Verika Evrilla - Burning Flesh and Death

[RedMenace]

_My earliest memories are of fire, the smell of burning flesh and death.

No one knows what started the blaze that took my birth home. Some suspected foul play, but my parents were simple folk, there was no one with a grudge against them. It was a miracle I survived, a beam from the roof fell upon the side of my body as I attempted to escape, scorching my flesh and ruining my arm. I came to in the home of our communities healer. My arm had been amputated, leaving me with little more than a pathetic stump at my shoulder. In one night, of no fault of my own, my entire life was stolen from me. I cannot wield a bow, I cannot play an instrument, I cannot toil fields, I cannot bake bread, I was naught but a burden on my community. That was, until I met my mentor.

I was a working the morning shift as a serving girl at our communities drinking hall. It was easy work, pathetically so, little more than an excuse for women desperate for attention to present herself to drunken louts. Do not let an elf fool you with their talk of refined wine and elegance, an elven drunken lout is the same as any other drunken lout. While the other women drew the attentions of every horny male in the community I kept my head down, doing what little work I could do. The men hardly paid me much attention, except for the occasional wastrel who assumed me an easy mark, insecure and lonely because no man wants a cripple, so the work was quiet and easy. I took to people watching, thinking of unflattering tall tales of every buffoon drinking. My attention was drawn to a newcomer entering the hall, a rare sight in our region. All eyes turned to him as he walked to a corner table, paying little heed to the gawkers. He kept his appearance hidden by a large black hooded cloak, only his thick beard escaping its shadows. However, escaping his cloak was a thin, elegant sword with the distinctive pommel of the Bladesingers. A Bladesinger! Here! And a Half-Elven Bladesinger at that, it was like seeing a unicorn. However, I begun to notice something strange, a Bladesinger was considered a hero in elven communities, revered by all who fall under their protection. But the people in this drinking hall ignored or glared at him, like he was some common criminal that had recently returned from the gaol. I walked to the backroom and approached Farala, one of the more gossip inclined serving girls.
"The Bladesinger who just entered, why does everyone seem to hate him?" I inquired.
Farala lowered her voice to a whisper. "You do not know? That is Durion Norovaul. They say he was cast out of the Bladesingers for dark arts. The first Half-Elven Bladesinger in generations and he cast shame upon the name."
Suddenly the chef broke between us, joining the rumour mongering. "They say when he was exiled, the Bladesingers cursed his dominant arm to uselessness so he'd die in battle, but he continues to this day, making light work of monster and bandit alike!"
I peaked my head out into the hall, watching Durion lean over a table. His right arm propped his body up, but his left hung limply at his side. It was true! He was effectively a one armed Bladesinger.

I spent the day musing the implications. Could I learn from him? Would he teach me? Was it possible for me to escape my fate of meaninglessness. I raced to the communities main hall, where the only inhabitant I could truly stand spent her time. Her name was Sha'riel, a quiet and demure woman who, like me, met with poor fate in her early youth. Sha'riel was beset by wolves while frolicking in the forest and while she was saved she was left heavily scarred. Her leg was mangled and gave her a prominent limp which made it difficult for her to remain standing and a wolf clawed her face, gouging one of her eyes and scarring her from forehead to chin. Her lip was perpetually twisted in its corner and half her nose was gone. Others in the village whisper that she would be beautiful if not for her incident and use her as a cautionary tale to the newborn children. How interesting that they do not use her experience as a cautionary tale for themselves, to better watch their children, or our watchmen, to better patrol our borders. How interesting that they do not care for her own feelings and make no attempt to accept her as anything but a foolish freak. When we were seen together they assume we were friends because no one else would befriend us. In truth, that is partly the case, but it is more that we were the only one who can understand the other. Of all of us in the community, we were the only ones who can understand what it means to be one of the others, disregarded and misplaced by the majority. Sha'riel was the only one who could understand my pure elation at the discovery of Durion Norovaul. It was like I had finally been accepted by the world itself, informed that the things that made me different did not ruin my life.

However, while Sha'riel was happy for me, it was clear that her feelings were mixed. The life of a Bladesinger was one of wandering and travel and with Durions treatment by the others it was likely that if I became his student we would leave and never return again. I understood her trepidation, I know that if she left this community then I would find it unbearable. I knew she would never leave me, her leg made it impossible to travel far and mostly kept her confined to the communities library. It was likely she would replace the communities lore keeper, she had a place here why would she ever leave? It seemed selfish of me to then discard her instead. However Sha'riel, wise as she was, encouraged me to pursue him, attempt to earn my own future. I knew she secretly wished he would reject me, I did not hold such feelings against her. If she had protested and begged me to stay, I would have without question.

