STORYIMAGE

Arrival

The north wind was blowing that spring morning. The people had to consider the wind warm for it was warmer then the winter they had to endure. Still the wind bit through even the warmest of cloak. Those who were educated in the ways of the world knew that the cold spring was due to the Ice Stream in the Ocean. Those who were uneducated didn't know and didn't care. It was cold and that was good enough for them. The fact it was cold was also good enough for him.

Green hills just starting to become alive formed the natural harbor that made Port Risedale the trade capitol of Gault. The sun rested just above the town shining on the great ship that approached. He was on that ship. The three white sails flapped in the cold wind as men on deck wrestled with the rigging. The old plancks of the ship were stangely calm in the morning air, but the movement of the ship over the waves still kept him from a restful sleep. The sky was still coloured by the rising sun and the sea was mirror to the heavens. Looking out the window at the way the sky and the sea surround the hills, the feeling of life, it did not lift his spirit, it could not touch his soul. He heard the comotion up on deck. His jonrney was finally at an end.

He had never before crossed the sea, or any body of water of considerable size. His determination sent him down this path. Caused him to cross the to this the far lands. The journey itself was far from pleasant as he did not exactly take to water well. There were time he though for sure he would starve as he could not keep any food down. For the captain of the ship he was only a hiderence, but he had paid the captain for passage. He had paid all he had to make it across the sea. Now in his pockets he barely had the means to live. His journey across the ocean was over, now he was starting a new journey.

His name was Verillian Seldimere, but that was name he hadn't heard in a great many year. It harkoned of a different time. One that parts of him did not want to remember. Since then people have called him Roth. As his ears indicated he is Elven, but only by blood. He doesn't live like most Elves. The woods do not favour him. A love of beauty and a respect for life ingrained into all Elves is lacking in him. His dark weathered face contrasted the pale smooth faced image most people think of when they hear the word Elf. An emptiness in his eyes, a weekness in his posture, and anger in his voice all made him to seem not of his kind. And not with his kind has been or a long time.

Alone in a human world he did what he had to survive. He did the only thing he ended up being any good at. Death was his trade. He made the bounty over those who needed to die what ever the reason. It started out being hired to fight in battle as a common mersinary, but soon his living transformed. For a price he drew his sword and drew the blood of anyone. It was easy then. He could focus his pain and hate and justify anyones death. After fifteen years of blood on his sword and his soul it was not as easy anymore. Time had made Roth loose sight of his pain.

So Roth traveled across the great sea to a land he did not know, and which did not know him. His only hope to be reborn like the pheonix. Bury who he was. End the killing. Clean blood from his sword for the last time. There was a part of him that knew that he had come to terms with the truth. There was nothing else he could do. There was nothing else he knew. Ignoring that he pressed on hoping for something better

Was it in front of him? Beyond the hills? In the sea water, golden in the morning. Was this something better? If it was he couldn't feel it. All he could feel was the cold wind, moving of the boat, and a emptiness in his spirit. Like a requirement, a senstence he had to carry out he slowly made himself more presentable. Slipped on his leather boots lacing them up tight. Dawning his dirty read tunic over his under shirt, and over that his leather vest. He slowed as he straped his scabbard to his waist. Moving with a kind of solemn step he approached the blade sitting against the wall in the corner.

The morning light reflect off it exqusits manufacture. The entire sword shawn a silvery glow. Like a spirit itself was forge into it. Twisting together various strips of metal joined to form one handle. Jewels more a part of the hilt than decoration adorned the hilt. The metal flowed out completing the cross twisting together to met at a points. The grip was covered in red satin with long red strip of material flowing out of the handle. The Hilt and blade seem at the same time made of one piece of metal and countless small strips of metal. The blade it self was thin and sold. It moved well in anyones hand, and shook with the energy of its master. All around the edge ancient Elven script was worked into it. It told a story, but Roth could no longer remember it. It was starting to fade, after fifteen year of abuse. The beauty of the sword was unspeakable to those who saw it, but it didn't not touch Roth's soul. If anything seeing it sitting up against the wall made him feel sick somewhere deep inside. Roth pushed these thoughts away and picked up the sword moveing with rather than carrying it once it was in his hand. If you saw him holding it even for a second you could see he held it not a like a tool but a part of him, a partner in motion. Gracefully he sheathed the blade. After gatherthing eveything into his bag he was ready to move on deck, and finally get off this ship.

