3. Pieces of a Puzzle

Pieces of a Puzzle


  • End

    _Enough of it. Enough of this puzzle. Of trying to make sense of it all. Enough of Narfell. Enough of the constant cold, of the demons and drow and…

    Enough of them? Leave them all behind.. the people I've come to call friends? Abandon them?
    Hardly abandon.

    It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. It's time I left. Nothing left to do here but wither and die.

    I can do that elsewhere too. Somewhere warmer.

    So.. to Yuirwood then. Always wanted to go there.. see the half-elven town.. still surprised there's a such a thing.. always treated like an in-between. Bit of this and bit of that, but neither.

    My elven heritige? What elven heritige? I'm not even a full elf. I have a half-heritige.

    Anyway. Done now. Earrings for Eluriel, so she can spy on even more people. Be all-hearing. Hurray.

    Goodbye Narfell. You can keep your snow, but I'm taking my memories._

    A very special thanks and kudos to a few people/characters which have had particularly great influence on Elor…

    Sciolist - Keira: The Lovely Pillar that Elor needed in his early, confused days.
    Katebush - Elanor: The Other Lovely Early-Game Pillar.
    Nerialka - Amaliel: Five real-life months in prison, but she was there every time I logged on. Amazing.
    Wywernywin - Shemaright: Maneaters.
    Yith - Natanya: Probably the only reason Elor still existed at one point, and an infinite patience. Lovely.
    Yertleturtle - Sama: Elor's original Selunite mom.
    Karnivorr - Sabre: Because there's more to life than pain and whining.
    Flomuxed - Ikurus: The Boss. Too bad it didn't last that long, but it was still awesome.
    Laerlilly - Laerlilly: Arguably the best (semi-sane) friend Elor had, and has known trough the entirety of his presence in Narfell.
    Johant - Gilda: The Wayfarers!
    Azura - Azura: Only a brief period in Elor's life, but one with tremendous consequences and character change.
    Mingal - Mingal: A powerhouse that Elor looked up to since day one, who ultimately became a revenant leader. Funny, that.

    And finally Wannabe_Irish for introducing me to Narfell in the first place. You have him to blame for my continued presence.

    [EDIT] So, I couldn't quite let go of Elor just yet. I decided to leave the Kudos and Thankyous here, because they're still valid.


  • Left
    _And she left. She left off to better killing grounds. Nothing more.
    Just like that.

    How am I supposed to feel now? I should have seen this coming. Deep down, I always knew it would end in a way like this. Either she'd kill me, or she'd just up and leave, and she did. In a way, she also killed a part of me. She took away the guidance for that dark part in me… the part that'll always whisper darkness and blood and... freedom.

    They tell me I was wrong. Evil. Misguided.
    But they never ask me why. Why did I make the choices I did….

    Just more pieces. And I keep trying to put them all together, but I can't.. the pieces keep changing and twisting… taunting and laughing about how I'll never know, never understand.
    Natanya keeps pulling me to Tyr, like Amaliel tried pulling me to Shar. A piece.
    Sabre and Taria.. just enjoying themselves, regardless of what other people think. So much like her. A piece.
    I want to lay down and die. Let go and leave for the Gates. A piece.
    I want to wander and sing and dance and be the good, shining son. A piece.

    And they don't fit._


  • Passion

    _"She's back.
    I thought she was dead. Gone. Forgotten.

    It was as if all the memories of that period of dark madness and confusion in my life flooded back in the few moments it took me to realise that it was her, very much alive and inviting.
    And now I am hers, supposedly. Perhaps it is just a game, perhaps I am simply her toy, her plaything, her minion, her servant.. her slave. But perhaps there is some truth to what she claims. That she really does not want to be alone anymore.