The next night and with Sha'riels blessing I followed the Bladesinger as he left the drinking hall. His steps were long and quick and it became difficult to keep pace. My hope was to speak with him quietly without drawing attention, lest I was forced to remain here with my fellows knowing I wished tutelage from the outcast Bladesinger practicing dark arts. I soon realized he was attempting to shake me, my cautious silent stalking possibly mistaken for an assassination attempt. He turned a corner to a dark alleyway behind the storehouse, away from prying eyes, excellent, I could explain the situation and make my request. But when I followed him into the shadows he was gone. How? He was not moving so fast. Suddenly, I felt a tight grip on the back of my neck and the distinctive tingle of arcane energy.
"Why do you stalk me little bird." the Bladesingers voice whispered with a growl.
My voice trembled as I spoke, perhaps this was a mistake, perhaps he will have me killed regardless of what I say. "My name is Verika, I wish to be your apprentice."
Durions grip loosened and he allowed me to step away. When I turned to face him I found his expression to be one of surprise.
"You are aware of who I am, yes?" He said, his eyebrow raised with disbelief.
"You are Durion Norovaul, the one armed Bladesinger, cast out of the order for practicing dark arts"
Durion grinned "I have not been cast out of anything little bird. Do not believe all tavern rumours you hear."
I was about to speak before he cut me off with more words "While I have not been excommunicated, I have been forbidden from teaching the Bladesong, go home girl."
With that, Durion turned and begun to leave. I was stunned, my mind awash with emotion. I could not allow him to leave, I could not allow this one chance to escape my grasp.
"Than to the hells with the Bladesong, teach me magic, teach me how to wield a sword. I need this…please." my final word was extenuated by the beginnings of a sob. Durion paused and turned to me, looking my form over. He only now noticed my disability, the shadows hiding it from common gaze. His hand moved to his limp arm, gripping his bicep as he stepped toward me. I could see it, in the look of his eyes, he understood.
"If you join me, I will teach you the blade and the weave. However, you will be rejected by the Bladesingers, you will not be taught our techniques or our secrets and you never will be. Also, you must leave with me tonight. I make for the next community in three hours. Make a travel bag and make your peace, or make up your mind. If you are not there when I leave I will leave without you. Do you understand?"
I nodded and watched, speechless, as he turned to leave once more.

Immediately, I raced to Sha'riels house to inform her. It would tear her, for me to leave so suddenly. But I must, I could not abandon this unbelievable opportunity. When she opened the door and saw me, she knew what it meant. I did not need to tell her the tale, all I could muster was three words.
"I leave tonight."
Sha'riel looked downcast, a tear welled in her eye. She forced herself to look at me again, mumbling a question with a pained expression. "Will I ever see you again?"
I could not respond, I did not know the answer. But her tears and the look upon her face brought thoughts to my mind. When I left, who would be with her? Who will stand by her side and give her comfort when the words of the community become too much. They say she would be beautiful for incident, but they are wrong. She is beautiful, so beautiful. I was overwhelmed with emotion and urge and threw my hand behind her head, pulling her close to me as I leaned forward and passionately locked her lips to mine. What a fool I was, an absolute fool, to leave such a beautiful thing in this wretched place, surrounded by those who did not appreciate her as I did. How could I leave her to be taken by some unworthy cretin, unable to woo even the most licentious of whores when I could stay and make her mine, my Sha'riel. But then, I would be equally as foolish to reject this chance to make something of myself. Tutelage from a Bladesinger, as detested as he was. I pulled away from my sweet Sha'riel, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. What was she thinking? What was I thinking? I had to leave before she could say anything. If she returned my feelings, I knew I would be powerless to leave. However, if she rejected me I know my heart could not take the heartbreak. Better to never hear her response, so that I never face either hardship.
"Namaarie amin yeste' mela" I whispered to her and turned on my heel, fleeing into the night.

I made my way to the towns edge, Durion waiting for me patiently.
"You have made your peace?
"I have."
"Good, we have a long ride ahead of us little bird." He gestured to the road and stepped forward. I looked back to the community one last time before following him toward my future._

//xp pending - Void

[RedMenace]

