to you and someone near you, it will amplify the memories and stories that the book will tell you!" he said excited as he stood up again starting to turn the the butterfly shaped handle that would wind it up. "However I wonder what happens when this thing is the same thing that helps create these visions..." Marchus said, his voice not concerned, yet quite curious to the outcome.
"Look into the book as you did before and just keep contact with the music box and I'm sure you might see some things much clearer!" he said feeling this sudden urge to show her as if it was important, yet he knew not why.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 10, 2019 11:58:25 GMT -8
“It is markedly deserved for my part in his absence now,” she informed him before he knew of her companion and who he was fully, “But no he’s not jailed,” her wry smile that appeared was only for the other part, he may not have been jailed but he was sealed away within the healing chamber and it would be some time until he rose and she was simply waiting. As she began her story he had but one comment to make a bout her punching him and the memory felt as if it were yesterday to her and she rather good naturedly laughed and said, “He was quite proud, I would have never done so without it being necessary but I dare say I have seeen such change in him,” he did not need to know that they had decided upon one another for the look in her eyes, the warmth in her words, was plenty, she loved that boy and it was undeniable.
Finishing her tea the liquid going down her throat giving her the ability to talk he would ask of her something. The dancer on top of the box itself had once belonged to her mother, perhaps his reasoning was so that she might see more than before. Agreeing without realizing she had done so she half rose to her feet touching the box itself. It gave off the tingling sense of magic but was not harmful in its wake, simply there, and thus she would turn the book about as she said to Marchus, “I cannot stay too much longer, if I get lost within it for some time you will have to wake me to return.”
Her jailor delivered food within the early morning and she was not aware of the time. Not unlike a giant cat when she fought or when she spoke with such ferocity she had the same amount of a curious nature that drove her to heights that others might not usually have bothered to explore. Even now she knew this box could show her visions of things she never wished to see and yet she placed her hand upon it, turned the dial, and allowed the music to fill her.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 10, 2019 13:14:21 GMT -8
"So the young master really changed?" he said and seemed to enjoy hearing this. "Perhaps I'm not that surprised that it would take the strength of a drow's will to make the mind of a Pure Elf flexible..." he chuckled slightly. The opposite seemed also true as Marchus noticed that the strength of the drow seemed in calm control, not untamed as it was so often with the drows. "Well I'm sure you did well." he'd offer her a soft smile in consolation.
"But you must stay for this..!" Marchus persisted, his words too soft to hold the drow if she denied him, but their intent was strictly for her own good - at least this was what Marchus believed strongly. "You must see it through, it will not be any longer than the music plays. You will not be lost!" he assured her.
As Myra fixed her eyes upon the pages she would be drawn in immediately, yet it was a gentle draw and images and words started forming in her head with far more clarity than before - surroundings and people's faces easily recognizable. Myra would see a small garden in what was definitely the citadel in Azela. A woman pregnant in her late months watering some flowers and another drow walking up behind her and wrapping his hands around her.
"Should you be doing that still?" he asked softly kissing her on her cheek, a smile rose on the woman's soft features. "Have you found a name yet, Yazale dear?" he asked then as she put her watering can down as her cheeks gently blushed.
"The stars have told us that it will be a she... Kaciel told me as much after studying them three times. That man is very thorough..!" she chuckled and turned around kissing him briefly. "Myralthrine..!" her grin widened to fill her face, the room itself lighting up from her smile.
But dark clouds swooped in over her vision, the music in the background playing the same tune, yet it sounded more somber and desolate as rocky tunnels deep within the ground seemed to amuse thoughts of despair and hopelessness. A drow guard marching down the hall carrying a loaf of bread and a chicken leg stopping at a cell. Another drow sits behind the bars, the only prisoner on the hallway, as the guards tossed the food into his cell unceremoniously.
"It's a gift from the council, Mithral." he said and frowned as the man moved quickly up to the bars grasping them with both his fists while pressing his face to it. A face very like the former scene, yet this one looked distressed and malnourished.
