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[DNR] In Reverie; Remembrance
Topic Started: Wed Dec 10, 2014 8:18 pm (6,015 Views)
Eliel
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Eliel tried to move fluidly, following the flow of swordplay. His breath was tightly controlled. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. Sidestepping an imaginary sword, he spun on the balls of his feet, delivering a backhanded whipcrack blow to his imaginary adversary's sword arm. His blade thrummed in his hand as it soared, smashing to splinters against the carved wooden torso of the training dummy with a resounding impact and crackle. Half of his wooden practice blade soared into the grass outside the training ring. Tossing the broken off hilt of the sword, he shook out the sting in his palm. A quick look showed him a myriad of small wounds. Burst blisters and raw flesh covered both hands from a long day's practice. He'd foolishly chosen to leave off the gloves, needing to work off his temper by beating a wooden man with a stick for a good while.

As was happening more recently, Eliel was finding his life cloistered away in the Tower and the forest immediately surrounding it to be suffocating. His mind was fraying at the edges. Every couple of days he broke into one of his tantrums, having to spend the entire next day carving out a new practice sword and meditating. He had gone two years without losing his temper more than three times. He'd had to carve out seventeen new swords in the last two months.

Wiping his face off with a dirty rag, he tossed it over the dummy's face and retreated to the shade inside the tower. He removed the iron ring he wore on his left hand, setting it on the windowsill as he scrubbed the sweat and fluids from his palms. It sat in the midday sun, the little crystals in the iron glittering to his sharp eyes. The wealth of rage began to drain away as he considered the dinky, cheap little ring. It was all he'd been able to find when the urge had come over him, and he wore it alone, it's twin on a chain around his neck.

Patting his sore hands dry, he plucked the ring up, running his thumb over it. Leaning back against the counter, he sighed, fishing the other ring from beneath his tunic, dangling on a fine silver chain. It was smaller and more delicate, with a twist of iron around a tiny polished stone. He brushed his lips over the small stone, scrunching up is face at the memory.

He'd offered the ring to someone he ought not have. Someone who was unreachable and unwise to become attached to, but for whom he would have turned the world on it's head for but a kiss. Golden eyes unfocused as he recalled their first meeting. Gloomwood had been a haven for him, a solitude he couldn't find anywhere else. It was there he'd run across a vampiress. She might have had his blood there and been done with it, but for a minor miracle and several snarky comments they'd become friends.

Over a number of years they grew closer, being there for each other. Letters and nighttime visits. A number of “adventures”, most of which wound up being thrown into life-threatening situations for one reason or another. They were there for each other in times of crisis. And, one day, Eliel had walked her down the aisle to marry another man. Jealousy had fallen over him. Who was he to steal her away from him? Eliel pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. She had been his, damn it.

But she wasn't. Another couple of years went by, and they'd spent less and less time together as she had her own family. He'd invited her along on one last “adventure”, and there something happened. Something changed and he, Eliel Usreanac, had chosen to pursue another man's wife. He'd confronted her, asked her to leave with him. She loved him back, but not so much as to leave her husband. When he offered the ring, she'd declined him and left the continent.

At the remembrance of watching her leave him behind, Eliel snarled and slammed a fist into the cupboard door, denting it in. He cried out, clasping his split knuckled in hand and slumping down, falling against the stone wall of his kitchen and sliding to the floorboards. Burying his face in his knees, he clenched his fists and heaved once. Twice. Then he was still, eyes stinging with tears. He choked off the sobs. It had been years ago. Years striving to live on with a shattered heart. His drive for adventure had slowly died away. He fell into solitude, finding a routine. Sleep, meditate, forage, repeat.

What would Cordelia think of him now? He wasn't living anymore. He was surviving, barely scraping by. Wasting away. He wasn't the man who she had loved. Eliel looked aside, eying a dagger's hilt hanging over the counter's edge.

Anger blossomed at the thought. Not the mindless, irrational fury he had been breaking into. A driving anger. Reaching up, he pulled himself to his feet, splashing his split knuckles into the bowl of cloudy water. He stormed his way between the bookshelves to a mannequin. It was bare, save for a pair of boots and a belt with a plain steel sword in the frog. Setting his jaw, Eliel slipped the ring back on his finger. It was time to leave again. He wasn't going anywhere moping around the Abbey.

For the first time in years, he felt something real. He looked out the window, over the treetops, and wondered what was waiting for him. Taking off the chained ring, he hung it over the head of a granite bust sitting on the mantle. Biting his lip as he donned the remains of his old adventuring gear, he locked the great double doors behind him. Standing there in the noonday sun, the familiar weight of a sword on his hip, he pulled a gray cloak with a bloody maroon stripe through it on, brooching it and pulling the hood over his head. He clenched his hands to ward off the trembles as he walked down the path to the little iron gate. His hand hovered over the latch for a moment before he opened it.

Over the next few minutes his steps grew more confident. His walk gained purpose as he left sight of the Abbey, headed for the small elven village to the east. Fury blazed in his golden eyes, a fire born of passion.
Edited by Eliel, Wed Dec 10, 2014 8:26 pm.
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