_I traveled with Durion for over a year before he instructed me in the ways of magic. In this time I came to know him as he truly was. The dark rumours that circulated him and his mysterious and distant manner implied him to be a man of darkness. In our travels however I found him to be good humoured and irreverent. Durion was also a harsh instructor and his lessons in swordplay were often rough and frantic.
"Your enemies will not go easy on you and so neither will I!" he would often exclaim in the middle of our sparring practice. "Your left is open, far more open than anyone else, compensate!"
These frequent lessons left my body sore so to allow it rest they were often followed up by study and theory.
"The weave requires expert skill and knowledge. Your opponent will not give you the chance to complete your weave at your leisure. Your movements and words must be as quick and precise as the swings of your blade."
When the day expired and we were left to do naught but rest we shared words. I told him of my life in the community and my insecurities of purpose while he told me of his art and controversy.
"In my youth my human side ruled me, driven and ambitious. I longed for power by any means I could reach for. This led me down the path of necromancy, animating the bodies of others to do what I could not." Durion reached over to his useless arm, gripping it tightly. "I was a foolish child, self taught and believing I was invincible. The back lash of negative energy killed my arm."
"Was this before or after you became a blade singer?" I asked.
Durion chuckled. "Before, I would most certainly have been cast out if it was after. This event is what led to my apprenticeship infact." Durion retrieved his sword and rested it on his lap, his eyes glazed over with nostalgia. "My master found me, nursed me to health and placed me under his wing. The blade singers protect elven society, including its ideals. He thought steering one with elven blood, as diluted as mine is, to the right path was a worthy symbol of that."
"And you never used necromancy again?"
"Not at all, I use it all the time."
I balked, the accusations of his dark magic were true? He noted my aghast reaction and once again chuckled to himself. "I do no defile the dead and animate corpses if that worries you. An important lesson for you to learn Verika, one not all are aware of. There is no inherent evil in negative energy. Like all things that exist it has its place in the cosmology of our universe. Much like the blade I teach you to wield it is a thing that can be used for horrid evil, but its use can also do much to save lives."
He could see I was not yet convinced. While it is a true that a blade could protect and murder alike it was not a force of nature. Negative energy did nothing but manipulate death and decay life.
"An example then. With necromancy I could drain the life away from others to heal myself, I could drain away the strength of my foe 'till he was naught but a quivering mess on the ground and, once I'd dealt the final blow, I could animate and enslave his corpse to do my will."
"This does not help your case" I interjected.
Ignoring me he continued. "But the opposite is true. I could take my own life force to mend the injuries of others and steal away the undead slaves of others, freeing their bodies and their spirits from the torment others so selfishly inflicted upon them. There is no evil in death Verika, it comes to all eventually. Even elves."

For years my studies continued, slowly progressing from theory, to cantrips and then finally to more proper circle spells. Wards, weapon enchantments and the manipulation of pure energy. However while I knew the movements of the weave, I had great difficulty in casting expediently. Even experienced mages used two hands to cast, a luxury I was not allowed. While I grew better with practice, a gnawing feeling lingered at the back of my mind.
"How do you cast spells with a sword in your hand?" I asked one night while eating around our campfire.
Durion smiled, unsurprised by the question. "I am afraid that is a Bladesinger secret, which I told you when we begun I'd never teach you."
I was taken aback, he's taught me magic and he's taught me the sword but he won't teach me how to combine the two? Anger boiled within me and I threw myself to my feet "Then what was the point of teaching me anything?!"
"Do not discount what I have taught you, nor should you discount the severe risk I have taken by teaching you in the first place." Durions words were cool, devoid of the fervour he displayed in lessons. Rumours say I am an exiled Bladesinger and while they are untrue they will become so if I do take you as a squire proper."
I was reminded of what he said when we first met, that he was forbidden from taking students. "Why are you forbidden? What did you do?"
"You were horrified when you learnt of my skills in necromancy, yet you accepted my reasoning because I am your superior." Durion put his hand in the ground behind him and laid back, casting his gaze to the canopy of the surrounding forest. "But to the other Bladesingers, I was their inferior, the new untested member of their order as well as one with human blood. They did not see it as I did, did not accept the value in its knowledge. They could not cast me out, despite the insistence of one, I knew far too much of their ways and their most secret meeting places. So instead they forbade me from taking an apprentice, if I could not pass on my weave to another then there would never be another necromancer Bladesinger. Their…reputation would remain intact."
I could see the pain on his face, he had been rejected, completely and utterly, by his peers and would be rejected by history and lineage. The ways and teachings of his master and the masters before him would end with him. An ignoble, shameful end.
"If the goal was to preserve the reputation of the Bladesingers, how did knowledge of your weave enter the rumour mill?" I asked.
Durion smirked bitterly. "The one who insisted I be exiled was not satisfied, while it cannot be proven, I suspect he told the right people. If I was not exiled by the people I fight with then I would be exiled by the people I fight for." Durion fell silent for a moment then stood up, brushing his hand on his pants. "But enough speaking of the wretched past, it is late and unlike you I require sleep. Good night Verika, we'll continue your lessons in the morning."_