"Just for once tell me about my daughter..! Tell me about Myra - tell me that she's alive, and then they can do whatever you want with me..!" he pleaded, although his eyes carried still fire in them, but the guard just shrugged and turned from the prisoner.
"The council already does whatever they want with you..." he said and left the prisoner, as Myra would find herself being drawn back from the book's enthralling story telling yet the music still played. Its pages had become blank leaving her to gather herself again, but it was as if it only held its breath still...
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 10, 2019 14:32:50 GMT -8
“We changed one another.” Marchus had no reason to hear this, no need to hear it, and yet she felt it necessary to relay it because for the limit of his own lifetime she found such a beauty within his soul. He represented the good of the world in seeking that which was undisclosed to many and remaining in a library of his own creation in which he asked for and studied that which would never leave his room. He came for personal growth and it was a rare sight but not an unwelcome one.
“I will stay,” assuring him of her intentions his insistence might have worn down any initial resistance but he need not pressure her to do so for drawn into the life of the music itself it sounded so familiar to her ears. Truly if it belonged to her mother her use of it would not have stopped due to her pregnancy and even in the womb a child could have memories born of a voice and of other sounds that reached them.
The memories flooded like a warm breeze at first, they washed over her form and brought her to the edge to the citadel. Raising bright eyes to its height she drew in a sharp breath. Home, a home she had not seen in some time, and there... As her gaze was brought down the very breath that had been taken in such relief now caught. Her mother, and her father, both of them together as it should have been, as they should have been. Every poor child abandoned or orphaned by fate wished to know the fate of their parents, to know if they were a bastard or if some other cruel trick of fate had led them to their own, her mother could not be blamed for her absence.
Watching the scene unfold she laughed at the enthusiasm of the woman tears sparking the edges of her eyes, she was beautiful as Marchus had told her and bright and so merry, she wished she might have met her at least once but this gift was so precious she would never forget.
The scene shifted away and she captured all within her mind before it disappeared wishing so desperately to return to the brightness as she was thrust into the dark. Blaming her father for his absence would be foolish at this point, his abandonment did not change the fact that it occurred but to be given reason for it, to know it was not purposeful, she flared with anger. An anger that would overflow like boiling water hissing as it dripped down along the pot but her malcontent did not so easily evaporate into steam as it did. It would create a flood of biblical proportions. “No,” whether she spoke aloud or not the few happy tears that had came to the surface were full of rage now as the pages faded, “No,” she told the book her free hand laying over it. Refusing to believe it was over she shook with anger her body visibly shaking, “They will pay for this.”
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 11, 2019 13:14:01 GMT -8
Marchus seeing the upset drow that instinctively got up from the desk and took a few steps backwards. His breath was stifled yet he did not see what she saw, but her breaking out of it before the music ended was not a good sign, if only because he had never seen that happen before. She had for a while looked blissful and happy yet the expression of the drow had turned sour and eventually to anger as she had spoken the bitter words.
"Myralthrine...!" he exclaimed surprised but also frightened remembering how he had told himself to be wary of an angry drow and yet he had dropped his guard so easily when she started telling him about herself. "Think, you cannot do anything right now! Rash actions carry consequences!" he said holding his hands out before him as he tried to calm Myra down. Yet as Myra stood there, the music once again animated the books and the pages turned, at least a hundred for them flipped over before landing on another seemingly identical white page.
Being drawn back in, the words formed again and the images returned to her mind with the same vivid pictures as before. A white elf standing from his bed, pained and bandaged body yet determined as tears were suppressed as he made his way out of the room in the middle of the night. A horse mounted and through the city he set out quickly on a journey, a building high and looming he stopped before - quick orders to the guards and the elf stepped inside the building...