    How can I refuse her? How can I resist the thing I have longed for, for years…raw passion mixed with unrestrained freedom. It's in her eyes, in her voice, in her carnage-filled kills.. in her kiss..
    She lives her life uncaring of other's thoughts.. she lives each day more complete and satisfying than any Sharessan can even imagine. Every breath she takes is one of white-hot flame and drive. Passion.
    It nearly consumes her, and she plays with her own sanity as it does. Of all things I have seen in this world and the others, the near-mad fire in her eyes as she rips one of her thousand preys apart with her bare hands... is one of the few things of true beauty._


  • Comfort

    _He loved waking up like this. It was just about the best feeling in the world. He turned and twisted, having to stop himself from chuckling at the sheer joy that he felt. Sara slowly opened her eyes, giving him a questioning smile, and he gave her a long, gentle hug in return, before stretching out long and stepping out of the bed. A night without nightmares. He had found a cure. He didn't know how or why it did, but he suspected it had something to do with trust, with peace. He found out first with Lilly. He had spent the night at her appartment, in her bed even. No, no. Nothing had happened, and nothing would happen. Not then, not the following times, and not now with Sara. Not unless they wanted to, and he could stop feeling guilty about it.

    Such terrible nightmares, when he slept alone.. But when he felt the warmth of someone he trusted close to him in his sleep, knowing he wasn't alone.. the dreams wouldn't come. Either he wouldn't dream at all, or he would dream of different things, nice things.
    Of course, the fact that those he trusted and considered friends are often considered to be young, beautiful women, was of course a nice bonus.

    Now, let us consider for a moment how he saw those two I mentioned.

    Lilly. Oh, he had known the pink-haired bard for a long time. Ever since Ikurus, really. She was stubborn, and could be so hot-blooded, but he loved her. She had always been nice to him, and he felt good being around her. He trusted her. And in a way, deep down that also scared him, because he know how trust could be abused. And such a betrayal can cause such pain. But for now he was content to take that chance.

    Sara. It wasn't even her real name, just a given one. Silent as ever, but with such a stability and balance to her, and such kindness and wisdom, he had found her to be an anchor. Someone he could really talk to. He had not known her that long, and he remained just a bit wary of her. She still had many secrets._


  • Scars

    _We carry our scars with us. The wounds might heal, but the scars remain. If you look at it long enough, if you pick at the scar enough, you can almost feel the pain again. Relive the memory of suffering.

    The wine that had spilled on his arm. It flowed across his skin in a dark crimson path, and he was there again.
    The Baths of Blood. Thrown into a fleshy pit, blood starting coming out of the walls, the floor, the ceiling.. everywhere. It filled the room, and soon he was forced to stand tiptoe as he desperately tried to find a way out. There was non, of course. The blood rose up, and up. He had to keep swimming.. if only he could keep up..
    If only he had learned to swim.
    Going under. Blood now everywhere, his body spasming, and finally taking it in. Gallons of blood filling his lungs, drowning him.
    And then he was back. Cowering in a corner of Lilly's appartement, having screamed and flailed trying to find a way out, to get the blood off.
    It seemed so real.
    –
    The fires of the camp burned brightly. Another quiet night. Most of the Gali and Rom had gone to sleep, and the camp was now all his. His to wander about, his to explore. There was always something new to find.
    Until he looked into the fires, but a moment too long.
    Fire! It was everywhere. He had to run. Run away, away from the fire. And he ran, he ran for hours, but the fire still closed, he ran trough the maze, twisting and turning, hopelessly lost. But he had to keep running. Maybe this time.. he would escape. Maybe this time he would survive.
    A wrong turn. Fire was now in front of him, and behind him. As it drew closer, he could hear the flames screaming. The screams of those that had been consumed before, and the screams of victory, knowing they would soon claim another. Their first touch was almost gentle, a bittersweet caress, before they engulfed him completely. He screamed in agony -yet again- as he felt his flesh peeled away a layer at a time. This was no ordinary flame. It enjoyed watching him in his agony, and it took its time. He called out to Mother for aid, for help.. to end his suffering. His flesh melted away, and before everything turned to silver light, to Mother's gentle embrace -perhaps for a few hours this time-, he could see his bones aflame.
    And then he was back. He knew this place, deep inside the forest. He was swimming in his own sweat, and he slumped to the ground, exhausted of his run. Before he slipped into nightmare, he saw Mother again, smiling gently down on him._


