Reliving Memories - Undeath

Recently she had found herself spending more and more time within the dojo of the Silent Fist Order, watching younger students training with the other adepts. Her sensei, Makoto, had asked if she could perhaps take over the training of another adept’s student for a few days and she was still considering the request – the last thing she wanted was to be tied to another person again.

She was no teacher, and she knew that.

A large Barbarian man entered the dojo, his walk silent and slow. He was quite tall, even for a Northman, with sandy brown hair that framed his square jaw. Dark eyes stared out from the barely visible woad that streaked across his deeply tanned face, full of a quiet calm and obvious thirst for knowledge.

Makoto motioned to the student, and the petite Teir`Dal woman watched the man walk towards them. After a few quiet words, he began the basic katas the dojo taught to their newer students, his large form executing each maneuver with a grace few saw within the Northmen.

She had seen that kind of grace before…



The first count of six quickly proved to be incorrect.

A Teir`Dal woman clad only in crude leathers had taken up a defensive stance within the quickly growing circle of guards about her. The faces of the Lucanic initiates looked back at her, pressing closer in an attempt to crowd her into a stand still. Soon over powered, the woman was subdued and a sword run through her belly before they tossed her body to the side of the road.

Unblinking eyes stared up at the treetops, watching the gentle wind as her life essence slipped away from her. The feral animals did not feast upon her slowly cooling body, in fact they went to great lengths to avoided it, traveling around it by at least half a mile or more.

Hours passed and still the unblinking eyes stared upward, their violet tints still quiet vivid and alive if but somewhat distant. Finally, she sighed, forcing herself to breath again as she slowly sat up.

To her surprise, she found herself staring face to face with a very large Northman, his bright woad dancing across one side of his face and neck, dark eyes wide in surprise as what he thought was a dead body came to life once more.

Caught off-guard, the Teir’Dal easily pushed him aside, kicking her body into a standing position in one smooth motion before dropping into a defensive stance. The Barbarian, though surprised, remained quiet calm, his eyes watching the woman closely as he stood up to tower over her slight form; his body was tense, muscles ready to move if provoked, though he made no move beyond standing.

With a silent curse for her lack of attention before rising, the woman suddenly sprinted forward, drawing her hands upward before her body as she leapt at the Northman. As her hands began to slam downward towards his sternum, the tall man simple turned his shoulders and gracefully slipped sideways, causing her to fall past him with a rolling twist as she tried to keep sight of him. Expecting retaliation, Shade dropped down lower to the ground, crouching deeply to avoid any attack from the Barbarian.

The Barbarian had not moved any further than the few steps he took to avoid her attack, still in his relaxed and calm stance as if she had not advanced at all. His eyes remained focused on hers until movement over his shoulder distracted her – another large black bird settled on the branch behind him, joining several others that had been watching since the Lucanic attack.

Curious, the man looked over his shoulder, frowning at the murder that seemed to be taking quite an interest in his attacker…such a bad omen that did not quite make any sense to him.

Using his distraction to her advantage, the Teir’Dal rushed forward for another attack, this time bracing her arms to bash into his ribs. Her elbow connected with hard flesh that seemed to give way beneath her, and the Barbarian again peeled away to the side. She adjusted her body, lashing out to kick hard into his shoulder, however her foot connected with air as the man dropped his shoulder and rolled through a crouch before coming to stand behind her.

“…are ye gonna keep at this all nigh’, or are ye gonna ‘splain yerself,” he asked, his voice thick and accented.

Frantic, the smaller elf again rushed her attacker, striking first at his neck, his shoulder and chest before trying to kick his legs out from beneath him; each time, the large man moved like water away from her assault, jumping upward and back as her legs passed beneath him.

As if to emphasis the futility of her attacks, the large Northman reached down and grasped her ankle, hauling her upward until she hung upside-down a few feet off the ground. Several angry kicks bounced off of his arm and chest, until finally she stopped struggling, her arms crossing over her chest while her other leg bent at the knee until her foot rested against her other calf.

“Ah, the Hanging Man,” the Barbarian mused, “or woman, as the case may be. Tell me, were did you learn to feign death so…realistically?”

