DISCLAIMER and Authors Notes: It's AU--My Universe to be exact. Blending a few different tragedies into one char and warping Mclon to encompass all the drama. He kinda sucks these days, but I can't stand to write him any way but heroic. Sony Online Entertainment owns them--Lilicrow Crimsonslayer is my own creation, Mclon, Serantha, Wulolas, Purrilia, and Mirisa belong to people who's names I actually know-I do however borrow them for my own wickedness on occasion. Most of the time, I even give them back. No one pays me for my drabble, and if they did, I'd just sink it back into subscription fees. Please don't sue me, or if you must, kindly get in line and patiently wait your turn.
'…' denotes thoughts
Over the centuries she had become a mistress of loss; sorrow and loneliness seemed to be her constant companions. Many considered her loyalty to be among her chief virtues. For her, it was the foundation of her greatest pain. Following every loss she would swear to herself, upon her treasured bow, that it would never happen again. Each vow was made in earnest, even as she knew it would never be so. Her very nature insisted that there must always be someone, just one creature, that she would confide in and place all of her faith in. Her soul craved a singular intimacy that would never waiver, and in some respects, she sought the disappointment when it inevitably did. Of course, she had close confidants, some were even immortal, as was she. Serantha, the sister she'd never had, was ever present. For a High Elf and a mage, she wasn't half bad, lacking the arrogance that often accompanied those more accomplished in the supernatural arts. Wulolas, sage and wise druid, would never fail to drop in for a visit just when she needed him most. Mirisa Runningbear, clever and witty shaman, somehow devoid of the passionate temper of her Barbarian heritage. Cherished friends from before her adolescence, they were dear to her of course, but they were not the cause of her distress. The groundwork of her misery had been set many decades before, beneath the trees of Kelethin…
Flashback
The raid on Crushbone had been invigorating and adrenaline still pumped through her system. She'd broken from the group hours ago, bid Serantha farewell and trekked back to the tree city of her ancestors. Meticulously she had cleaned her body of the sweat, gore, and grime of yet another successful raid. She'd carefully stitched the three inch gash that had stretched its way across her upper arm - that was going to be another scar. That poor orc was so proud of himself as his blade had split her skin; she was more proud when her Axe of the Iron Back split his skull. Methodically, blood and entrails were scrubbed and scoured from her armor and weapons, followed by a reshaping and honing of the blades and a polish all around. Once she was certain that she could, in fact see herself in the metallic surfaces, she laid down to slip into a blissfully dream-free sleep. At least, that had been the plan. A half hour of tossing and turning and she knew rest was not forthcoming. Peering outside and seeing that the sun had not yet risen, she pulled her weary bones from her bed. 'What to do, what to do?' Eyes falling to her desk, she settled for fletching 5 dozen arrows to refill her quivers. Years of experience had their drawbacks as that only killed about two hours. Another moment to test the stringing of her bow, as always, it remained true. Still, she could not rest. Perhaps a walk through the forests below would bring sleep for her.
'Just one more quick stroll through the "newbie yard" and then I'll hit the bank,' she chided herself. Of course, she'd only said this about ten times already. She knew she was restless and trying to avoid settling down for some much needed rest. Wulolas was not due to breeze through town again for a few more days so she couldn't even count on him for a quick workout. Auctions were never very interesting this time of day; no one was yet willing to drop their prices by even a few copper. Still she took comfort that there would always be a youngster in need of a little back up. So long as no one trained a rabbit across her path, she was more than willing to help out. 'Rabbits….' she thought with a shudder, 'They're not all cute tails and twitchy noses, ya know.'
Somehow, above the hustle and bustle that was ubiquitous even below the Elven city, a distinct voice caught her attention. There was nothing particularly special about this voice, mind you, but something about it piqued her interest. Vaguely, it registered to her mind that the tone of voice could not possibly belong to any elf. There was a deep and gruff tenor that told her…perhaps… dwarf? Guild formations were increasingly common these days and Kelethin had become a sort of haven for all who were wishing to head their own little armies. Again she heard it, "Slayers of the Realm is now recruiting!! All races and classes!! Below "newbie lift!" Before she knew it, her feet were on the path to the so-called "newbie lift', on the path that would change her life. If she'd had known then what she knew now, the smart thing, the only thing she could have done would have been to run in any other direction.