  • Old Friend

    _Four years confinement to the Temple of Tyr. All in all, I got away pretty easily. It's quiet her -awfully dull-, and for now I'm the temple's librarian. Little more to do but read, and think.
    I'm thinking on Azura and my son, so far away. It was because of her I changed. She made me realize what I was becoming, and I started to hate it.
    I'm thinking on my life, and Selune. I would say I'll never be turned from the light again, but I told myself the same last time…

    It was just another day. I was sweeping the temple, people coming and going. I don't usually pay them much attention. Until I heard a voice, which sounded familiar. I couldn't quite place it.

    "Oye oye! Ah's be lookin' fer me mate Elor, aye. Ah's been 'earin' 'e's 'round 'ere some'in. Ye seen 'im 'bout, aye?"

    That voice. That accent. I turned, only to see something my mind could not comprehend. It was quite similar to seeing the ghost of someone who died years ago, yet he was very much alive.
    Seppe. The hin bard who I had left Waterdeep with so very long ago. My first true friend, the one who thought me everything about being a bard. The one who showed me what it means being free.
    He didn't recognize me at first. I can't blame him, I've changed so much in the past decade and more.

    "Elor? 's tha ye, lad? Ye gods ye've chang'd! Wha's happen'd ye, aye?"
    "Many things, Seppe. I can't believe you're alive. I thought those wolves got you."
    "Ah's nay bu' dogs, aye. Ah's be quick'a feet, narry's quick' a tongue."

    He grinned. And I couldn't help smiling. On the surface he was much like he was when I last saw him. But beneath that, I know the last decade had brought some changes with it for him as well.

    "Ah's been 'earin' ye round this 'ere land' o snowflakes 'n ah's thinkin' te' visit ye, aye. Ye's workin' fer th'temple nah, aye?"
    "Yes, you could say that. It's a long story, Seppe."
    "Ah's be 'avin' toime, aye."

    And so I began telling him everything that had happened since we got seperated. He seemed to take it all quite lightly. I suppose that was to be expected from him. The greater things of the world simply passed him by, not due to blindness, but simply due to a lack of interest. The things he was interested in most was my once-again-found faith in Selune, and Azura. His questions were direct, and not at all subtle. I noticed Daisy walking off with a red head and ackward smile more than once as she overhead our conversation.
    As for him, he seemed to have done what he always has. Travelling from town to town, making coin and impressing the local girls (with specific intent, of course), until he finally ran into trouble with the law or another local organisation of power, or sometimes just a steaming father, and had to flee the city.
    Day turned to night turned to day before we were finally talked out, done with recounting life stories and reliving memories.

    Meeting an old friend again is always enjoyable.
    Meeting an old friend you thought dead is always interesting and enjoyable._


  • Redemption
    _It was so strange. So strange to be finally free. The past weeks had been very interesting.
    The valley collapsed.
    He returned from death to find the elemental that put him there had destroyed most of his belongings.
    He was arrested in Peltarch.
    He escaped.
    He was arrested again.
    The mistress killed him for his betrayal, and after a titanic battle of wills he was now free. Free of the mistress, free of the blood.

    Sitting in the temple of Tyr, waiting for the Magistrate to find something to charge him with. It did not matter. Whatever sentence they could find would be nothing compared to the freedom he had earned.
    And it was so cliche. The fallen, servant of demons, fell in love.. found remorse and repented. A tale you find in many books yet one that never happens. And still it did.

    He made the good choice, every fiber of his being agreed.
    And for the first time in his life there were no other voices, no other wills.
    The struggle had been difficult.. it would take him long to recover.. but he would.
    For the first time in his life, he was truly happy._


  • Random

    _He kept on shifting, changing. Every day his mind was different and set on another, random course. It had been this way for years now. Ever since he got that letter from his father, the letter that changed everything, he had just stumbled around in his life. Even now, he couldn't help regretting the things he did yesterday, taking another course, even though he knows tomorrow he'll regret today.