His eyes drifted from her face to her stomach and her own eyes followed his to look, surprised to find the only evidence of the sword was a large hole in her shirt, and a very small wound that continued to close as they both watched it.

“I’d…like to know myself,” was all she could think to say.

Slowly, he lowered the dark elf until her hands pressed against the ground. The Teir’Dal stood on her hands for a long moment before slowly lowering her legs until her feet touched the ground as well before slowly rolling up to standing. Curiously, she placed a hand on her mostly bare stomach, fingertip tapping the place where the wound had once been.

“…perhaps I may know one who could answer such,” the Northman murmured before turning around and making his way back towards Qeynos…



…then Northman bowed to Makoto and Shade once before turning to walk away. Her eyes watched his back until the footmen slid the dojo door shut behind him before finally nodding to Makoto.

“Very well,” she replied to his unspoken question, “I’ll teach him…”

Reliving Memories - Rebirth

Religiously, she avoided being in the water at all costs.

When submerged even slightly, a chilling terror would flood her mind, flashing distant memories of other waters for what seemed like an eternity. It was the one sensation she could never shake, no matter how many times she confronted it – each time the fear and hopelessness washed over her, boiling into a bitter rage.

But now, the one thing she must protect the most had fallen into the sea below the lighthouse of Coldwind point, and she had to get it back before it was destroyed; a race against time and the elements, through the darkest secret she kept swathed within the deepest fear she knew.

Taking one last pointless deep breath, the Teir`Dal ran forward and dived into the seas, her white chainweave clothing quickly becoming slicked against her body like a second skin as her long black hair began to slip free of its bonds. With long hair twisting around her, she sunk below the waves, immobilized by fear and memory her unblinking eyes stared out before her…



The body floated in the water, drifting deep within the currents off the coast of the arid wastes once known as the Commonlands. The aquatic life drifted far from the corpse, avoiding the entire area surrounding it as though they knew to beware the creature that it had once been. Despite having been floating for nearly a year within the salty waters, the corpse remained as it had been when the Lucanic Knights had dumped it there.

Unblinking eyes stared out, their light long dead but their colour still vivid in the murky waters; her eyes, so pretty. Within those dead eyes, one could – if any ever found the corpse – find many strange emotions and stories…



The grinning Kerra found her swathed in the Caul all beings bare after death, clinging to the Shroud just above the body floating with the Skinland’s ocean. Purring to himself, the roguish feline reached out and grasped her shoulder, pulling the Caul back from her face and body. Her bright fuchsiac violet eyes snapped open as she tumbled from the Shroud’s grasp, wild with panic when she found that her…body…was nothing but dead weight in the Kerra’s arms.

“Carrreful there, sugah,” he purred to her, gently lifting her up into his arms, “you might hurt that pretty face of yours more thrashing about like that.”

After her first few attempts that only lead to coughing fits, the tiny Teir`Dal was finally able to spit out a few words as she was carried across the ocean floor.

“Where the hell am I?” she hissed.

The feline grinned broader, eyes sparkling with madness. He continued to walk the ocean floor, carrying the Teir`Dal up and onto the shores before laying her down gently. Taking up a seat next to her, he watched the newborn wraith struggle to regain the use of her limbs. She glared, clearly wary of the feline that had rescued her, giving him a look that might have sent lesser ghosts racing away for their unlives.

“A fiery one we have, yes. Full of anger and pain, one that won’t stay here long,” he purred in reply finally. “You are in the Shadowlands, young one – this is where the dead go once they are gone since they cannot return to their beloved gods.”

Ironic that her first movement in this world be raising a hand to her throat, searching for the deep axe wound; instead of a deep gash, she found a smooth shadow of her dominate wound, and further inspection of her arms and legs revealed that though unbroken, her phantom body bared the scars of her corpse in a similar fashion. Standing in a panic, she looked much like a colt taking their first steps before collapsing down to the ground again.

“Yes, a spitfire, delightful! Already fighting to stand, so soon after being taken from the Shroud,” the Kerra purred again, “pity you won’t stay long. You’d do our cause well, where you only meant to take it as your cause too.”