Rounding the small hill just before the city, she allowed her senses to begin focusing, seeking out her prey. The crowd was fairly light for this hour so upon arriving at her destination she need only wait. Surely a true guild barker would not stop after only a few announcements. All of a sudden, all of her senses were assaulted by the deep timbre of "that voice". She turned and instantly found herself standing face to face, well, face to chest with the owner of the voice she could now pluck from all the voices of Kelethin. This was certainly no dwarf. She silently thanked Tunare that he couldn't possibly see her because she was fairly certain she was standing mouth agape and perhaps drooling a bit.
Standing before her was a rare sight in Kelethin, even with the massive influx of immigrants now flooding the city. A Barbarian, true and whole. It's not that his ilk were not welcome in Kelethin, more a matter of the climate. As a people, the Halasians preferred the frozen plains that inhabitants of the tree city considered wastelands. But here, in all of his glory, and oh how glorious he was, stood a strapping young Barbarian. She stared at him for a moment, taking in the vibrant blue kilt that looked absolutely nothing like a skirt on him. The broad breastplate covering the large expanse of his chest matched the hue of his kilt , but glistened with a metallic sheen. In all respects, the pair were polar opposites. Petite, light eyes and blonde hair pulled in a tight ponytail cascading along her spine; lithe and preferring the shadows of the forests of the Greater Faydark, she was the definition of Elven grace. He however was tall, thick with muscles and sinew, dark hair and eyes, a warrior through and through. While she proudly wore the marks of her race and caste, she briefly wondered why he was without the woad customary of his people. She was momentarily reminded of the polar bears she'd seen in her travels. From that moment on, in her mind he was the "Bear King". 'Now or never', she thought.
"So, Slayers of the Realm, huh?" she queried, hoping she wasn't blushing too terribly. "Hm… and who might you be, little one?" he replied with a nod. "Lilicrow Crimsonslayer… Your new favorite ranger." she retorted with a smirk that she hoped was flirty, maybe even sexy, with a hint of "dangerous" thrown in for good measure. She feared it was actually more like shy, terrified, and slightly moronic. She just couldn't bring herself to tell him that she was older than he could ever imagine.
She had joined the guild after a brief "audition" as he'd called it, and from that moment they were together whenever possible. She learned all she could of Mclon Rabbitslayer, and found even his name to be pleasing to her. Her "Bear King" banished the bunnies who so plagued her existence, and never once teased her for her "bunny fear" as he called it. He took it very seriously and tolerated no mockery from anyone else. He kept her secrets and trusted her with his own.
Of course there were skirmishes that kept them apart for extended periods of time, and the occasional family business left them unable to reunite for months on end, but somehow, the day always came when she would look up and there he would stand. Each time they were brought back together, it was if no time had passed at all. They would revel in showing off new skills and new spells garnered during their travels, exchange updates about various guild members and general gossip from their respective home cities. Their relationship defied designation. Most watching them would think they were a couple; if they were, it was without verbal agreement. They each kept their own houses in separate cities, but they were used more as inn rooms on whatever continent the two were hunting. Most of the time, they could be spotted staying together in makeshift camps. By definition, she was his second in command, running the guild in his absence. The lower ranking members jokingly referred to her as the "Uncrowned Queen" of the Slayers. No matter how you classified them, he was her leader, her most trusted confidante, and her omnipresent guardian. He protected her fiercely and she would have gladly laid her life down for him; and in fact had, but only temporarily thanks to a few handy resurrection potions.
End Flashback
Standing on the deck of the Maiden's Voyage IV, she closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of the salty sea spray on her face. Certainly portals were an infinitely faster method of travel, but Lilicrow was an old soul and always held a preference for the ships of old. Her mind idly wandered back to the original Maiden's Voyage she rode over a century ago, before the Plane of Knowledge portals opened up planar travel in the blink of an eye. She tried to avoid the settling of her gaze upon the horizon, knowing what she would find. The snow had begun to fall in somber silence, coming to rest in small banks upon the deck. Halas could clearly be seen in the distance, and was growing closer as the wind increased. She allowed her stare to fix itself on a particularly uninteresting mound, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest. Breaking from her reverie she stood rigid while the other passengers hurried to depart the ship. Nearly a hundred years ago, she'd sworn never to return to this place. This was his city, it no longer had anything to offer her but pain and memories she'd spent an age desperate to forget. Staring at the gates for an epoch, she was still unable to force her legs to move. She was more than hesitant, not uneasy exactly, and scared was not the correct word either. Blind terror was a much more accurate description. The woman who used the fabled Estate of Unrest as her playground was sickened and horrorstruck by a town in which only one ghost could harm her. Knowing the ship would be docked for quite some time, she spun on her heel and made for the cargo hold. All of a sudden, now seemed like the perfect time to check on her horse.