    His mind was torn, every shard its own voice and will. And he could no longer tell which shard was himself, and which were the false ones. They all claimed to be his true self. The Bard. The Strider. The Selunite. The Demon. And so many more that he didn't know who he was. His own mind was such a fractured, random chaos that even in the darkest caverns, clenching his own head and removing all the distractions from outside, there was no peace.

    You've made a good choice, L'or'tall. Accept the power within yourself. Look at those mortal fools, at their weakness. You are so much better than them. They don't deserve to live any better than slaves.
    No! You know that's not true! Look at what you're becoming! You turned your back on Her, you betrayed Her!. But it's not too late! Find help, you can be saved again! It's not too late!
    There's many a song to be found in your state. Inspiration in the suffering. But you really shouldn't let yourself be dragged into this too far. Just learn about it, let it inspire you.
    You'll do great things this way, that's for sure. But you'll give up your freedom for it. It's a different path. You could have joined one of the guilds and gain reknown trough them, but now you've chosen the lone path. Whatever you'll do, either great or terrible deeds, you'll be remembered.
    This isn't worth it, Elor. People are going to suffer and it'll be your fault. But you can still stop it. Do you want to be remembered as a force of evil, working with demons? You're better than that Elor, you know you are!
    Better? Yes he is. He has more potential than all the scum put together, and now he's finally starting to realize it. Finding out what true power means. One step at a time, and soon they'll all fall to your power.

    And so it went on. The constant bickering of his shards. Constantly claiming to be who he really was._


  • Shemaright

    _Her eyes were dull. He placed her body on the wooden floor of the friar's house. Shemaright. She had gone out alone to quench her thirst. Hours later, she had still not returned. Violating the banishment of the druids -of what consequence are they anyway- he went into the forest, searching for her body. She had been beaten to death by the goblins, of course.

    It had been a week since. She still hadn't returned. The fire crackled on one of the many hills of the valley he had lost. Lost to those who simply had more power. He would retake what was his in time. He sat with Shema's blade in his hands. A masterpiece of a weapon. Sharp enough to cleave trough solid rock, and charged with the power of death itself. A weapon fitting for someone like her.

    Off all people, Shemaright was one of the few -getting fewer every day- people he could stand to be with for more than a few minutes. She was beautiful. From her blood-red hair, to her obsidian eyes, to her pleasant forms. She killed because she wanted to. She revelled in it. She had a thirst for blood and death he found desirable, and it called deep within him. She had since become involved in his plans, and they had enjoyed several moments of bloody passion. He knew that eventually they would face each other, kill each other. That was just how things were.
    But it never got to that moment. She was now dead, and she might stay gone forever.

    He silently stood up, gathering his things and walking off into the pass.
    Wondering who he could find to hate today._


  • Labour

    _Another day of hard work. Lilin was here to help him though. The rooms of the Quarters were now mostly empty. All that remained was moving the furniture out so the rooms could be repainted, and some walls needed some fixing. They started their work at dawn. Taking the big matresses off the beds, and dragging them into the hallway. Then, using two ropes that Elor had lying around in his room -why?- they lifted the heavy oaken closets of each room and heaved them out into the hallway. Finally, the bed dissassembled and cleared out, along with any remaining furniture. At the end of the day, the hallway was almost impossible to get trough. Littered with matresses, broken down beds and furniture.

    It had been a long, hard day, but with Lilin's help, along with Hendry who came too whenever he could, the rooms were now cleared, and ready for the actual work still to come. And this was the easiest part of the Halls.

    There was someting intensely gratifying about ending the day with sore muscles, covered head to toe in dirt and dust. Elor never thought that menial work like this could be so enjoyable. It was late when they finished, and when they were all cleaned up again. The Inn was already empty, the guests having retreated to their rooms. Elor sat down with a plate of leftovers from today's dinner, and he was hungry like he hadn't been in a long while.