She gave only a withering glare as she tried to stand again, this time remaining upright on shaky legs, her arms out to her sides slightly for balance before carefully moving into a crouching stance. Though a menacing stance, her lack of balance was evident, which lessened her hard edge to a degree.

“Why couldn’t I move?” she finally asked, still standing precariously on her weak legs.

The feline chuckled deeply, his grin an ever-present feature of his face.

“You have been mostly dead, of course…and just like a newborn in the Skinlands, your form is weak, new and until a few moments ago completely dependant upon the Shroud for existence,” he replied, still sitting casually on the shore. “It’s like a fresh start, a clean slate…aside from the fact that something has kept you from moving beyond, and I don’t believe it has a damn thing to do with the precious Gods…”

Taking a small step forward, the dark elven woman looked back out into the ocean, watching the Shrouded fish swimming along side many skeletal ones. The image was disconcerting, even for someone raised within Freeport with its necromancers and their skeletal pets.

Kneeling slowly, she watched the fish in their macabre dances, amazed at the differences between each individual creature. Some were bathed in a vivid colour of life, while others were more muted and some even a corpse like gray next to their skeletal companions who bore chips and fractures within their bones. Movement caused her eyes to wander upward and to her left, revealing a dock quite a bit like the one she remembered being there before her…death.

This dock, however, was warped and decrepit, with rotting planks and gaping maws within the structure. Wisps of decay swept over the entire dock, like a thin shawl of mist that made the wood look even deader. As she watched, her face twisted into a grimace, finding such corruption wholly distasteful.

A single man strode across the dock, unhindered by the twisted wood and she slowly realized that he must be in the mortal world. His entire shape was swathed in a sort of mist, though his being burned brightly with life and some sort of purpose for his journey. She rarely had taken notice of the state of others she was not directly involved with when she was alive, so the revelation of his mood surprised her.

“Ah, the first moments of looking about the new world, I remember them as though they were but yesterday,” the reclining feline purred, watching her eyes take in the scene. Crossing his legs, the Kerra leaned forward over them, perching his head upon his hands with evident amusement. “So, I’m sure I know what you’re seeing, because I see it too. I can assure you as the years pass, you get used to this vision and it stops being so disturbing.”

With grace, the feline stood and walked towards the woman, pausing a few steps away with arms spread open as if to show he had no malicious intentions. Still glaring, the Teir`Dal straightened as best she could and watched him, the mortal running up the road no longer captivating her attention.

“Quick to learn, I see, Spitfire – a rare trait in these lands, to be sure,” he purred, motioning for her to follow him back down into the ocean. “Now, forget that you’re supposed to float in the water, and walk with me…”

Grinning all the while, the Kerra slowly walked backward until the tips of his ears disappeared below the gently rolling waves. Hesitantly, she began to walk forward, half closing her eyes as the water rose higher and higher; her feet remained on the floor of the ocean as her head slipped below the water, and after a moment she opened her burning eyes to look at the feline.

“That’s not too horrible, though it still slows one’s movements quite a bit...” she replied, “and apparently mutes words slightly…”

Nodding, the Kerra turned and began walking forward again. For some time they walked in total silence, the feline intent on his chosen destination and the elf distracted by her new outlook on the world. The stark contrast of the living world overlaid with the world of the dead struck a deep chord in her mind, at first balking at the macabre scenes and then beginning to see the uses of such visions.

Her reverie was brought to a drastic end when the feline stopped – she wasn’t looking in that direction at all, and ran right into his side. At first she glared up at him, until she saw what he was staring at ahead.

Floating in the deeper tides was the broken and batter body of a dark elf, the long black hair swirling like dark mists about the corpse, its fuchsiac violet eyes staring unblinking but without site. The other Knights had even stripped the body of its deathly robes, leaving it naked when they had dumped it into the ocean.

“Yes, that is you, Spitfire,” the Kerra purred quietly, his grin lessened considerably. “But what do you see when you look at your corpse, enfant?”

She could not gather her thoughts for many moments, memories of her death and the events that happened after flooding her mind.