Flashback
As the next round of Dwarven Ale was placed before her, Lili couldn't help but wonder why nearly every raid with Serantha ended in a bar in Kaladim. Even more perplexing was how Serantha always managed to "accidentally" stumble upon untold numbers of "lost dungeons" ripe for the plunder. It had become a bit of a game between them; Serantha would beg Lili to join her, feeding her the line about desperate need of a ranger and "her rangerly skills", Lili would always refuse out right, knowing she'd be packing up her quivers to join her sister and her rag-tag family of raiders. The Kerran Beastlord, Purrilia was always kind and blessedly devoid of fleas. Purrilia would make a point of smacking Lili with her tail, and Lili was always certain to scratch incessantly in her presence. That's how their peers knew that they truly were fond of each other.
Today's little adventure was definitely going down in the "BUST" category. A single gem and a cache of weapons only fit for Serantha's elemental pets were the only spoils to be found this day. As an apology, the afternoon festivities would be on Serantha. Lilicrow kept her pace a slow crawl, knowing that Serantha had no tolerance. She was very devoted to her magical erudition, and rarely drank enough to impair her control. Gradually, as it always did, the conversation shifted to Mclon. Lili recounted how he had once again drifted off to act as muscle on a reconnaissance mission on the continent of Kunark. The forces of the Elven nations were once again gathering to attempt to reclaim the port city of Fironia Vie. Serantha remarked that he would undoubtedly be bored with so little action. Lili agreed wholeheartedly, but luckily he was expected back within the month.
An abrupt, unsettling silence engulfed the bar as a hulking woman lurched through the heavy wooden doors. One look at her and it was obvious that her stumbling was not the result of drink. This was a hardened Barbarian champion, not a inebriated lout found in back alleys. Her long red hair fell in a thick braid down her back, and her deep red woad, once unmistakably beautiful was now marred by a thick scar bisecting it nearly perfectly. Beneath her chain mail kilt, the instantly recognizable cloth of a makeshift bandage was visible. Lilicrow was thunderstruck to realize that she recognized the warrior as a Slayer, and it pained her that she could not recall her name. With great distress Lilicrow realized that seeing this Slayer here could not bode well, and with dogged determination, she stood for the forthcoming report. The soldier spotted Lilicrow immediately and quickly made her way across the bar. The only sign of pain she showed was a slight glint in her eyes, that only the truly war-tested would recognize. It did not escape Lilicrow's attention.
No verbal report would be given. The much taller Barbarian simply stood steadfast before the deceptively fragile looking Elf. Locking gazes for an uncomfortable moment, the warrior lost out to the part of her that was woman, and dropped her eyes to the floor. She could not voice it, it was far too terrible to fathom. Wordlessly, nearly breathlessly, she raised a parchment and placed it in Lilicrow's hand. Bowing slightly at the waist, she took her leave, unable to bear witness to what would unfold.
Knowing what she held in her hand was the worst part of it all, being certain in her soul before she'd seen any real proof. She could feel the band which was holding the scroll closed. She was unable to look at the ring, and worse still, she did not need to, knowing she would find the seal of the griffon, the mark which acted as Mclon's family crest. Gathering all of her resolve, she removed the ring and unrolled the parchment. Calmly, almost sightlessly she read the account of how Mclon had fallen. Cold and precise words of how a patrol of Drachnids had stumbled across the camp, how everyone was so certain that the entire squadron of abominations had been destroyed. How it became painfully obvious that at least one had escaped the slaughter as the forces of Fironia Vie swarmed down upon the tiny camp. Proud but not arrogant words followed, detailing how despite being hit with three arrows he'd still managed to defeat four Dragoon Lieutenants before being overcome by six foes. Even with those numbers, it was still suspected that he'd fallen to a yet unknown poison from the arrows that he'd had little resistance to. She clutched the ring in her hand knowing there was no possibility of a mistake, the ring had been taken from his body as proof. Further evidence came as the scroll was marked with the crest of the Slayers. Slowly, as if in a dream, the parchment fell from her hand and she blindly made her way from the bar.
Certain she was already aware of what she would find, Serantha plucked the scroll from the crumb and bone littered floor. Taking a quick look, she picked the words Mclon, lost, and burial. Affixed at the bottom was a seal that she recognized easily. She'd seen that griffon before tattooed on her comrade's shoulder. The tribal bird was the sign of the Slayers. Carefully, she rolled the scroll and placed it in her backpack. She orders a stout Halasian brew, elemental control be damned, she hurt for her friend. Lili would need time alone, and Serantha knew where she would find her.
