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Leithian in Names

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  • Leithian in Names

    Leithian.

    Celaldur had told him to come to the forests at dusk and pray, to be named by Sehanine and to be freed from the stain of humanity. And though Celaldur spoke only to an illusion, he had obeyed all the same.

    He had thought about his own name, the name given to him by his mother, and taught to him by his father. He had not known his mother then, but his father had explained it. Alye'i'an ...together and long. Long Together.

    He had not known its significance then. He had not known until infernal spirits had nearly taken everything from him, had stolen him from himself, had taken root in his soul. Long Together. Together, forever.

    But she was dead, and the name she gave him now seemed more a memento of a curse than anything else. One that he could not wipe away with acid, or magic, or force of will; not like he had done with his twin moons. He could hide it, keep it secret from those around him ... mask its presence and dub himself false monikers to walk amongst men once again. He could not destroy it.

    But perhaps he could replace it.

    Leithian.

    Freedom.

    How fitting, that he should receive this from Sehanine, the same day that Willem the Tinkerer took from him a debt; the debt of a love long lost. A debt that Willem implied would be paid, regardless of his intent. A debt that would not bind him, but set him free.

    Tamara ... can he really take you from me?

    Even as he whispered her name, he felt something had changed. The ache that he felt in his breast at her loss was ... not gone. But less. No longer haunting. No longer twisting at him from within. No longer what it used to be.

    But that could be from the erosion of time. His people loved dearly, passionately, remembered strongly, felt deeply yes ... but even to the fair folk, love could be lost.

    Or perhaps their love was not real at all. Tamara ... they had been together for what seemed only seconds, before they were undone. Before he had been shunned. Before she had been slain. And Tamryn ... she was not the same person. He knew that now; a part of him had always known. But the other parts had overwhelmed reason to tell him that Tamryn was Tamara reborn. That she was the same.

    She was not the same; she had made that unquestionably clear. But he had clung to her because she was all that he had known. All he thought he could ever know. She was his beacon, but a false one. A savior that never came.

    It was not her fault, he knew. He was beyond even her immense power to save. Still, the thought that perhaps in one gesture she could wipe away all the tragedies of his past, all the despair and loneliness ... it was too tempting not to think in such a way. What else was left to him?

    He knew she was not his to hold onto. She had not been, for a long time.

    Leithian ... Tamara forgive me, but I can cling to you no longer. It is time I found my own path. I release you, Tamara ... from my song, my stars, my spirit. I release you, so that I can find the truth that is me.

    "I am Leithian," he whispered into the wind.

    It sang back, "We are free."

  • #2
    He plummeted downwards, body twisting in the air, finding neither purchase nor leverage to right himself or stay his fall. Darkness enveloped the world, extending to as far as his eyes could see, swallowing the sun, the moon, the stars. Hovering in the sky, it wrapped itself around the flesh of a blue-skinned elf, her smile distorting to horror. He watched, as oblivion consumed her.

    Still falling, Leithian cried out; his voice withered and died as it left his throat, as impotent as he was himself.

    The ground rushed forward to meet him.

    He woke with a start. He found himself at the city gates, surrounded by champions of law and righteousness. He recognized the Legionnaires, the healers and mystics, his brethren.

    Maia was not among them.

    Daylight broke through overhead. The sky was clear, clearer than he had ever seen before. No, he corrected himself. He had seen the sky like this once before, but not in his present form. He had seen it only on leathery wings balanced by a long tail, fire clinging to his scales and claws.

    The City flew. But not Maia. Maia was nowhere to be found.

    "Centurio," he said, trying to steal the Legionnaire's attention. For a moment, he was afraid that no sound would come with his words, but it did, raspy and dry from the aftermath of the attack. "What happened to her Grace?"

    " ... All that remains ... are memories ..."

    He knew it already, in his heart of hearts. It was so obvious. He had failed. Once again, he had failed. Failed to protect Maia. Failed to fulfill's Osclow's parting wishes. Failed to live up to himself.

    Chains - made not of any metal - strapped themselves to his soul, pulling him down, weighing him with loss.

    For the first time in a long time, he heard a familiar voice in the back of his mind. It shrieked with a thunderous echo, demanding to be acknowledged: "I am Alyrian! I am Alyrian!"

    Perhaps he was not free, after all.