Her tormentor, Osarosce, had been sent to fetch her body from the street beneath Dethknell; he had taken her back into his chambers, bathing and then defiling her body even in death. Once he had finished, three Initiate Knights had been given the naked body to dispose of, carrying it in a threadbare cloth to the Antonican docks where they rolled it out of the cloth and into the sea.

After what seemed like an eternity, her mind began to register what she was actually looking at. Though devoid of the vibrant life she had seen in many of the aquatic life, her corpse was lacking in the bland gray of the dying fish; it hung somewhere between them, as though waiting for something to push it one way or the other.

“What…does it mean?” she whispered, eyes wide.

The feline shrugged slightly, his grin broadening as he turned and began walking back to shore. At first his stride was slow and languid, quickening as he felt the water begin to move behind him. With another withering glare, the Teir`Dal woman followed him back to the shore, looking back over her shoulder with alarm until her corpse was out of sight again.

Once they had reached the shore, she finally reached out and grasped the Kerra by his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and look at her. She was met with a broad grin, one that never seemed to leave the feline’s face but only grow and shrink and size. That grin toyed with her rage, pulling one moment at her strings to bring it forth only to push it away abruptly. Her fist raised up, as it had so many times when she was a Lucanic, a warning to her prey that they had best not play coy but here she was met only with a wider grin.

“Listen you grinning little fucker, I’m sick of your games. I don’t care who you think you are,” she growled, “but you’re going to drop the act and tell me exactly what the hell is going on. Now!”

Finally, the grin vanished, the feline’s face becoming grim with a sudden air of seriousness wrapping about him. Though it was obvious to her that the Kerra was not intimidated, she took the change in attitude as a good sign, and continued to grasp his shoulder, pulling him down slightly until his eyes were level with her own.

“Words alone will not explain it to you, Shade,” the feline replied, “for now we shall slumber, and tomorrow we shall begin…”



The world slammed back into place around her, her lungs expelling the water that had gathered within them before she began her decent further into the waters. Powerful legs kicked, propelling her down and across the ocean floor as her eyes searched for light reflecting off metal. After several false alarms, she finally saw what she was looking for and began to swim towards it…

Reliving Memories - The Birth of Shade

Greystone Yard was by far one of the rowdiest sections of Qeynos, inhabited by the Northmen and the Dwarven races. Bawdy and crude at times, the entire area seemed like an on-going bar crawl on the surface. Giants danced with midgets while the other races slipped in and out of the district without interrupting their lives too much.

She was annoyed that they had bound her gate spell to this district, preferring the quiet of Starcrest Commune to the boisterous Yard. However, many times when she was in a hurry, she would conduct menial tasks here instead of running clear to the Commune. The headache was a small price to pay for less travel and faster return to whatever was more important than her own comfort.

Why the shouting of a Northman even caught her attention was beyond her – but she had long ago learned to not ignore such things.

Quietly, she moved up the stairs and into the apartment complex of Greystone. Following the shout wasn’t too difficult, as it seemed most of the residence were away or down below in the commons area. It only took a few minutes to find the open door, but it would a lifetime to change the events within.

The Halasian man was dressed in tanned leathers, the brown material taunt over his large muscular frame. He toward over a crumpled form of a Human woman, his heavy hands rising up only to lower themselves violently against her body as he shouted. Her simple tailored burlap clothing was torn and stained red in several spots, and her eyes slipped closed as the Teir`Dal watched from the hallway.

A young boy, barely of ten years upon Norrath, if that, ran across the room and reached out for the arm of the Halasian. He was begging his father to stop beating his mother, but was silenced when the man lifted his arm back and threw him across the room. Grasping desperately to consciousness, the boy watched his father slowly beat the life out of his mother.

Rage built within the dark elf’s heart, but she turned quickly to leave – it was a public place, the guards would surely hear the clamor and intervene, take the man to jail and his wife to the Temple of Life. She knew the priests well, and trusted that they were competent enough to raise the woman should she die here.

“Father, stop! I’ll…do this to you when I’m strong enough…stop hurting Mum!”