The dock that stretched into the sea seemed cumbersomely large for the relatively small harbor front. But it had to be large to recieve the great ships of trade from across the sea. A human constructed stone pier reinforced the shoreline and stretched some sixty feet into the harbor. Wooden extention of teh edge of the stone pier projected in every direction. In the cool morning air workers and harbor keepers started to scramble to recieve the large craft. Merchants who saw the vessel approaching already were rushing down to the harbor front with wagons in tow. The activity was mirrored on the ship as sailors worked on deck and in the hold preparing to dock and release the ship's cargo. Among the shipment was Roth finally on deck walking casually towards the front of ship. He constrasted the men around him who were all but running as others barked out orders as the ship drifted nearer and nearer the pier.

The ship apporaching the dock was like Spring approach over the land. Like the hills the dock was becoming more and more alive with comotion. Harbor men, shop keeps, kids who were just curious to see the great ship. Lines were thrown out from the ship to be recieve by the men on the docks to tie off the great vessel. Huge metal anchors sunck into the habor bed, chain tighten and the ship gentle drift was pulled to a crawl. A feeling of empty persited in Roth's soul. He watch some many people, lively and excited that the ship had arrived. He should be too. This is chanse to start anew, begin again, to run away. But he still felt is old life hanging off his back, written on his face, in his breath. Even the pure faces of the childer could not touch him. If they knew what he had done. Surely people he had killed has childern. Now they had no more fathers. He felt is fair enough, he had not family either. The pain could justify anything. No more.

In due course like the rest of the cargo, Roth was let off the ship. Slowly he walked down the wooden plank to the dock below. For the first time in what seemed months his feet were on solid ground. Keeping to himself not looking at anyone he moved quickly to the more sold stone pier. Moving gracefully around the busy people, consumed with there own business for the day, he made his way out of the habor front. He didn't both to look at them but he knew people were looking at him. As he moved the comotion quieted around him. He did hear it but he knew the childern where asking there parents who that was over there. He imagined them replying an Elf and saying how he didn't look like how the stories described Elves. It fit he thought, since he is not much of an Elf. He had to find something. Something to do. Something to keep him alive. People looked at him because of what he looked like, not becuase of what he knew he was. Somehow he found this comforting. He could find it here. He just kept telling him that as he walked through the streets, not looking at anyone keeping his face in his hood, as on lookers stared at him. He was going to find it here in the far lands.

The Gauntlet Inn

Two weeks had past since that first morning of arrival. That day he spent walking the streets of Port Risedale asking wnyone he could find if they required a hand with anything. Moving, carrying, labouring, guarding anything he could do for any wage, anything to help him build a new life. Every shopkeep, blacksmith, and establishment turn him away. Some just said no. Others said they didn't need anyone right now. Still others said they didn't deal with his kind, which struck him pectularly odd since they had probably not seen any of "his kind" before. Most intersting was those who said if they have work to give, many people who taking before they would give it to a foreinger. Unlike himself, Roth keep his hopes up. Surely someone would be in need of some services he could provide. Some people told him that the only people who were hiring were the army, but they would never take someone who wasn't like there own. Roth largely ignored these comments though as a life of service to a country he did not know was not in his interested.

He didn't want to linger, he kept moving out of Port Risedale. He heard there was a larger city to the north up the coast line, and farming villages on the way. Two weeks Roth traveled to Lullingham Cross. On the way he stop and every village and farm house he saw. With every shaking head and and closed door his spirits, what little he had, began to falter. Farmer experessed that they would barely feed there own family with all the taxes they had to pay yet beable to afford a hired hand. Had he wasted his time Roth pondered. He had the heard the far lands were thriving. When he over heard merchants talking about this place they said it was a very lucrative investment. For shipping good to maybe, but as a place to live it was looking like that would not be case. In the city, in Lullingham Cross he could find work. Roth couldn't accept that he had thrown this chance away.