Three hours later, Serantha enters the grounds of the legendary Estate of Unrest. Mere steps onto the property, the remnants of scarecrows, were bats, and the odd zombie are scattered about. One zombie corpse in particular disturbs Serantha; it's obvious that at one time it was a Barbarian male. An arrow with Lili's tell-tale red fletchings is embedded nearly completely between it's eyes. For some reason, Lili wanted that specific creature to die quickly. Brambles can be seen, all that's left of her preferred rooting traps. 'At least I know she's been here.' But it's of little comfort. The walk through the mansion is uneventful, though more than a little disgusting as she tries to avoid severed appendages. 'Girl always favored the zombies.' Making her way to the master suite, she finds Lilicrow. The floor is thick with dust so Serantha is unable to locate the essence from the spirit that Lili must have vanquished to take up residence in the room. Seated upon what could easily be described as a throne, Lilicrow stared into space, seeing nothing. She was such a heartbreaking picture that Serantha wondered if the spirit had not been dispatched at all, but had rather recognized in the Elf a kindred spirit, completely devoid of hope.
Strolling purposefully to stand at her side, Serantha clasps a hand on the smaller Elf's shoulder. "We make for the tundra, then?" she asked, keeping pity from her voice but loading it with empathy.
"All I once had in Halas is gone." Lilicrow replied coldly. Seeing the hollowness in her eyes and the defeat in her tone, Serantha swore an oath to herself to never mention his name again. She knew her friend, she would force aside the pain of this loss and focus on her work. Hone her skills, lock away all emotion. Certainly she'd become a better ranger, but at what cost?
Lilicrow silently rose, taking her place at the mage's side. Serantha summoned a portal that would take them both back to Kelethin. She would settle Lili in as best she could and travel on to Felwithe from there. Lilicrow may need her now, but she would not allow anyone close for quite some time. She would bury this loss even as his family buried his corpse. What frightened the High Elf most was that with the pain, Lilicrow would undoubtedly bury a piece of her soul.
End Flashback
The ship had been docked for over two hours. Mirisa Runningbear was quite certain she'd not missed her exiting the ship, and just to be sure, she'd questioned the dockhands. No one had seen the Elf depart the ship. She had however learned that the only Wood Elf on the voyage was not blonde, rather she had long dark brown hair falling in soft waves to her waist. As she crested the ramp, the deckhands all tilted their heads toward the entrance to the cargo bay. 'Guess they know who I'm lookin' for'. "Looking for Lilicrow, best tracker on Norrath and in top five on Luclin!" she shouted down into the hold. "Top three! Planar raid three months ago took out two. Meet us at the bottom of the ramp.", was her flippant reply.
Quick greetings and hugs are followed by a quiet walk through the city. Sights and sounds that once made her heart soar now seemed to crush it like a frail bird. She dared not raise her eyes to the guild house. Boarding her horse at the local stable, she slowly breaks away from Mirisa, walking a path she'd never taken before. The young shaman knows better than to attempt to sway her. Even getting the Elf to journey to Halas was nearly impossible. She follows the Elf, knowing full well that her presence was not necessary, nor was it discouraged.
'Past the city, just before the Everfrost.' Following her feet, Lilicrow finds herself outside of the city with no real knowledge of how she go there. Of course she'd been here before, decades ago, but that was just a formality. All of the higher ranking guild members paid respects to every fallen comrade. Mclon had laughed at the extra cloak she'd packed then. Today, she wore no cloak, the cold could no longer reach her.
Finally lifting her eyes, she saw it. A solitary claymore stands embedded deeply in the permafrost, shadowed by a larger than life statue. She studies the statue and notes each imperfection. The nose is a smidge too wide, the shoulders aren't quite wide enough, nowhere near enough muscle in the arms or legs. All in all, though, it's a good likeness. And there, faced with his image, a solitary tear rolls down her cheek. After nearly a century, that single tear is enough to crush her resolve and open the flood gates.
Standing back, not daring to intrude upon the moment, Mirisa watches for a moment. As she sees the sobs wrack the shoulders of her friend, she takes a few steps back and quietly takes her leave. This is a moment that requires solitude even if Lilicrow could never be aware of her presence. The deep, mournful wails are soul wrenching, and the Barbarian can stand it no longer. Undoubtedly, there would be tales told of the painful moans heard on the tundra that day. She continues to sob long after the tears have stopped coming. They have frozen in their tracks down her cheeks, but she makes no move to wipe them away.
She simply stands and walks out into the Everfrost, not looking back.