The book's pages would suddenly turn pitch black, close in on themselves as sparks flew and the music from the music box stopped abruptly as if choked. Marchus would looked shocked at the book having never seen it doing so before. "I... what does that mean? This is highly irregular behavior!" he said and started tinkering with the know to wind it up with, annoyed it was not doing as it was supposed to do. "What did you see..?" Marchus dared ask however as the drow finished her vision.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 11, 2019 15:34:26 GMT -8
Marchus retreating at the sight of her response made her realize that it had been an overreaction and while his may have also been in the same category his fearful nature gave her reason to pause. Her full name drew daggers from her glance across the room as he advised her, openly, and quickly, and gave her even further reason to contemplate how far she was willing to go for revenge and where it had led her namesake. Calming in the same instant that she had lost control she regretted the quick rise that she had presented initially as a temper flared to life like a fire in a grate.
“You are right,” agreeable at some points her fingers were curled into a fist, had he not tempered her so she might have shredded the book itself but the music box showed itself to have other plans. The imagery it sparked created actual sparks lighting the room as the pages transformed from blank to black as if filled with her outburst and that of the elf that approached so rapidly. “Vith,” he was injured, hurting beyond belief and yet he left the sanctum of the healers in order to rush to her aid. How foolish was he to ignore his own wounds but how brave of him to rush to save her from spending another second longer here. Yet she was not in her cell, and those that watched over the Drow might face retribution for having lost her.
Half answering Marchus’s question with his name she was standing upright already and was quickly moving around the table, “Vith is on his way here,” she informed him walking back towards the shelves and if he followed she would continue to speak, “The man is ever as stubborn as he is worrisome, he is still injured and yet he rides with such haste.”
Her tone was full of worry and anguish, for his state was of her making and this, this was also of her own making. Had she the time to have sent only him on horseback to the gates this would have never occurred. He could have healed properly knowing that she waited somewhere outside of them.
The string threaded through the window she would draw it inside before looking at the human, “You are a good man Marchus, I hope that I will see you again before I take my leave of this place.”
Unable to wait on his reply she steeled herself, and her strength and swung out the window the thread digging into her palms as she made her way upward and hopefully into the cell itself by pulling herself through the bars. Unlooping the thread she would not have the time to replace the bars but it was obvious she had managed to break her shackles and with thus it would not be so odd to know she had done those as well.
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 12, 2019 10:51:49 GMT -8
"He is what? But he can't get into this place without destroying an awful lot of... my books!" Marchus said all nervous, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Oh no, he can't do that!" he almost panicked starting to shovel notes and books into his arms. "He's stubborn and as a prince he can be very destructive too..!" he said but as Myra would proceed over to the window Marchus would start understanding. "So... you meant he was going to see you in your cell yes..? I see..." he said and dropped what he had gathered on a table.
Marchus smiled and blushed slightly as Myra called him a good man, but just before she was about to climb out Marchus grabbed her leg. Perhaps he had grown too fond of his own isolation? "Yes..! I would like that." he said and his eyes darted. "And perhaps... just perhaps my studies of the outside world is not wholly completed yet, will you ask for them to reconsider our arrangement? I fought valiantly for it at that time, and they may not believe me if I say I want to go back now!" he pleaded hoping for a clear 'yes'. Meeting this drow had given him new hope and inspired him to believe that the real milestone of his time was not behind him, but right there in front of his nose. Only a fool would miss it while writing his own memories locked into an old dusty building knowing something like that was about to happen.
"Myralthrine..!" he said firmly as a last hing. "That prince, despite his prudence, stubbornness and worrisome haste, I believe inside his heart he is a paragon of elven virtue. Don't ever let him believe himself less!" he stressed and sighed as finally Myra made her way up the cobweb thin string before sliding into the cell - and not a moment too soon as she would hear the iron door open with a screech and quick elven feet hurrying down the hallway but this time not accompanied by the clanking of the guards' boots.