Lullingham Cross was a large town, but by no means a city by the standards that Roth had seen in his travels before. It was built on the coast to act a stop off for intra-nation trade and as major fishing village. Roth was afraid there might be opening on the fishing boats, and he would have to face being on water once more. On the fishing docks though he found no work. Also he seemed not to be the only looking. Others were asking, rather begging for employment of any kind. Some worked for fish, but those people rather last long at work. Roth heard that they had no homes, and lived on the street eating what fish they got from working the boats, but one day they would fall ill and be unable to come out and fish. With out food or shealter there fate was sealed on the streets. But Roth didn't grasp the extend of the situation.

For now Roth made his home in the center of town where the noble neigbourhood met the common people's. Roth found it slightly strange that the nobles great houses where in a walled off section of the city with guards at the gates. It wasn't strange that nobles wanted to keep beggers from there streets, but to have the guards armed, as if they lives were in danger. Roth sensed some unreast in the town. A small inn known as the Gauntlet Inn servered as a place to sleep and exist for now. In was a few alley ways from the centeral market that marked the cneter of the town. Good from out of town and fish fresh from the sea where put on display everyday for noble and commoner alike. It was an area Roth tried to avoid no having much taste for large crowds or money to spend on any goods.

Morning had arrived again. Not so cold as the day Roth arrived in the far lands, but stil there was a chill in the air. He layed sleeping on the second floor in room twentysix of the Gauntlet Inn. The inn itself was small and relatively peaceful. The evening weren't to roudy, and people seemed to treat the place with a kinda of repect.

Suddenly Roth awoke. He was freezing. Wrapping the simple white blanket about himself he jumped to his feet. The wind had opened his shutter. Under his breath he swore. He moved to the window and close it, shutting up the sun, wind, and world. He released his blanket and look around the room to locate his clothing. The sound of the wind on the shutters mocked him. Slowly and methodically he got dressed. Again he would get ready for the day. Put on himself. Walk around the town, down street and throw markets asking anyone he met if they need work done. Any kind of work. Why did he bother. He knew, inside he remember his want for a new life and a fresh start, but it was no where to be found here. All hope he had was eroding with every step. No one was hiring, as people where dying in the streets becasue of it. He had started to see it. Would he end up like them. Dead, rotting, contributing to the disease that infested to ghettos of the town. Still he had to try didn't he. What if he found nothing. What would he do. How could avoid simply dieing in the far lands. Once dressed and ready for the day he grabbed his esquisite blade sheated it and headed downstairs to speak with the only friend he had made. John Kollgore, the keeper of the Gauntlet Inn.

The common room was quiet. It was after the hour most experience traveler would leave and before anyone would stop in for lunch. Only the drunks from the night before who still need to sober up sat at the tables, barely conscious to the world. The bar maid took care of them, they were very experienced in handling the regulars. Roth paid no mind has he slowly trudged down stairs. John was scrub what remained of the breakfast rush. For him this has become habit the last few days. Roth got up after everyone, came down to chat and have breakfast. John quite enjoyed the chats, he rarely got to really talk to travelers, especially one who had come so far.

John owned the Gauntlet, and intended to hang on to it as long as he could. Times were tight even for Inn owners. As a bar keep and Inn owner, John always acted as an information hub, most in his position did. Over the years of serving and talking to people he gained various aquaintences from around the town, and of course he had a tab on traveler who came into town and stayed at his Inn. These days he had to charge people for information occationally, and he really hated it. He would much rather keep thing friendly, but time are tight even for Inn Owners.

"How are you doing, my friend," John said in his big voice. It startled Roth as it made him realize he had just stopped at the bottom of the stairs for no reason.

