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Pale pipe smoke, rich in the scent of added spice swirled about in the bustle of the busy port tavern. Oil lamps flickered about the walls and tables, drinks were drunk and spilt and dice with coin wagers were rolled as patrons gambled and conversed with verve and vigour. At the counter sat on well worn stool was Drathe.
The port tavern in Koldamar seemed an ideal place to acquire what he sought, having taken boat to it that very day. He had mulled the entire sailing, the cause of such being the absence at his side, Kaelyn. A trusted and skilled rogues companion not just a lover. Thick as thieves they had become yet for the first time ever she had made him feel somewhat abandoned, although not her intention or want. The only soothing to the sting were her last spoken words, words that warmed deeply like a shot of fine spirit with every repeat of the memory.

Mary Legs, a rough tavern, a spit and saw dust hole of a sweat stinking, sailor and working mans tavern. It was busy, crammed, the atmosphere boisterous and hot. Despite the ale in hand he was not there for libation nor escape from trials and tribulations of love or Isle. Two Elves, one male the other female had been the subject of his keen eyes for some time now. Sat in a small alcove on wooded bench there was nothing outstanding about them. Their mannerisms, playful looks and close conversation would have them as lovers. By the dress of them both it would be an educated guess that the male was a dock hand, maybe a sailor. Good shoulders and upper arms. The female looked rather thin, gaunt even by elven standards. Her bare forearms thin as sticks ended in long fingered hands, of which had long nails to them. Her dress, pretty but sullied with grime, tatty about the loose, revealing hem at the chest. A whore maybe?

Time passed. The contents of the mug slowly drained as he conversed with the stocky barman. As the rim of the mug touched his lips it was harshly rattled against teeth, a firm and unyielding weight barging into him and forcing the lighter man uncomfortably into the hard wooden counter.
‘What the fruk!’ He cursed aloud, the dropped mug rolling over the counter to fall off the far side. He shoved from the counter pushing back the weight upon him with both hands and boots to it. Fists at the ready he swung around slipping from the stool.

The broad back and large rounded shoulders of an ork greeted him, thick arms raised up and poised to throw punches at his foe.
‘Leave it be, not your fight’. The gruff, loud voice of the barkeeper called over the din and cheers, leaning over the bar with his stocky hand firmly grabbing at Drathe’s shoulder. He rolled it, shrugging off the offending hand. Glancing over to the elven pair, the alcove was empty.
He pushed his way through the throng, scanning the faces desperate to find them. The main door slowly swinging closed caught his eye and he made for it, grabbing at arms and shoulders to force a path.

The cool air of the night washed over him, fresh and easy to breathe. The street was empty save for echoed shouts and the scurry of distant boots on stone.
‘Damn it,’ He spat, taking a hurried pace off down the street. With hands holding down sword scabbards he slid to a halt at the end of a dark alley. Something , a movement had caught the corner of his eye. Slowly, cautiously he moved into the dark, the glow of the torches in the main street absent in its depths.
‘What do you want?’ Came a voice, female, just and aged, weak. ‘You’ll find nothing here, just me, me and my blanket and my wooden dish ‘.
‘Come out into the light!’ He demanded, stepping back into the main street, hand taking to the grip of a sheathed sword. The sounds of scuffling came from the alley, a rhythmic dragging of material over stone, then again and again. An old bedraggled elfess (although she might be beautiful and young) dragged herself out from the dark into the orange glow of torch light in the main street.
‘You going to use that on me? It would be a welcome blessing’. She lifted a skinny and scabby arm, (although the skin might be radiant and smooth) long finger pointing out to the man’s sword, his hand on its grip. Her long nails were dark, dirty. (clean and crisp) Hair a white and matted mess, (blond and silky) face a ploughed field of deep wrinkles. (taught and glowing). About her form was a filthy blanket (Silk red dress) as she lay before him, propped up weakly by her arm.
‘Why would I do that? You might just have exactly what I want’. His hand fell from the handle to pull back the sword scabbard as he squatted before her, the rogue’s keen grey eyes studying the old (young) elfess’ hand. She curled her long slender fingers back into a lazy fist, looking to it herself then back at him, her dirty worn face frowning deeply as he grinned wickedly at her.

As she makes the fist and carefully watches the man before her she wonders, “Is this the chance I have been looking for?” A careful check assures her that her illusion of an old frail elfess is in place. Surely this man cannot see through it? He did not appear to be one of the arcane. She had been awaiting a long time, hoping for the chance of an escape. She had slipped away after the incident, unable to watch the pity and the scorn on her family’s face when they had seen her. She had made a mistake and she was paying for it literally with her life. They would find her though, if she did not make haste. It never paid to stay in one place too long, or use the same disguise over from place to place. Looking at the man and the swords at his belt, she thinks this could be the end of it.

Emerald forest a year ago

She met her lover at twilight, deep in the woods as they had each evening. Drago was very charming and understanding, everything the mate chosen by her father was not. He spoke with her and understood her desires to leave the forest and journey about the world. Her affluent family did not approve of her wishes and her father had chosen an elven male that was duty and honor bound to the forest. She would never get to leave. The scandal if they knew she had a human lover! Tonight they were leaving. She would be free at last. They were to journey up the Nameless mountains and across the Plains of Serinjah. A path designed by her love to throw off the trail of her father’s trackers. From there it was freedom and a new life. As long as she stayed hidden from her father.

“I am ready to leave,” she speaks to him softly but confidently only in the tone of a woman who is in love.