The world stopped for the dark woman, her eyes opening wide; the words were harmless if their tone didn’t carry such conviction. She knew that emotion well, as it had driven her to deny death and return to the world so many years ago. Her life had been spent fumbling for a vengeance she couldn’t have then, wasted with petty violence that lead to a fate worse than the loss she had longed to take back.

And now this child may experience the same.

Clenching her hands into fists, she drew in a deep breath as she gave into the screaming within her mind. They had to make this right, they had to save this child from even the chance of experiencing life as they had; the guards may come and take the man away but they could not stop him from doing wrong again later…they could not take away the helpless rage the boy would feel for the rest of his life…

Shade turned, body tensing as the rage focused, becoming a calm blanket of darkness that settled on her features; the lines of the scars deepened, and the bruises became nearly invisible on her skin. Quietly, she walked back to the open door and entered the room before silently shutting the door. Looking down at the child, she raised a finger to her lips in a motion of silence before opening her hand to cover her eyes. The boy stared at her, cheeks stained with tears and flushed with anger, an silent eternity passing before he covered his eyes with both hands.

Her hand reached out as she stepped forward, hand closing around the looping tail of the Halasian’s hair before pulling down…



“What are you doing here at this hour, Halisstrad?”

It was late, and she’d just returned home from a long day at the Brewhouse to find her mother busily cleaning up a mess of broken glass. Wanre’s hands were loosing their dexterity, her body slowly ravished by a disease that slowly stiffened and destroyed her muscles. It wasn’t the first time she had experienced the locking sensation of her body’s curse, but each time she longed for it to be the last.

Tonight, it would be.

The younger woman turned at the sound of her father’s name being spoken to find him standing in the entryway with six guards. His face was twisted with a cruel grin, eyes glimmering with Hate as he slowly walked forward into the room; his hands were locked behind his back, hidden for the moment though she sensed he held something in them.

Instinctively, she stepped forward and put herself between her mother and her father. With a nod, his guards stepped forward, their hands outstretched and reaching for the younger woman. Raising her fists, she took a firm stance against them, brining a hand into the face of the closest guard; she was still fresh to the arts of brawling, but she refused to just let them invade her home like this.

The scuffle was ended quickly, and twelve strong hands grasped her arms and legs, forcing her to remain immobile.

“I’m naut surprised you were foolish enough to thing I’d forgotten dos, Wanre,” Halisstrad purred, his voice thick with corruption. “But I’ve come to repay you for not only having her, but for raising such a worthless brat. I loathe to admit that she came from my loins, but perhaps that shall be undone later.”

With those words, he slowly pulled his hands out from behind his back. One held a crude wand and the other held a crude scepter, as though he couldn’t bring himself to tarnish anything of value. A motion, a mumbled sentence, and Wanre found herself shackled by spectral chains.

Growling, his face contorted with Hatred as he stepped forward and swung the scepter down on her shoulder. The bone gave way with a sickening crunch as Wanre screamed in pain. Without slowing, Halisstrad brought the wand down on her other shoulder several times until it too snapped with a satisfying crunch.

The younger woman struggled against the hands of the guards, screaming for him to stop being so weak and fight someone who could at least defend their self. Each battering, each sound of breaking bone, each drop of blood that spilled brought forth more anger from the girl and she screamed at the coward she’d once called father.

Finally, after the scepter shattered her temple, Wanre’s eyes grew clouded and dark as death slowly took her spirit from her body. Held up by the shackles, Halisstrad brought the scepter down again and again into the mushy spot that had been her temple, a cruel smile growing wider with each strike. His face was spattered with her blood, a few bits of gray mucus staining his fine white shirt, and his hair shaken loose from the force of his violence.

Grinning like a fiend, he finally let her body fall to the ground as he turned and stepped towards his captive audience. Lifting her face to look at his with the bloodied wand, he smirked at the endless rage within her eyes and gently press blood-stained lips to her forehead before stepping back with a nod.

“I will kill you, father,” the girl hissed before the world went black.