"Good enough. What for breakfast today?" Roth's lips almost curled up into a smile as he moved to the bar to sit front of John.

John reached out and tapped Roth on the shoulder, "That's right, stomach before anything else." He took a step back and shouted into the kitchen, "Hey, Nancy, what's in the traps?"

In responce was the only voice Roth had heard which was bigger than John's, "Very funny Johnny. We got bread, cheese, tea, beacon, and eggs."

John turned with a smile and said seriously, "We got bread, tea, bacon, and eggs."

Roth glared at him, then relaxed, "You forgot cheese."

"No I didn't, I know you odn't like cheese," John's smile widened.

Roth hurumpthed. "Sure. I also don't like eggs, I'll take some of everything else though."

John yelled over his shoulder, "You got that, no eggs for Roth."

"Yes dear, I'm not a deaf as a beggar you know," came from the kitch.

John sighed and his face fell into seriousness. He gave a supicious look around the common room and lowered his voice, "Roth, any luck in your search?"

"Nah."

"I'm sorry but I can't give you much in favours. In two days I'll need more money my friend."

"If I had any you would be the first person to see it, but I can't get work, no one can get work," Roth shook his head.

John nodded. He knew the situation around town, around the country well. "I know, " he grimessed in thought. Then he looked at Roth carefully. "What about that sword of yours, if you are as desperate as you seem to be it must be worth a pretty pound."

Roth growled to himself, "Melindia Calesu Baunaious."

"Excuse me."

"You are your sword," Roth said simiplely. One of the many code of a Bladesinger, and one of the few Roth still lived and died by. He actually felt that he respected his sword more than himself. Such an eligant blade belonged in the hand of a nobel Elf only. It did not belong in his, but to let any one else touch it would be an act of dispect even he could not bring himself to do. If it meant his death he would rather by his own hand with such a blade then let it fall into the hands of anyone else. "I cannot let anyone else have it."

John took a second to think about what his friend has just said. Then he said suddenly, "What did you used to do, you know back across the sea?"

Roth looked long and hard at the portly man across from him. Then his head fell. "I was a hired man. I fought in battle that weren't mine, and spilt blood for others."

"You don't say. There is always working for the army. It is the only place anyone really can find work."

"John, I came here for a reason, I came here to get away from that live."

The bar keep scratched his chin. "Well if you ever need infromation," John voice turned to a whisper, "I might be able to help you find some employment. Along the hired lines."

Roth took a look around the common room himself. He shook his head at the bar keep, "Thank you, John, but I don't want to return to that feeling. There is only so much blood any man or Elf can take on his hands. They can no longer be clean."

John voice returned to normal as he continued to clean the bar. "I understand that my friend. Just trying to help if I can. I wish I could just let you say, take payment as these lovely morning conversation, but as you know times are tight."

Roth looked at him. He knew it was true. But there was nothing he wanted to say to John right now. If he gave him a break, just a day then maybe he would find what he wanted, what he was looking for. Find a peaceful way to survive in this place. John poured Roth a cup of tea. He could feel the silence surround them too. He wished he could do something for this Elf who had come so far, but he could only serve him well. The underlaying stress in to common room was broken by Nancy yelling from the kitch that Roth's breakfast was ready.

Roth stared down at his food, then back up at John who had returned from righting some of the furnature in the common room. "Surely there has to be something else I can do." Roth stated more than asked.

"I don't know my friend," John burow furrled again, "can you sing or play anyting?"

"Why would you think such at thing," Roth asked with genuine confusion.

"Well," John started, "You are an Elf and--."

"Stop right there. I might have pointed ears but the stories you have heard about Elves don't necessarily apply to me," there seemd to be anger in Roth's eyes.

"No offense my friend, I was just trying to think of anything to help," John big voice tried to calm the Elf.

"I can sing, but the only songs I know are not for enterainment--"

"You would be surprised what people like--"

"Even if they did, they songs I do not wish to remember, and even if I did, I would be disrepecting there history if I was to use them just to survive. They are for Elves alone."