A familiar face would meet Myra as Vithkun curled his fingers around the bars and his forehead resting there as well with deep blue eyes fixed upon the drow as she stood inside - his heart racing but his nerves finally calmed. "Myra..!" he finally spoke with a relieved grin as his light blue coat would hang halfway open from the hurry and reveal the bandages that had been applied.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 12, 2019 11:08:18 GMT -8
Had the situation been less serious, or such things she had seen not been revealed, she might have laughed at Marchus and his haste to collect his books before realizing she was intending on going out the way that she came in. Vith would have had quite the time reconciling her not being within the cell provided and perhaps injured himself further locating her elsewhere. Therefore she was hanging outside the window on a small thread speaking to a human who had grasped her leg with no consideration of his own earlier warnings about the violent nature of Drows with their inability to control the harsher side of their emotions. Thankfully Myra saw him as a truly good man, and a quick friend if there was anything to judge by her promise, “If I have to free you myself I would put forth the effort, no one should remain caged so when you have clearly found that which to live for outside of it.”
He warned her further about the Prince and he received perhaps the warmest smile she had given another outside of the one he spoke of her caring for his own nature clearly portrayed within it. “He is as you are, a good man, I have sought to protect those virtues you speak upon but at times it appears he is my own keeper as well. Perhaps together it will be something we can both accomplish.”
“Goodbye Marchus,” she said goodbye with the intention of returning, this would be one parting that would be sweet sorrow for such a short period of knowing him but not an extended absence in her case. Her word was her bond. Even despite her limitations she could change her mind and never return to do as promised for some things were fleeting truth but her personal honor prevented such folly from ever occurring to her.
Arriving in the cell in the nick of time to find Vithkun rushing to the bars he clenched and her, well her heart skipped a beat in that instant, not because of his injuries, or worry for him, but because of what they shared within them both. Loving him was undeniable in her mind for the gaping hole in her chest at his absence was filled instantly and she could not pretend for the sake of others that she did not. Her hands over his she would take them loose holding them in her own and lowering them as they stood with bars between them. Her forehead rested against his just lightly and she closed her eyes for a second whispering so only he might hear, “It is good to see you,” she could not scold him just yet, for he sparked such joy by his presence until she looked downward, “Vith!” Her voice was not raised, nor rushed, but the sudden shift to concern as she parted his coat with one hand made her look positively venomous in her understanding of what he risked, “You should not have come here,” there was no hiding behind ambiguity in her statement for she meant it. Her part in his injuries having been forgotten for only a second, “Why did they let you wake? You’re not healed.”
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 12, 2019 11:46:16 GMT -8
Hearing her voice clearly again his heart almost burst with emotion and eyes watering as he closed them to suppress what could have become an awful pathetic sniffling for a prince. Vithkun grinned as she couldn't help but scold him for being so rash and think so little of his own health - Myra would be Myra after all, and he would have it no other way.
"I'm assuming all responsibility for my actions here, but when that is said my dreams were not those of healing, they were filled with worry for you. A few times I even felt as if your mind called out to mine and right there I knew I couldn't just lay there anymore - it wouldn't heal me and not coming to get you the second I was able to..." he paused and blew air out of his nose. "... that would have scarred my pride in ways that could not be mended by any healing process. Imagine, when I confess our love, that my father would say if I had waited so long to come get you while you were rotting in a cell? He would have been right, it would not have been love." Vithkun said and lifted his head to kiss Myra on the forehead before a slightly pained expression came to his face.
"Still... you're not half wrong it was a little early..." he said and grinned. "At least I'll admit I can't go back right now and... since I've sneaked out they will be all over me when I return." Vithkun said and stepped aside bowing down to pick up a few thick blankets, bread, fruit and candles. "Perhaps we can stay here for the night? It seems the only place where I can spend the night in peace... and I might need it." he said rubbing his stomach putting on a brave face while unlocking the cell door. "The guards have their orders, they won't be letting anyone inside." he assured Myra.
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Myralthrine Host
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 478
Age: 56
Physical Description: Avatar is accurate, 5'6 height.
Clothes and Equipment: Wanderers cloak in a material resembling vantablack in that it does not appear to be a real color. Beneath it she generally wears black leather boots to her knee, charcoal breeches and shirt, both fitted, and black bracers upon her forearms. She carries a morningstar upon her hip and satchel that crosses over her shoulder and chest.