Within the darkness burned a fire of Hate, fueled by anger and loss. The flames spread, burning away the little innocence she had left within her soul, killing the girl she’d been for so long.

She’d died that day, and from the ashes of her life rose the first incarnation of Shade – never again would she be so helpless, at all costs…



…forcing the Halasian’s head backward, her other hand clasping his shoulder, breaking it as she forced him to the ground. Staring down at eyes wide with rage and surprise, Shade brought her knee up into his upper back with a sickening crack that was followed by an odd snapping sound. The man’s body went limp, falling back against her own as she crouched to whisper in his ear.

For a moment, she only breathed into the space between them, her eyes closed as she let the events within the room wash over her. Years of happiness giving way to years of abuse fueled by the dark waters of ale and lust, the last moments of fear the woman had felt as the man she loved took her life one rough touch at a time…the moment the child’s fear turned to rage and vengeance took root in his heart.

“Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children,” she hissed into his ear, hand still pulling back roughly on his hair. “And history has shown what happens to those who defile a God...”

With a swift motion, Shade pulled hard on the looped tail, forcing the man’s head to turn with a sickening snap. Standing, she let his body fall in a heap before the small bay window before looking over her shoulder at the boy. Despite having covered his eyes, he had watched everything from between open fingers that slowly lowered as she stared at him.

“You must go get the guards, boy, so that they may take your mother to the Temple to be healed,” she said quietly, lifting the woman’s body from the floor and gently moving her to the bed. “Tell them what you will of this – but know I could not stand by and watch you experience what I have…you deserve better.”

Opening the window, she looked back at the boy one last time. He nodded, eyes moving from his father’s corpse to the failing form of his mother before looking back at the Teir`Dal in the windowsill. Closing her eyes, she let go of the wooden frame and fell, landing in a crouch before standing to walk slowly to the docks. Looking about her as she moved, she noticed that for once, no one had been making out behind the building, her only witness a large black bird picking it’s lunch from the pile of trash left by the innkeeper.

Sighing, she turned the corner and slipped into the milling crowd.

Reliving Memories - The Death of Shade

It was always raining here.

The figure was dark – ebon skin, dark and rain-slicked hair that fluttered freely like a banner, black cloak slick with rain, fluttering heavily in the wind, black leather foot wraps pulled tight by silver buckles, leather pants with more buckles running down their sides, pulling the gaunt fabric tighter, leather sleeveless tunic, buckles tight across the midsection like a corset, wraps buckled tightly over upper arms and along the wrists and forearms. Dark bruises, dark scars. Always here things were dark, and could be no different without someone taking notice.

Dark as midnight, save for shining fuchsiac violet eyes.

Standing on a spire of the Twilight Citadel, the figure looked out over the city of Freeport; it was not the first time nor the last time the figure would stand atop the Overlord’s palace because it was one place it was able to remember death clearly. Dark birds flocked amid the skies over the vile city, their clamor an eerie and off-key song above the din of city life. One of the larger ones broke away from the milling dance, it’s talons coming to rest in the stone of a nearby spire – they looked at each other for a long moment, something passing between them, and then the figure raised it’s arms out as it fell backwards.

It was familiar, the feeling of falling from such an immense height as the dark sides of the floating citadel rushed past. Each time the mind returned to the first time this experience was given, as though it were only yesterday the throat was cut open and the body broke the glass of the window.

Despite knowing that something won’t kill, life still passes before the eyes – the last few hours of life compressed into seconds…



Life stirred within her belly, sickening her not only by nature but also by reminding her of the torturer’s hands on her body, his nightly demands to be inside her. There was just the beginning of a belly on her; only visible due to her forced starvation by the obsessive master she had known for longer than a decade. Part of him was now part of her, resting helplessly against her womb as he continued his work…she loved the child and she Hated it.

There was hope that the starvations, the daily abuse, and the nightly violence would destroy the child before her torturer noticed; perhaps the being she felt growing within her would escape the hell of the floating citadel and move on. She never wanted the being – she knew it was male, at least – and she knew that his birth would be just another death sentence in the City of the Free.