    The day had given him ample opportunity to watch Lilin too. He hoped she enjoyed the work as he did. With the crystals now gone, and Sharess not answering her prayers, she had a lot on her mind, so at the very least the work gave her something to do, besides sitting around and worrying.

    After one last, brief, walk around the valley, Elor entered his room. He had moved to the Inn rooms temporarily, while the Alliance Quarters were being renovated. He laid down in the bed, closing his eyes and feeling himself drift away into the warm bed, his body grateful for the rest.

    But there would be no rest._


  • Dream

    _Waking with a scream, bathing in his own sweat. It had happened again. Every night for the past weeks, it happened. He blacked out, and had dreams. They were too real to even be dreams. Horrible visions, and yet they felt so right. As if things were meant to be that way. He crawled out of bed, shambling towards the window and opening it to let the freezing night cold flow over him. No moon this day, and dark clouds obscured the stars.
    What was happening to him? He hardly ate, hardly slept, and every time he did he had these dreams. She came to him, and what followed was supposed to be enjoyable, but it wasn't. And every morning he woke up alone and exhausted again.

    "I'm losing my mind. I'm finally going insane after all."
    In his dreams, when she was not there yet, the world was a different place. He walked among the petty mortals and their insignificant concerns. Whenever one disrespected him, showed him anything but complete disobedience, he sang. And they died. Maggots filling their bodies and piling out of their mouths as the horror came to their eyes of the great mistake they had made. And then they burned. Slowly, and he watched their suffering with glee. Non could stand against him and this power.
    He walked and killed at random, taking whatever he needed without question. A god amongst mortals. Entire cities burned, their inhabitants flayed themselves in their madness. And he saw the faces of the few people who mattered. Their faces distorted and their eyes full of hate and fear, as their heads were lined up on pikes amongst a snow-filled road.

    A tremor. Soft at first but noticable. He braced himself on the windowstill. And another. And another. More powerful each time. The Inn began to shake, the walls collapsed around him and he stared down into a black void. She could see him standing there, with her wicked smile.
    She was just a dot in the darkness, but he know it was her. She called for him, and no matter how he struggled, he fell in the darkness. Deeper and deeper, falling forever. And he saw the world change as he fell. Peltarch nothing than an ancient ruin. Norwick a note in the history of the land. Jiyyd never existed. And as he fell he could hear the wailing of the dead. They blamed him rightly for what had happened. All his fault.
    He fell.

    Waking with a scream, bathing in his own sweat. It had happened again._


  • Acceptance

    _He let out a deep, tired breath as she left his room again. She came and went every night, and every night he fell asleep completely drained. It was part of the payment he made. Pleasurable and no doubt interesting, but tiring as well.

    The bard, still young in mind and body but well into maturity, had fought. He shouldn't have. Peltarch was under attack by undead, boiling up into the city from the Abyss itself. He didn't even plan on fighting. Just watch the carnage, the destruction and the death. To feel close to his heritige. But a matter of experience changed to survival when the undead began targeting him. Regardless of the fact he was fighting or not, they marked him for death. And they got their way. The weak construct of flesh, again failing him, collapsed and his spirit tore free. But something was different this time.. A seductive whisper just as everything faded.

    Some time later.
    Days, maybe weeks.
    Elor entered the city again. Nobody had brought him back. No god had given him another chance. She made him swear, and now things would change. He would change, the world would change. And everyone who ever considered himself a failed relic of the past - ultimately harmless - would realize their mistake, quite likely too late. Melodies started pouring into his mind from inside and beyond. Images that would drive most insane flowed before his eyes. Filling him with horror, delight, awe - and power.

    The Dark Song had begun._


  • Damned

    _He wandered the remains of the old elven encampment. This had gone quiet now, as it was destroyed by beings not from this world. He could hear them whisper in this place… if he closed his eyes they were so close.
    He spoke clearly in a strange language, an otherwordly grammar and vocabulary that he had always known, even though he had never learned it.