Allegiances: None
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:13:41 GMT -8
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Post by Myralthrine Host on Jul 12, 2019 11:57:17 GMT -8
‘Assuming responsibility,’ he said. Marchus would have been smiling like a fool below if he could have heard the prince so valiantly declare his feelings so openly and then scold himself as well in order to provide her some reassurance of his well being. The fact he did declare them so openly surprised her for he spoke of confessing his love when neither had specifically spoken such words to one another out loud. Not that they had to be said their actions had spoken much louder than words could have ever done but there were other things that needed discussing, things she had discovered, but they were not as important as what occurred next.
He opened the door and she pushed it back allowing it to slide along the rails smoothly the well oiled metal wheels in the track moving it without bother. Myra took what he offered, the blankets, and the basket in which everything else was contained, and set it aside just inside the bars. No Prince should spend the night in his own prison but to simply be with him again, to know he was alright, she might have spent the night in a hovel instead. Once they were moved aside for all his hawing and hmming back and forth about his plans and what was to come in the future she had not spoken a word. There were three words on the tip of her tongue but she waited for him to finish.
Once he had she embraced him, rather gently avoiding his open scars just pulling him close enough so he could feel her radiating warmth and to support his frame. Kissing the outside of his neck in the gesture she did not let go simply by stepping back but instead reclaimed his hands in hers drawing him past that final step over the threshold. Both were imprisoned by their own accord now and she would go up onto her toes to kiss him, lightly, and say with absolute certainty, “I love you.”
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Vithkun Almear
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 437
Age: 84
Physical Description: Vithkun is a tall guy extending about 1.9 m in height and has long flowing white hair as is often seen in his family. He would appear to be around 30 years of age.
Clothes and Equipment: He is royalty and likes to show it which is why he wears a thing braided silver band on his head which value can likely not be descriped in mere numbers. In his travels he will go for his plated armor, one which is both extremely light and quite durable, enabling him to retain much of his agility. For more formal matters he prefers robes in various colors and patterns.
He carries his sword with him most of the time and it is a slim long sword forged by the elves. The metal - like his armor - is hard but light and the sharpness of its edge knows few peers. He carries a dagger of similar quality too.
Registered: Aug 22, 2018 10:46:39 GMT -8
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Post by Vithkun Almear on Jul 12, 2019 12:35:30 GMT -8
He was here to free her from prison and yet he offered her another night inside it - albeit one shared with him - and he was concerned about what she would say. She did not answer him with words but grabbing the stuff he had brought and putting them inside showed Vithkun that his suggestion had been approved and his rash actions had been - at least somewhat - forgiven.
Still 'forgiven' was one thing, and though he expected to see a happy face he had not imagined her to take him back like this. Grasped and moved towards her he did not resist and Vithkun's smile broadened as he felt he lips to his neck. Such a bold gesture, but it was to be followed up by an even bolder one as she drew him into a kiss - a kiss Vithkun felt healed him in ways no elven healer could do. And those three words... Vithkun felt his world spinning, his heart melting and his eyes drowning in hers.
There was no hesitation past this and for her to say those words that had been unspoken but so clearly felt and expressed by both of them was a revelation. "I love you too Myra." he said his voice calm, but she'd hear a hint of emotion there, yet to avoid showing more than that, he drew her in again wrapping his arms around her gently and pressed his lips to hers. Their expression of love felt boundless when in each other's arms and he guided Myra back inside the cell, one hand on her hip and another quickly tugging the door closed behind him - as if it made much of a difference. Vithkun would keep the soft and tender kiss going feeling the warmness radiating form her body and feeling his own shivering as the electrical tension build.
Vithkun perhaps may not have been in perfect shape, but passion and desire was still there - the attraction all consuming as if they had been parted for centuries. Still what was he thinking - inside a jail cell? Had he even asked if she was okay or did he just assume? Right now he was just being greedy with little thought towards Myra and he drew his head back slightly for a moment looking her in the eyes, a caring smile emerging. "Myra... I came first and foremost to make sure you were alright?" he said his lips still hovering close to hers.
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