“Let us go then.” he smiles taking her outstretched hand and guides her west.

At the edge of the Nameless mountains several days later he turns to her, “My dear we need to journey up the mountain aways, this will help throw off the trackers.” He then kisses her gently as he gazes adoringly into her eyes.

That last kiss was her last happy memory. As they journey higher into the mountains, his visage grew starker, leaner more that of a predator than of the lover she knew. She watched with worry and concern as they went higher and higher.

“Drago is this not far enough up?” she asks panting from exertion.

“Almost there lovely Valadhiel.” he smiles and steps through a hole in the rock face beside them.

Cautiously she moves forward into the dark. In the distance she sees a light, and she walks towards it thinking Drago had made a fire. “We camping here tonight?”

“Yes darling,” the voice came from the shadows but still Valadhiel could not see him.

Taking another step forward Valadhiel freezes and a gasp slips from her mouth. Standing before her is a red dragon with two huge horns on its head.

“Where is Drago?” she stammers and “What have you done with him?”

“I am here,” the dragon speaks with her lover’s voice.

Everything goes black.

The pain of the attack that followed not only scarred her physically but mentally as well. She remembered nothing until she awoke to the sound of her father’s druid speaking.

“Nothing can be done. She will die. The burns have affected her lungs, over time it will become more painful for her to breathe until she will one day just stop. The physical wounds will heal over time. There will be a limp and no healing druid or magic can get rid of the scars.”

The next time she awoke she was alone with her father. “You disappoint me Valadhiel.” His tone is soft his disapproval clear in his eyes. “Was the future I planned for you so bad? Is your family so awful that you could not stay?”

Struggling she tries to sit, her breath labored and small moans emitting at every move. “Father, I only sought to live my life how I wanted, to see life beyond this forest.”

“Now foolish girl you will not see life at all. The shame you have brought our family can never be overcome. Luckily my loyal scouts found you and brought you straight to me. They will not utter the tale. Until you can harness your magic enough to hide this, “ gestures with his hands at the now deformed left side of her body, “You will not leave these rooms. You have shamed us all.”

He stalks for the door, turning halfway there to face her, “The druid says you have about a year to live. Can you be a dutiful daughter in this time you have left? “ he turns and slowly walks out.

Present day.

Her mind blanks the next few moments as she takes shallow breaths and eyes the stranger before her hoping he accounts her physical reactions to her supposed age and not to her memory. Her father would never stop looking, soon though it wouldn’t matter. Her year had passed, each breath was getting harder and harder to take. She only sought an end to the punishment she had faced for one foolish mistake.

A voice that is shallow, barely a whisper and sounds as if it has been forced from her chest answers the man, “You may have exactly what I need as well.”

***
The gangplank flexed and sprang with the stride and weight of those that took to it, boots and bare feet thunking and padding their way down it to dockside of Gobaith. A silver coin left Drathe’s hand falling into the dirty open palm of the man before him. In its place a sullied rope was thrust with mule in tow.

The old elfess and the rogue had spoke little if at all during the crossing, simply trading odd glances and curious looks. Talking had been done and satiated the eve they had met. Both of them had come to a curious compromise though whether each gave truth in their word was another matter.

The old elfess swayed upon the mule back in rhythm with its lazy stride as he walked ahead, rope in hand and leading. For her well worn and weakly appearance her back took to holding her well upon the beast, even taking to it well. A passing wonder though little thought was given to it as they walked on to their destination on the Isle.

She was once called something else.. it was a time after the painful awakening from the dead cave.. a time she trusted no one on this island with anything including her real name. With the spell over Joxia's unborn baby used to protect her life from the temple, Joxia and even Dain, the hated Jarl Vigalf still managed to take something from her before her role was completed. Deciding to have nothing more to do with the temple, Kyre retreated to the forests to nurse her wounds only rarely seen and mainly when she needed to retrieve another book to study. Attaching the glass and wearing a glove seemed the best she could do at the time vowing one day to have her hand returned..somehow, someway. Most of her studies from then on were related to rituals on how this could be accomplished.

Many years have passed since the time of her beginnings here on Gobaith yet happiness still eludes her even with the accomplishments achieved and the wonder of her private life. The one goal Kyre has not achieved still awaits.....

Kyre watches the pale elfess eating a small bite of apple between painful breaths while carefully attempting something she wasn't used to conveying. How to soften something that is almost always painful? This elfess wanted her life to end yet is giving Kyre something in return to end it. Perhaps the only reason she came to Kyre with Evie was because she wanted no pain? Valadhiel admitted to no reward wanted nor needed as she simply was anxious for peace. Raising her ungloved hand with her wand...Kyre whispers softly a spell designed to gradually help her sleep and hopefully ease her pain.

The hand was beautiful with no scarring apparent as opposed to the elfess' face..and the shape was exactly like her own ungloved hand. Dark gaze lingering longingly on that hand that could hold the bitten apple easily, that made a fist with the first whiff of the poison yet eventually opened more relaxed when the poison took effect. That hand would eventually hold her lover, hold her child, be an extension of herself that the constant pain of a limb not there would dissipate and Kyre would finally be whole again. Laying a blanket on the ground for the elfess to sit while listening to the tragedy of her short life, Kyre eventually raises her wand for a spell to add more poison then speaks in a soothing voice.

There should be no more pain

The elfess was caught gently by William before she could fall to the blanket as eyes closed, never to open again.