    "Your presence lingers, dark ones. And I do hate this world now. I hate it. I hate the mortal races in it, to be exact. Will non of you answer my call? Will non of you listen? Are you blind as the others? When pain is all you have...
    Betrayal.. loss.. Is this the life I'm damned to?! Is it the only way? No more alternatives?"

    No answer came. As always, he was turned away, betrayed. He had died to prove his worth, to prove he was fit to be a Knight. It was not enough.
    Whatever goodwill and belief there was a better day had all but died that moment. They all were right. He was meant for something greater, to become something greater. To embrace that part of himself he had always refused._


  • Distance

    _As weeks went by, Elor became increasingly convinced that the mortals he knew were corrupted and festering. Lost in their own schemes and beliefs, they would go to great extend to commit idiocy, apparantly for the sake of commiting idiocy. What drove the members of the self-proclaimed Legion

    • at 80 members, it was hardly a legion. Nothing more than an undisciplined and unorganized band of club-wielding warmongers, even the Tejan Guard was many times more than -, and what blinded them from the obvious truth that laid naked and bare for all to see? Even statistically, the war should have ended years ago. What will 80 practically untrained men-at-arms do against hundreds of raging orcs? The answer was simple. Nothing. The war continued because both sides wished it to continue. Without the enemy, both factions would fall apart. So the Legion's leaders - the true leaders, not the half-orcs that delighted in denying their own past and slay their kin - made every effort to ensure that peace was never a consideration, and that those who worked towards such a goal would be dealt with appropriately. Banishment, arrest or death. The orcs were much the same. It was known there were orcs willing to work towards peace, but they were dealt with by their more blood-thirsty brethren.

    And so the cycle continued. A cycle of recruits joining, receiving proper indoctrination until they were ready to be sent off to die, all the while blinding themselves with shouts of the Legion's glory.
    Elor considered it ironic that the Legion proclaimed itself to be the freedom fighting force it originally was - fighting for the protection and good of all - while it was originally created to conquer all of Narfell, and beyond. Also, with the banishments and the newly implemented laws, Jiyyd became more and more a military stronghold and place of doctrine, not unlike Bane's Keep, and less the quiet farming town and neutral ground it had once been.

    He sat down near the fire of the inn, watching the flames dance across the wood. Their heat and passion would inevitably destroy the wood that fed them. Should he continue to work towards the sensible goal, and prevent disaster? Or should he take distance and watch the Legion destroy itself, and possibly Jiyyd? Should he watch as everything they had claimed to be was proven a lie by their own actions, and their world was destroyed around them? Pain is a harsh but fair teacher. The Legionaires and the cowards who just nodded in approval, afraid to speak the truth, would feel the consequences of their actions sooner or later, and innocents would suffer for it._


  • Fascination

    _He watched him die.

    He watched as the giant insect tore off the Skald's arm with the massive pincers. Watched as it took him apart a piece at a time, and the blood poured freely from the remains. He watched as the life left the barbarian, as the will to fight crumbled. He watched as the soul left with the last breath.

    They had come down here with a group to find some missing elves. Pointless. Why did he come down here? Risking everything for a few he didn't even know. They were probably already dead, or soon would be.
    Changing his mind, Elor left the group to their own devices, travelling back to the surface and out into the pass. He felt no remorse. He could have saved the Skald. Could have driven away the beetle. Could have healed the wounds. But he didn't. Not out of fear, not out of intent. Out of fascination. Fascination of watching the man die. It never ceased to draw his interest.

    A few days later, Elor played the public's favorite songs in Jiyyd. The weather was nice, and there certainly was a crowd out. The notes flowed trough the air and around the town, and his growing skill was apparant.
    Nobody even glanced towards the bard.
    At the end of the afternoon, Elor had garnered no interest, recognition or gold. And a thought came to him.