When the guards came to the small chamber the torturer kept her suspended in, she found herself lowered to the ground, the vicious hooks removed from their well worn holes in her back as the lacerating ropes were untied from her arms, wrists and neck. The guards lifted her from the floor, and she forced her body to remain limp in their hands, as though she were physically unable to do more than lift her head. She was taken to a room where a grizzled man cleaned her up by roughly rubbing her body down with wet rags before he helped her dress in a black robe. With a decrepit brush, she combed the tangles out of her nearly knee-length locks before loosely tying them back at her neck.

Half carried by the guards, she and the torturer had been taken up the seemingly never-ending staircases within the Twilight Citadel. It was rumor that far above the torture dens were elegant rooms where the Overlord and his closest advisors carried out their debauchery with the cacophony of screams for background music. Confusion began to fill the air about them, and it was unclear of why they were being brought out of the pits into such beauty.

The heavy carved double doors opened slowly, and the guards parted and lined the glimmering walls. The Overlord was seated behind an elegant desk, several pristine parchments laid out before him even though a scribe that bowed and backed out of the room read them to him. Despite never having seen the man before, she knew he was a calm cauldron of Hate and Corruption and that at this moment, it was to be directed at her.

With a motion, he indicated that they should sit, and she found herself dumped into one of two chairs opposite him. The torturer bowed several times before taking a seat next to her, his posture perfect in the face of his Master. The withering gaze the Overlord leveled at her made her breath stop for a moment.

“Shade, it is well known that you were on the path to becoming a very prominent Knight in my Order. Your cruelty to your own kind,” he growled, lips barely moving, “was also a well known fact. And as far as the public also knows, you were found to be a Qeynosian sympathizer providing information to those known as the Rodor – the Queen’s loyal scouts.”

Leaning over the desk, his hands grasped one another and rested on top of the parchments that the scribe had left. Reflexively, her eyes traced his scar before staring back into the soulless eyes of the Overlord. Ignoring her study, the man continued to stare her down as though waiting for something within her to break.

“For nearly eleven years Osarosce has attempted to explore your very essence, to find what motivations drive your actions,” the lich continued, “to find if you truly were loyal to me or if the evidence was falsely placed.”

There was a long pause as they stared each other down. Though it was terrifying to stare into those depthless eyes and find nothing behind them resembling humanity, Shade continued to keep her gaze level with his. There was something he was waiting for, perhaps a sudden confession of consorting with the enemy and sharing the inner workings of the Lucanic Knights with them.

“It is clear that a mistake has been made, however such an error would only frighten the masses in ways that would in turn make them question my power. Such inconsistencies cannot exist,” he explained, eyes still burning into hers, “and so despite the promise you have shown, your life is to be terminated. Immediately – Executioner, this pariah bores me, end the drama now.”

From behind a curtain, a lithe Teir`Dal stepped into the open, a wickedly curved silver axe in her hands. Believing her weak, only two guards stepped forward to lift Shade from her seat and began to move her towards the executioner. For a moment, the torturer begged D`Lere to turn her over to him as a slave, promising that she would remain within the walls of the Twilight Citadel and out of the site of the masses; a raised hand from the Overlord silenced his arguments.

Before they were half way across the room, but a good distance from the guards, Shade stumbled slightly. As the guards were caught off guard, she twisted her body and lashed out with one leg, causing one to release her arm as his hands reached for his broken nose. Spinning about, the woman planted her fist into the second man’s face with enough force to feel the entire area crush beneath her fingers. The other guards moved into action, the closest reaching for her with his chain-clad hands.

Taking them into her own, the woman turned and threw him over her shoulder and into another oncoming guard. As the pair crashed to the ground she turned to meet another three that attempted to circle her. With a practiced brutality, she spun as she held her fists steady, assaulting the three guards before concentrating another forceful kick into the chest of the closest. Her hands found the second guard’s head and with a swift motion she twisted his neck until she heard a satisfying snap. His body before her own, she turned and blocked the other guard’s oncoming sword with his compatriot’s chest before pushing the dying man onto his former associate.

