A Coshwood Falls a Coshwood Returns

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A Coshwood Falls a Coshwood Returns

Postby Shadow » Fri Jun 22, 2012 3:50 pm

Zemilia Sraosha Coshwood Ancalimon, princess of the Earth Elves sat in her chambers within the palace. She wasn't a typical Earth Elf, her skin was white like alabaster or the marble from which Dvarni was constructed. Through her life she had often been mistaken for a High Elf and before that creature had arrived she had used that to her advantage. Elidren Thaael, her page, had said that Queen Sophia had died during the fall of Dvarni and that without her the Elven race would fall for there would be no sense of continuity, no stability. As he said, if only Sylor had survived: for then he would now be Taevar, High King of the Elves and she would be his queen. She, he said, deserved to be queen but the people would never accept an Earth Elf.

If Sylor was alive she would be queen.
She deserved to be queen.
Without her the Elven race would fall.

These words echoed in her mind as did so many, many other things that her page said. She knew what she had to do. She had to take on the mantle of Queen Sophia, the masked ruler of the city, known to most simply as The Blue Lady. Elidren had congratulated her on her plan. Yes, it had been her plan. Definitely her plan.

Elidren had suggested she have her twins, the true heirs of Erathil, looked after by the court. After all, she was Queen Sophia now and it would look suspicious if she was raising Zemelia's children. It made perfect sense although she had suggested that as Sylor's mother, surely it wouldn't be that unusual for her to be raising her grandchildren. Elidren had convinced her otherwise, she didn't remember what he'd said, just that she agreed with him. But then she usually did agree with him. Almost always. Almost. Always.

She had done well as queen, Elidren had always been there as her faithful servant, her secret-keeper, her advisor, he reminded her so much of Erathil. Throughout her life, whenever she didn't know what to do, what to think, Erathil had been there to guide her and now Elidren was there telling her what to do, what to think. She was fortunate to have someone like Elidren.

However, everything had changed two years ago. She had managed to escape the destruction of Dvarni and was rebuilding, once again, this time away from the Heartlands when she had heard that the deadly mists had dispersed and that the majority of the Elven people had returned, along with Erathil himself. She had rushed to his side despite Elidren's warnings to the contrary but what she'd found wasn't Erathil, it was someone...something else wearing his face. The Phoenix indeed, it was ridiculous, but no one else seemed to see it. Elidren had been right. Elidren was always right. She hadn't been able to stay in this Erathil's company since, hadn't even been able to look at him. Her Erathil, the true Erathil now sat on high, this fake, this fraud was nothing to her. She had taken to her chambers that day and had barely left since. No one saw her except her servants. And Elidren of course.

She looked around the darkened room. This was where she'd grown up under the watchful gaze of Erathil and with the exception of the layer of dust and the full-sized statue of a man that stood in the centre of the room, little had changed since she was a child. A knock came on the door and when it didn't open she frowned. The servants knocked but then they would enter. Elidren never knocked. No one else came. She stood and walked over to the door, she could sense powerful magic beyond...magic that seemed to have spilled into her chambers and now filled the room. It was strange but it didn't feel dangerous, though she prepared her magics anyway as she pulled the door open wide.

"Yes?" she said, regally.
"Hello Zemelia." it was a tall, black-robed figure.
Her eyes lit up in recognition, of course she could sense his power through a mere door. She smiled and welcomed him in. "It's you! I thought you were dead."
The man smiled. "No, I've just been busy." his eyes took in the statue. "It looks like you have been as well."
Her eyes followed the man's gaze. "I had the servants bring it from Nartulin, it wasn't right for it to remain there."
"You've put it back together well but..." he trailed off.
"But, but what?" she snapped back.
"I assumed you intended to bring him back."
Her face fell. "Elidren is organising it."
"For five years?"
She looked confused. "Elidren is organising it."
"I see. Would you like me to do it?"
There was an internal battle raging. "Elidren is organising it."
"I'm sure he is," he reassured, "but I can do it right now. If you're willing of course."
There was something akin to pain in her voice. "But Elidren..."
"I know, but I can do it right now."
She seemed to enter a near catatonic state "...now?"
"If you're willing."
"...willing?" she snapped out of it, "but what of the sacrifices?"
"I am willing to make them."
"You...you would do that...for him?"
"My master believes that Sylor should live so I am willing."
The elf burst into tears, throwing her arms around the man who simply smiled before sliding the knife across the back of her neck, severing her spinal column. As the lifeblood drained from her, he could feel the power of her soul and essence leaving her body and swirling around the room. He had opened the ritual circle to encapsulate the room even before he knocked and now he urged her soul, essence, everything that made her who she was into the statue: the petrified body of Sylor Coshwood.
He frowned...not quite enough...he reached out with his mind, sensing for power. There was someone with a small amount of power in the adjacent room. He continued to chant, channeling the power of the sacrifice into the statue as he moved around to stand beside the other door then he knocked lightly on the wood. After a few seconds a High Elf opened the door, his eyes widening as he took in the scene and then widening further as the knife slid across his neck.

Elidren's soul and essence merged with Zemilia's and the hooded figure urged them along with the power of the ritual into the statue. As he did so, the cracks across the body disappeared and he became aware that deep within there was no longer a corpse but a living being, frozen in a single moment in time. His contract for the order was complete. The power of the ritual faded, its work complete and the man muttered for a few seconds casting a Contingency on the statue followed by a Dispel of a sufficiently powerful level to activate as soon it was teleported, removing the Petrification. He then drew a Contingent Glyph on the statue to activate a Teleport to The Colourful Isle as soon as he himself teleported.

The man looked out of the window, the Soulless were doing well, he couldn't even see any elves out there. As he looked, he felt the ground shaking and then saw something very, very large approaching from the east. His eyes widened as the moving mountain rose from the ground and began to encant hurriedly.
With seconds to spare, he teleported, the Contingent Glyph activating, teleporting Sylor away as well.
A moment later the Cloudlit realm struck the palace, destroying the scene of the murders of both Erathil's Earth Elven ward and his second son.

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