    They would pay attention if he were to walk up and cut down one of the commoners. They would pay attention if he would bring forth abyssal creatures into the square. Such things would rouse the crowd to heights of activity. Things of danger and death, of loss and horror breed interest, curiousity and reward. Things of beauty and art do not. It is the simple truth Elor learned that day. People were blind and death for anything he could sing or play about, unless it specifically concerned themselves. This ignorance and greed once again reassured him that the mortal races of this world were truly lost. Nobody had any appreciation of the things of life, those things that make this existence worth it.

    He returned to the inn, another part of him now dead and lost. Slipping yet another step deeper and out of the crevices of sanity, towards most peculiar destination._


  • Pieces

    _He crawled out of the bed, making his way over to the window of his room in the Alliance Inn. The full moon lit up the valley, and stars as a thousand torches hang in the night sky. Wearing nothing but his loincloth, he felt a short shiver as the warmth of the bed left him and was replaced with the familiar cold of the world. Splashing some water on his face from a bowl of water that always stood on the table, Elor looked up and out across the dark green.

    Things had changed much in.. how much? Two? Three years? Slowly but steadily building up his reputation as a writer and singer, presenting the facade of the young and carefree bard to the outside world. Happy with what he had and happier with every coin that came.
    But it was all just an act. He wasn't happy, he never would be. It was the very nature of existence and himself to suffer. He craved it. He longed for the comfort of his cell, so dark and so far away from everything. He longed for the quiet and soothing words of Amaliel, the lies that spoke of a better way. He longed for the daily torment that only demonic possession and being could bring. What did he have now?
    Keira had turned her back on him. Fallen to the part he played. Of all people, he thought she would know better. But she didn't.

    Tracing a hand across his arms and chest, he could feel the many scars. Some rough and deep, some small and superficial. Some from battle, some from accidents, some from self. He wasn't a warrior, yet he still got wounded. Because warriors failed. Everyone inevitably fails. From the moment one is born, one is doomed to fail at life. That circle of hope, reward, denial and failure is what is existence.

    A slight smile crossed his lips. His life revolved around people. He made his living off their backs, taking whatever scraps they would offer him for a song or two. He enjoyed singing and playing. But few had ears for the songs he really liked. Songs of death, loss, hardship and the ultimate futility of all, overlayed with irony.

    Someone stirred in the bed, and a soft moan came and went as the young, beautiful, blonde girl stirred in her sleep. Her skin soft, warm and inviting, with eyes blue as bright sapphires and hair, long and auburn.
    Her name was Sarah. She had been one of three girls Bruno had sent up to his room once to comfort him, when he performed a public display of sadness. Of all three, this one he liked the most. A simple peasant girl, travelling to the city to become a famous bard. Full of hopes and dreams, and a soft and sweet voice. She had talent. The two others had left soon after, but Sarah had stayed. She reminded him of who he used to be, before… Before he found out what he was? No, he already had known then. He had always known. She came back now and then, every three or four weeks. Then he sang for her, and helped her with her college work. They had a casual relationship. And he enjoyed it that way. It's best not to fall in love. Is it?

    Elor grabbed his shirt, quietly walking into the hallway, down the stairs and outside. All was quiet at this time of night. He looked up at Selune, the godess that had saved him. He still loved her. He loved her gentle radience. He loved her understanding of rise and fall. She too changed daily. She too had her highs and lows. He loved Her.
    He preferred not to speak of it. Few would understand how he saw Her, how she did not control his actions as before, that he was not bound to hate some for who they were. Let them believe he was who they wanted him to be. It made life so much easier, after all. Besides, he was almost incapable of hate anymore. It had all washed away and have been replaced with a certain indifference.

    Torn within, there was no true goal to be set. He was adrift in life. So he lived his day from one to the next. He lived at a whim, and it was right. Only a free mind is truly alive. Paladins would never understand, bound to their rigid oaths that blind them. After all, why would one spend 2000 gold on a ring, then sell it a few hours later at the same price? Why did he apply to become a Cereleun Knight?
    Even Elor himself could not answer these questions. He just did. He went, almost, by instinct, as if something drove him to do the things he did.

    Elor travelled back up to his room, crawling back into bed and putting his arms around her in another charade of affection. He was truly born to be a bard._