Standing with his hands resting almost casually on the desk, the Overlord watched with interest while the torturer cowered behind him. A trace of a smirk could be seen on his lips, as if he was getting exactly what he wanted out of the woman – as though it were just a game to him.

The last two guards were hesitant to move against her after watching their comrades fall beneath her fists. Circling about her with raised swords, one feinted left as the other feinted to his right. Despite their attempted trickery, Shade surprised them by jumping vertically and lashing both legs out, firmly planting her feet square into their noses before giving another spinning assault. One fell backward, tumbling over what was a seemingly expensive vase while the other tried to charge her with his sword.

Dropping to one knee, Shade caught the blade between her hands before rising to lash another kick out to the man’s chest. Caught off guard, the man fell backwards as his hands released his sword; the woman turned it and threw it into his chest before he could stand.

Hearing the executioner finally step forward, she rolled sideways to find the other woman’s axe whistling past her side before impacting with the floor. The silver rang loudly as the elf lifted the axe for another swing at the prisoner. Shade rolled again, this time tumbling between the executioner’s legs before turning as she stood. Calling forth her fading energy, she forced both hands against the axe-wielder’s back and released the built up power – armour bent beneath her palms and she felt flesh-spilt blood, but it wasn’t enough to keep the other woman from continuing the fight.

Roaring with pain and anger, she turned with swinging axe upon the woman, forcing her to step rapidly backward. The elaborate stain glass window loomed behind her, though her concentration was on her attacker. With another swing, the blade of the axe came dangerously close to splitting her midsection, but another well placed roll kept her from being cut in two.

The axe was on a longer handle, and it was nearly impossible to get past it and attack the other elf, so Shade waited for an opportunity by dodging her attacks. Weakened by the years of torture, the months of starvation, her pregnancy and the ravishing of the obsessed torturer, she was quickly losing steam and knew that she may very well die here – but she would die fighting.

Again and again the other elf lashed out with her axe, until finally she was too close to the wall to completely avoid the executioner’s anger. Blood exploded from her neck as the blade bit into her flesh, though she had moved far enough to avoid losing even her voice. Ducking sideways, she rolled before the window and stood to face the woman, summoning up the last bit of her energy for a final defense.

The world slowed as the woman advanced, axe poised to strike her down. Blood flowed over her chest, down her arms and onto the floor but it was forgotten in her last attempt to save her own life. Before the axe fell, she released the energy on the other woman with outstretched hands…

…it was not enough to stop her advance, but it turned the axe sidways…

…the force of her energy impacting on the executioner, the turning of her blade to it’s flat…

…the stunned look in the eyes of the executioner, echoes of loss within them…

…the sound of breaking glass…

…the pain of unnumbered lacerations on her back…

…the sharp edge of the first piece to cut her face…

…the second cut she felt above the rest, again on her face…

…the life slipping away from her…

…the eternity of falling…

…the edifices of the citadel rushing past…



The leather clad Teir`Dal woman fell through the air, her shadowed companion diving beside her as they were joined by the other milling ravens. She kept her arms out beside her and her legs straight out from her hips, as though nailed to a cross, eyes open and staring into her past without blinking as she dropped.

Back impacting brutally onto the ground, bones crushing from the force of the fall, her descent was stopped as brutally as it had been the first time. Staring up at her shadow and the murder above her, those unblinking eyes remembered the first time she made that fall perfectly.

Her eyes closed against the visions.

It was as vivid as it had been the first time – dying midair didn’t stop it then, and dying upon impact didn’t stop it now.

Be careful what you wish for…

OOC Preface and Notes

This background is not linear - instead each section of the story contains three distinct parts to create a flash of Veldriss' past; there is the "present day" event that triggers the memory, the actual memory, and then the "reaction" to the memory. As I progress in writing this history, sections may be edited with revisions done after posting.

To some, this character concept will be familiar, as there are several sources in film, literature, role play game source books, and graphic novels that use this concept in some form. While this version is melded from these sources and some real life experiences, there are a number of differences I've always felt were needed.

While I'm a bit nervous about sharing the character's history, I've always wanted to have some way to vent Shade out of my system - though quite different from her original incarnation (because of setting), its going to be done in this game.