A Distressing Missive:

By the light of the single Brazier in the ruined remains a dark haired figure in white armor slowly crumples up the reply and adds it to the solitary brazier watching it blacken and burn until the faint wisps of ash are lofted upwards into the ruined vaults above. Sitting down on a piece of ruined masonery the young man holds his heads in his hands, a hint of moisture gathering in his eyes. The plays of uncertainty and doubt run across his features and his shoulders slump as if the plated armor was thrice its normal weight A reverberating crash and the man looks up - a worker has entered and knocked over a statue - sighing he gathers himself up - his face once again serene and peaceful full of confidence - he knows how to be a leader and what is expected of a commander but inside..........

A Night in Prayer:

"You worry too much" the Dark haired man quipped at the retreating figure of the white clad Elven cleric - hearing her footsteps on the cracked paving and the louder than normal crash as the door is closed in frustration. Shaking his head the young man looks at the bedroll lying on the cracked paving - the half eaten ration and bottle of water lying beside it. "Well I have slept in worse and least it is dry" Not wanting to sucumb to sleep just yet he can't help himself - "Just one more - I think" he mutters as he picks up a fallen timber and carries it out to the growing pile in the ruins where the Comely Inn had once stood. Hours later the one has become many, the heavy armor and work takes it's toll and the young man finally slumps before the broken statue that he knows so well. Shield and morning star laid before him he bows and begins to speak "Mighty Father - I thank you for my Sister who has been a bulwark of strength at this time, I ask forgiveness for an arrogant priest who will never become your Holy Defender. Please stretch out your hand of protection over this House and all who will dwell inside it.

I ask your blessings on our union and pray that you can deliver us to the sunlight so that my beloved can see her family and her Father can see that she has followed in her family footsteps where I can not." The troubled young man slips into meditation - visions floating through his mind and snippets of sound

"Listen to me" "Duty and love together" "Your own path"

Time passes to the remembered sounds and voices of those who love him best, telling truths his very being wants to reject.

Finally a sigh of acceptance escapes his lips and the tension in shoulders eases, a nod, a whisper "My new life has begun - the cloth and not the sword shall be my way - Father bring me wisdom to lead, humility to listen and compassion to heal."

The young man slips into sleep kneeling before a broken statue - held up by the white armor of his office, head resting on a dust encrusted breast plate. The creaking groan of the opening door cuts through the dreams of a safe haven, and of a house in the sun, watching children of mixed culture play at hunting in woods.

Sleep deprive eyes look at the statue and his lost smile is found. Mouthing a quick "thank you" to the broken statue he stiffly rises - every muscle and joint in his body aching.

He turns to see what the new day will bring.

The cramped room, packed with table and 4 chairs. The green clad man has come to know almost every crack on the walls of this rough hewn chamber as the light from the small brazier keeps it bright and warm. Time passes so slowly when no one is around, with only ol' "One-eye" to talk to, the young man sighs, lifting another parchment off the stack he begins to pen another missive. Plans, estimates, security and funding are only the start. Quill cramped fingers elicit a soft oath. He pauses, the words blur before his eyes - taking a hit from a small flask he can feel the mushroom sprit burn it's way down, the foul taste palatable with a touch of bloodfruit. Again it does its magic and he feels his head clear and the word's unblur and he again begins to write. Finally he reaches the end of the stack, upstairs he can hear the sounds as people begin to move. Leaning back he lets fatigue wash over him as he closes his eyes for a minute. He knows that his Sister would be furious if she found him here but she doesn't understand the volume of work required to run this endeavor.

Slowly images of flashing armor and a morning star in full swing play across the backs of his eyes - the sounds of battle the clamor of steel the channelling of energy to keep the warriors on their feet. It all seems so long ago and the images fade - replaced by sounds of voices "You must follow your heart" "Listen to her she is a wise lady" "there is too much to be done" Slipping out of his reverie the dark haired man sighs, looks at the flask and has another belt - again the liquor doing its job and clearing his head. "Must be careful not to over do it - it will only be for a short time until we are over these hurdles" he muses to himself. "Where are you my Sun and Moon - when will you be finished and come back to me and again take you place at my side?" is his silent prayer but ol "One-Eye" never answers.

Gathering up the piles of parchments and folding them away, he seals the letters and heads towards the stair to see what the new day holds..........

A Nightmare:

Every night it is the same - sweat drenched sheets tossed in dissarray and again the Dark haired young man sits up with that name on his lips.

A Frightened calling on his Lord and soft light bathes the room chasing away the darkness - the darkness of pain and searing agony of unknown attackers coming at him again and again. Again taking the lives of those he holds dear and again facing the demon that offers a way back.

He shakes as the hazy images of that encounter float before his eyes and again he hears the words that bring grief and knowledge in one sentance - She is slain!

Anger. fury boil past the yeasr of training - no longer caring what is right and what is honorable - venagnce is the order of the day and a pact is sealed.

The hoarse intake of breath - the fetid smell of decay - eyes open and again he lies beaten and bloody in the temple corridoor his brothers and sisters around him.

Was it a dream? Can we all share the same dream? and still the words come back - She is Slain!

Darkness:

Drunken fingers guided by spirit blurred eyes pen the final thoughts of the dark haired young man.

A sword, his Sister's sword, lies awkwardly across the foot of the worn old matress. Shaking hands touch the hilt and feels the heft - imagined warmth of elven fingers reach out to touch.

Standing, sword is reveresed and placed against the green cloth over the hollow where a heart once belonged.

"Father forgive me" he topples forward - floor rushing up to meet him slows as images accelerate through his mind

- A black demon striking down a young Elven Priestess, blue eyes staring wide the accusation plain - A peaceful waterfall and a dread secret shared - The knowledge of a wife to be never again seen - Blinding darkness and globes of energy shattering a tortured body - A ring, the stone the color of flashing green eyes - A cave of glowing beauty and a stunning Elf proposes to a green clad human - A present from a love of handsome green garments - A burning house and collapsing roof - a fire unable to be fought - Stumbling into a city after so long in the darkened wilds.

Time slows to a crawl - pommel strikes floor and the first wash of pain galvinises dulled senses and images keep flooding:

- First shield presented by a proud father - Journey through a torch lit mine then the swirling flashes of dark shapes felling men - Brokane images - hell at the hands of the dark ones - The transfer, the attack, the Flayers - a mind cut open - Panicked feet run the piercing shock of a quarrel the searing cold of the rushing waters.

The blade's work done, the muffled thud, a soft hoarse cry - an unmoving form.

The blackness rushes in and engulfs only Blazing Red Eyes remain - a whispered echo "I told you, you are mine!"

The eyes surrender to the blackness - softer whispers in green and blue "Listen not to the lie - you belong with us!"

Darkness

Return to the Light:

Judgement! Accusation! Cowardice! Shame! Rejection!

The diembodied soul floated in it's own void - blackness and the whispering of voices - the whisperings of failure - and no where to escape.

A judgment - A dead Father pleads for another chance for a fallen son, another chance to redeem the family name and uphold thier God's honor - it appears to fall on deaf ears and the soul is cast into the void!

A wrenching pain, the soul is dragged from the void and cast towards a cave enclosed prison.

Blinding light as eyes open and burn from the torch lit glare.

A face swims into view - beautiful green eyes shining with an Elven inner light. "You are back my beloved and I have returned."