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Life as it was for this man has far below hit rock bottom. Once this man smiled, cheered, and was happy. His life was not happy. If it ever was, it was only for as long as it takes one to blink. His hope slowly diminished, his looks grew darker, his mind soon became doomed to his fate.

It was raining this day, in Troll's Bane. A man lied on the road next to the library, face down. A lute was held in his left hand, a black thistle in his right.

The lute had several missing strings. Only some were near the body. The thistle matched this mans heart, if he had one at this moment that is. A bit of blood was on the thorns, puncture woulds can be seen on the mans cheek and right hand, likely from this thistle as no blades are present on his body. His grey coat is buttoned up. One of his steel boots lies a bit behind the body, the other loosely wraps around his left ankle.

His black hair glistened in the rain, the dark bags around his eyes seemed paler, for he was sleeping now. His eyes though, tightly shut, locking away the pain he felt for so long, inside.

An empty bottle found it's way by the mans right side. A few drops of black liquid remain inside, protected from the rain, poison.

The body, could only be a bard named Cleril. One who has endured a demons attack. One who has had his heart ripped from his empty shell of a corpse. One who sung not for the coin, but for the ears. One who has earned nothing but lies and pain. This man, this shell, finally found his peace, his content, and his mercy.

A note appears to be in his right hand, beside the black thistle.

Achae walks from the forest having found lots of good herbs, her bag full to overflowing yet the rain hampering her search. She stops to read from the boards wondering what she missed as her cloak drips the remaining water toward her feet. Not taking time to dry completely she pulls the hood back over her light brown wavey hair and turns toward the door not finding anything of interest in her reading. Walking toward the library, she blinks some of the rain from her eyes staring at the man lying on the road briefly before quickly running over then reaches her hand toward the man not recognizing him at first.....

Are you alright?

Not receiving an answer, Achae looks closely at the bottle on the street near him using her Druid intuition and eyes widen seeing the small drop left of the poison inside. Reaching in her bag she brings out a special bottle she had obtained from Azuros to test, frowning she mumbles to herself.

We don't even know if it works or not

..... then attempts to get a small drop down his mouth.

Wake up Cleril! Remember me...Achae, I listened to your lute when you were still practicing and played the harp for you.

A man appears, wearing a wizards hat and robe. He hums a tune, one of Cleril's possibly. As he spies the body, he runs over and sees the face

Oh...my! I remember him, saw him on the mainland! Cleril was it? Hm, yes....

He takes the bottle of poison from the ground, his clothes dripping wet by now. He then opens Cleril's right hand, retrieving the note. Reading it.

Oh....poor soul.

"Dear ears. My shell can rest. I have a few words for all of you. Delicacies they are.

Altrix, you stole my love, the only. You may have her for now, but keep this. Without me, she would have lied in the snow, her grave. The child the same fate. Die slowly, live with me.

Elle, you stole my heart, my soul. You threw me away, for a Tirrend, then an Altrix. All of which shall soon suffer their fates. You along with it, die.

Joxia, you stole my truth, my bearing. You led me down this road, the match that lights the fire. A scab in Troll's Bane, your aim.

To the others I knew. I am not lost, but found. My word shall live on. In the library, soon enough, when the translations are done. You shall see."

A wandering thespian strolls past the scene, he quickly gazes over the current situation, and the first thought he concocts is that a performance is being performed, with all the skill and grace of a cat hunting for a fly, he hops over and snatches the note from the magely man's mitts.

"Once more, with feeling dears!"

He begins dancing around the people, stressing every second word and completely overacting the "Play" in every way imaginable.


"Deeeeah eeeeeeears. My shell can REST! I have a few final, HAAAARTFELT words for all of you! Delicacies that they most deliciously are! "

He places his wrist on his forehead and brings tears to his eyes and wails out the next line:

"Allllltrrrrrix! You accursed fiend! you stole my darling love! the complete oooooonly! You may have her for now, but keep this. Without me, she would have lied in the snow, her grave. The child the same fate. Die so veeeeerrrry slowly! live with me...always!"

He bends over, and lets his arms hang lowly, he wipes a false tear away from his eye and bring the paper back up to his eyeline.

