Aelvinia the Legend of the Battlefield

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Role

Chapter 4

"You have atoned. Now, I must," I say in a hoarse whisper. I make my way to
my silver mirror. As I gaze into its shining depths my eye sees the elven
lady. Young. Beautiful. My heart sees a sinner. Haggard. Ugly.

I hold up my knife, still covered in Jistavius' blood. I focus on it, and see
its unfocused twin in the mirror behind. Then I look at myself in the mirror.
I see the face that brought one man to murder another, and me to murder that
man. I am ashamed of what I see.

I grab a fist of my hair at and pull it tight. My hair shines golden and
amber, a sign of my high breeding. I raise the bloody knife and hack the
fistful from my head. Then another and another until only uneven, bloody
tufts remain. Then using the blood like a cream, I shave the tufts until I am
bald.

When I am done I regard my reflection in the silver mirror once more. The
shaving pulled most of the blood away. I find that the bones and skin beneath
my hair still hold too much of my insidious beauty. I have not done enough.

I steady my hand, the right one, the one with the knife in it. I raise the
knife across my face to the left side of my head and reach just past the
center of my shaved skull. Pressing hard I draw a line with the knife's edge
from the crown of my head to my neck behind my ear. It blooms red. Then, I
move the knife another inch forward and repeat. Inch by inch, I ruin my face.
I atone.

As the cuts reach my left eye, I start feeling lightheaded. By the time they
reach my right eye, I feel my self start to slip away. This will kill me.
Good. Then I will go to the gods for my wrongdoing.


-- NOW --


I pull away from my reflection in the fountain and remember the reflection in
my silver mirror. I remember the beautiful girl who will never be seen again.
I remember my resolve and my attempt to atone. But, standing here in the
temple as a ghost, the awful reality hits me like a battering ram.

The gods of Light, for whatever reason, did not take my life as atonement for
my sins. Why not? They have put me back on Thera as a mortal 'adventurer.'

I can only conclude that my atonement must come through my life, and not
through my death. To my shame, I know only one path to atonement - and that
is through the knife's edge.

I will atone. All must atone.

Role

Chapter 3

I put my hand on the handle and pause. Should I just call for the guards?
What is it I think I'm going to do? I shut my eyes again, I think to pray
now, but whatever I might entreat the gods of light with catches in my
throat. What gods of Light should hear this sinner's prayer? No. For me I can
but atone for what I've done. Jindivius must atone. I swing the door open.

Wordlessly my murderous suitor pushes past me into my bedchamber. I shut the
door and throw the lockwith a discreet click. Am I stuck in here with him,
or is he stuck in here with me?

As I turn his eyes meet mine. "You've been crying!" he accuses. "Do not cry
for him! Do not EVER cry for HIM!"

"I cry for all of us," I hear myself say.

Jindivius pauses, then seems to soften.

"My darling, my darling. I have done this for you. For us! Do you not see? I
have proven my love. I have proven that I put you before all other things!"

He moves forward and takes my hand in his. The other remains behind me,
clammy fingers locked around a leather-bound hilt. Jindivius kneels.

"My love, we can be together now. But we must leave this place. We must run
away! Now that I've proven myself we can start a new life together. We can go
to Galadon. We can have children! I will find work, and we can be happy
there. But, we must leave. We must leave now."

I steady my voice. "Rise, my love. Embrace me..."

Jistavius begins to stand, his hands greedy as they climb my legs and back.
He takes me in his arms...

"And ATONE!"

I scream, and thrust the knife into his back. His eyes go wide in shock and
terror. I withdraw the knife, wet warmth sluicing down my hand, and with the
swift speed of my people thrust it in him again. Again. Again. Again.

I catch him as he slides from my lethal embrace. He tries to speak but only
manages to sputter crimson. There is pain in his eyes. He looks betrayed. In
a few he ragged breaths, he just looks... gone.

His weight is heavy in my arms as I lower him to the tightly-fit white stone
tiles of my bedchamber. I cradle his head in my hand so it does not smack the
floor, then fold his hands over his stomach. There is a growing pool of
sticky, dark blood oozing from under him. I push his eyes shut with a shaking
hand - it's harder to do than you'd think.