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    • #3
      Leithian ...

      He stood at a precipice of the floating city, feet pressed to crumbling tiles that even now broke under his steps, tumbling over the jagged edges of the island and into depths unseen. The wind at this altitude was deafening, but to Leithian it seemed as though everything was silent.

      His mind felt dull and exhausted. He had not tranced in two days. Failure occupied his every thought, and the chains that bound his soul seemed to close upon him ever more tightly. They sucked the air from his lungs, leaving him breathless and weak.

      Freedom would be so easy. Freedom from ... all of this.

      He swayed with the wind, body tilting with the currents. Back and forth, back and forth. A falcon's scream pierced through the sky, and then ...

      He fell.

      Leithian's body plummeted downwards, twisting in the air, finding neither purchase nor leverage to right himself or stay his fall. He closed his eyes. Darkness enveloped the world, swallowing the sun, the moon, the stars.

      The ground rushed forward to meet him.

      He felt a sharp pain in his back. Muscle and sinew wrapped around his frail body. Leathery tendrils burst from his shoulders, expanding into flaps of skin that beat against the air. Just as he thought he would achieve freedom, he heard another voice. "This can not be our end."

      With a massive groan, the beast he had become slammed his wings down and upwards, and with each exertion of force, Leithian felt himself rising, felt his body being pulled - as though by a leash - upwards, upwards back towards the floating isle.

      The sun had reached its apex in the sky; its light forced away shadow and oblivion alike. He flew towards it as fast as he could, knowing full well that release would never be found there.

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      • #4
        It seemed hours before Alyrian finally gave up his ascent.

        Exhausted, he turned back towards the distant silhouette of the city, what appeared to be a dark splotch against an immaculate cerulean canvas. His muscles burned; even in this form, flight was not an easy thing. His shape took to the skies through sheer power, not from any sort of aerodynamic design.

        He beat against the currents of air, gliding where he was able. It seemed like hours before the familiar shapes of the city were just barely visible. In the distance, he could just make out the Triumvirate Temple within the Aspirations, the statue of Verinus within Castrum, the broken roofs of Cheapside's housing. He whispered a quiet word and his form turned invisible. It would not be long before his scaled claws would find stable ground to land on once more, and it would not be prudent to do so in his current shape, for all to see. He had enough problems just getting back to Cheapside, without having to deal with a mob of terrified Legionnaires.

        How right he was.

        Just as he began to near the borders of the floating city, shadowy figures leaped from its edges. They seemed like fleas, jumping blindly to their deaths. The monstrous devil would have laughed, if not for what happened next.

        Brilliant sparks of pale blue, silver, and violet energy swirled forward towards him with blinding speed. He did not need to detect magic to know this was an arcane assault. A torrent of the shimmering energy arced towards his still-hovering form.

        He bucked immediately, throwing himself in a jagged arc. His body strained with the effort, and though a good deal of magic hurtled harmlessly past his form, several blasts of magic collided with his chest, arms, and legs. As resistant as his fiendish skin was, these spells penetrated his defenses, exploded on contact and dealt him massive blows that felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his bones.

        He screamed.

        No sooner than the monstrous shriek had left his lips, a dozen humanoid figures encircled his still flying form, surrounding him in a circle. He recognized their markings; Hands of Mundus. Obviously they had penetrated his invisibility. As to be expected of the City's newest defense against airborne invaders.

        Alyrian briefly contemplated lashing out with a counterattack, but he immediately thought better of it. If their Magic Missiles could hurt him so badly, he would pass on learning of the other spells in their repertoire. Instead, he stilled his wings... and fell.

        Once more, he plummeted downwards, waiting for his form to be angled completely perpendicular to the ground before beating his weary wings to increase speed. The Hands gave chase only briefly, throwing more streams of energy at him. A few caught Alyrian by the tail and feet, but not enough to dissuade his descent.

        Alyrian turned his head back to watch the Hands return to their city, satisfied that the devil had fled. With all his remaining strength, he arced his body upwards, desperately beating the air to break his fall.

        He finally managed to get himself back to solid ground, his fiendish form melting away even as his feet touched the earth. Sweat poured from every inch of his body. He winced as he turned back to stare at Sundren -half in pain, half from the glare of the sun.

        Getting back into the city was clearly going to be more difficult than leaving.

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