"Ellelificent!, you stole my heart, my soul. You threw me away, for a Tirrrrrrrrend! then an Allllllltrrrrrix! All of which shall sooooooon suffah their unfathomable fates! You along with it, die a most terrible death!"

He gives a harsh look at the surrounding people, fixing his glare solely on the magely man, he finishes this pose with a look to the sky and a bellow of:

"Jokesia, you stole my saaaacred truths! my beeaaaaaring! You led me down this most horrible roaaad, the match that lights the fire. A scab in the bane of trolls! surely your aim!"

He shuts his eyes and inhales slowly through his nose, and grins slightly to himself, and finishes his lines.

"To the others! I knew! I am not lost! but foooouund... My word shall live forever on! In the library house! soon enough, when the translations are done. You shall ALLLLLLL see!"

He hands the magely man his note back and mumbles in his ear;
"i made a few changes to the script, darling!"

After which he bolts off as quick as a flash, just before he drops out of sight, however, he can be seen grabbing someones shopping list, and reading it aloud to them.

The man looks at the player and then the note, back and forth for a few seconds

"Well, that was....hmph."

He looks back at the body as he holds the note. Turning to the woman

"You knew him too?"

He eyed her, seeing that she was almost quite shaken

Reading the note over the shoulder of the mage Achae frowns then placing the rest of her potion back in her bag, she reaches for the man gently moving his arms across his chest in a silent repose. Standing she begins to speak softly but is interrupted by the thespian as a puzzled expression briefly replaces the sad look in her eyes. Blinking, and stepping back from the scene, she takes one more look at the man on the road then turns to the mage.

I will ask someone to come and help with the remains, but no, I am sorry to say, I didn't know him well.

Shaking her head, water droplets flying from the hood of her cloak, Achae walks toward the hospital mumbling...

A life lost, it seems such a waste.

The mage watches as the woman makes her way to the hospital as he sighs looking at Cleril

Strange, never figured this would happen.

He picks up the bottle, covering the top in order to keep the poison pure from the rain, which had now a thunderstorm to follow it

I wonder.....

Turns back at the woman, his had swinging down low covering his face, save for his mouth

Madam!

Achae being a few steps down the road, her mind diverted at first doesn't hear his call, then with a blink she turns back to look again at him.

Were you calling....?

Right when she turns her heavy bag pops open finally with the stress and herbs drop around her feet, she looks down and completely forgetting the man tries to pick them up without too much damage in the pouring rain yet some are obviously now torn.

Oh! My good herbs!

Quickly rushing over to the woman, he shows her the bit of poison still left in the bottle

Er...isn't there a possibility that you could study this death juice and reverse the effects, thereby having it restore life?

Speaks as if not caring so much for Cleril, but more so to satisfy his curiousity

Quickly rushing over to the woman, he shows her the bit of poison still left in the bottle

Er...isn't there a possibility that you could study this death juice and reverse the effects, thereby having it restore life?

Speaks as if not caring so much for Cleril, but more so to satisfy his curiosity

Tirrend walks down the road, his armor protecting him from the rain. he stops as he sees a body, moving closer to it. he chuckles as he notices who it is. "heh.. he actually killed himself" Tirrend shrugs lightly to himself, mumbling a few words as he strolls off.

The black hawk started to circle over the dead, one, two, three times. After all the others actually went away, leaving the corpse behind, it called out in an unhappy way.

Alan Dowland came nearer, whistling to the bird, that at once flew down landing on his shoulder. His lute at his back, only protected by his cloak, he sighed deeply as he scanned the features of his colleague.

Another one less of our kind, Shadow... One less wise, one less peaceful. One less to honour music and poems, stories and legends. One less bard on this world.

He passed by, his face hided by the wet cloak, but whoever had seen his expression could tell it was sadder than most of the time, even for his usual sadness.

Perhaps I should write him a song, whoever he was... whatever were his reasons to get killed, or kill himself. I hope for him that the dark Queen guides him well in her lands...
And that Ushara guided him well on this side. That she guides all of us travellers well these days.

He left Troll's Bane shortly afterwards, his hawk still sitting on his shoulder. North his steps took him, towards Silberbrand, as he suddenly murmured:

Rest in peace, fellow bard.