(Continued in Part IV)

Role

Chapter 2

In contrast, there is Jindivius. He is an earnest, upstanding elf. Strong,
good-looking, and pious, he will likely become a paladin. He is quiet and
thoughtful. While Maistrimar promises me adventures, romance, and passion
Jindivius offers me safety, protection, and loyalty. He is certainly the
choice of my father, and would likely make the better match.

And how is a lady to choose? I can but give my affection to each one day, and
the other next. I can hint, but never promise. I can smile, but never kiss.
Flirt, but never commit. And in so doing I can make them compete, each trying
to outshine the glory of the other. In the end, I will take the victor as my
husband.

There is an urgent knocking at my chamber door. The breech of decorum is
alarming, and I quickly rise and swing open the old oak slab. In the opening
I find one of my handmaidens, her ivory skin flushed pink and her chest
heaving with effort. She gasps out, "Jindivius has murdered Maistrimar!"

My eyes go wide with shock.


===


What have I done? My guilt is like the darkest ocean, and I a drowning woman.
Jindivius, once bound for the paladin's guild, let his jealousy overcome him
and he slew poor, poor Maistrimar to "win" the competition I created between
them. Poor, sweet Mastrimar - his blood is e'er upon my wretched hands.

I clench my eyes shut and tears trace hot little trails down my cheeks. I
picture him. His lithe form, his wry half-smile, the mischievous gleam in his
eyes I shall never see again. He was beautiful, and even were he not to be
mine he was the world's. And the world is a darker, dimmer place for his
absence.

It is my fault. I drove Jindivius to this. My foolish games corrupted his
nature, and drove him to sin and treachery.

There is a knock at my chamber door. I know it. It is the gentle pounding
Jindivius always uses. How did he get past our guards? The handle of the door
jiggles against the lock. Gentle at first, then more demandingly. When the
door fails to open, the knocking comes again.

My heart leaps into my throat. I race to my nightstand. On it is a carved
ironwood box with the seal of my family. I flip it open. Within is my
gleaming mithril dagger, its keen edge glistening in the sunlight. It was a
gift from my father's dwarven master smiths. I snatch it up, hold it behind
my back, steady myself, and glide for the door.


(Continued in Part III)

Role

Chapter 1

-- NOW ---

My eyes flutter open. I lift a careful hand to my face, surprised to find no
blood. Surprised, in fact, to be alive. I look at my hands, they are
transparent and incorporeal. Am I alive?

As my heart begins to race, I take in my surroundings. The temple at Voralian
City? After a moment I realize I have been reborn. And with that realization
I also know that I am cursed. Death will not carry me away to atonement for
my sins, I must earn my redemption in life.

In contrast to my feelings, the day is bright and beautiful. Sunlight streams
in the windows of the temple lighting tiny motes of golden dust as they float
upon the breeze. Clergy and patrons are all about, some in quiet prayer and
some in conversation. One of them looks at me. She is a human woman, young
and pretty by the standards of lowborn. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth falls
open even as her hands rush to cover it. She squeaks, and dashes away.

I reach my ghostly hand up to my head almost unconsciously. Instead of hair,
my hand meets smooth scalp, just as I somehow knew it would. Hand still on my
head, I take a step toward the fountain. Peering over its smooth, stone edge
I look at my reflection in the stiller water. I see why the human girl ran
now.


--BEFORE--


What a thing to have two men love and adore you, bring you expensive gifts,
write poems of your beauty, try to outdo each other to win a place in your
heart. I am amused. And should I not be? It is not vanity to say I am among
the most desirable hands to hold. It is fact. Mine is the beauty for which
songs are written. My dowry knows no bottom. My name, Ar'dan Anellellius, is
from a line so long it stretches to the first age and its first elves. I know
my worth.

I gaze into the silver mirror I have had since my first Name Day. It was
wrought by the most skilled elven hands. The silver gleams impossibly bright,
and the glass of the mirror is smooth and perfect. My reflection looks back
at me imperiously. I check that it is right. It is. It is because my duty is
to make sure that it always is.

The first of my pursuers is called Maistrimar. He is born of an equal family
to my own, and his breeding shows in his appearance. When he professes his
undying love, he does so with a wit and humor that I find more than charming
- even if I do not show it with laughter. (After all, a lady must keep a man
trying.) Still, he has a mischievous nature and, despite his honor, is
something of a naughty boy. It is very appealing, I must admit.


(Continued in Part II)

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