"Your survival seems to be disrespecting your culture. Would you fellow Elves have you die even if you could survive by using skills from your past?"

Roth looked down at his food for a while. "Yes," he said simply.

John nodded slowly. He was apparently preplexed by this. He left Roth to his food and moved around the common room cleaning table and preparing for th lunch rush. Slowly Roth ate his food. He had another day of walking around the over crowed city look for any work that he could find. Some how he could feel today would be like the rest. Nothing would come of his effort. Still he felt some drive to try. Drive, where could it be coming from. Once he ate his last bite he got up, nodded to John and headed out of the Inn. John nodded back, and then shook his head. Two days was all Roth had, maybe three, but John could give no more. Forcing Roth in to street to die was not something John thought he could do. Today he could only hope that the wayward Elf finds whatever he is looking for.

Snake and Daggar

The wind had died down and the sun gone behind the sea when Roth finally stumbled into the Gauntlet. His clothes were soilded and his presence smelled of alcohol. Bruises marked up his skin, and a limp in his step indicated other injuries. John was sitting behind the counter, much where Roth had left him late this moring, he was doing tallys for the days business. Roth could feel John staring at him. John started to shake his head. Roth smiled at him, a smile that did not become Roth. Now John nodded as we got up to help his friend. Once the smell hit John he knew for sure what was going on. Together they moved towards the bar and John sat Roth down letting him lean on to the bar. Roth simply started to laugh, almost giggle. John grunted and moved behind the bar grabing a large cup and poured it full of water.

"I think you'll need this my friend," laughed John.

Roth eyed the substance and drank it on fath.

"So were'd you go to get your self in this state now Roth?" asked John.

"A little place called the Snake and Daggar," Roth sputtered rather unpoetically.

John browe furled again, "Not exactly an Elven bar."

"You know, they said that too. I said I'm not a very Elven Elf." Roth started to coughing as he layed his head down on the bar almost spilling what was left of the water.

John grabed Roth by the hair and pull him up. Roth reacted by swollowing and sitting erect with a bit of a sway. "Now Roth, are you okay?" John asked with a serious tone to his voice, "I not going to watch my new friend just fall apart on me."

Roth took down the rest of the water, and then started to speak again, "I-I will be find. I just need to forget for a few hours."

John looked down, "No luck eh?"

Roth groweled as he slamed the mug on the bar, "No. By the wood no!"

A new mug full of water was sitting infront of Roth. "Here have another glass my friend."

More slowly now Roth drank down the water.

"I wish I could help more," John whispered solomenly, "but I cannot hand you out any favours, not in these times. Two more nights is all you have. With the raise in taxes I barely have enough to feed myself and Nancy."

Roth raised a hand, and slapped back down on the bar. "No worry friend. I understand." The elf groaned loudly. "I should really get some sleep. Could you help me up to my room, John?"

A smile and a laugh came to John's face once more. "Of course friend."

Leaning on John stable frame Roth made his way to the stairs. Together they made it up three step before Roth slipped a bit. The drunken Elf righted himself.

Roth looked staight at John's face and said, "Tell me about the job."

"Now Roth," the portly man started, "are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Oh stop worrying. I won't go out and do anything while drunk. I just want... want to know my choices."

John sighed heavily. He looked around and saw the dark empty bar. Finally he said, "A man by named Lord-Sir Hallane. A political job."

Roth raised his hand, "I need not know why." Roth never did. He used his pain and hate to rationalize it. He did not need someone else's petty excuse. The Elf rested himself on the thick Banster. Slowly he walked up the stairs on his own. He looked down at John. "Thank you John. I can make it by myself I think."

John simply nodded and headed back towards the kitchen.

Searching Streets

The sun was high on a warmer day. The wind still brought cold air from the north but it was simply a breeze, nothing more. There wer those who had been busy since sun raise and were now relaxing to a full lunch. Indeed lunch was in full swing in The Gauntlet Inn when Roth finally came down to the common room.

Roth looked strangely refreshed after such a harsh night. The morning bath helped to easy the hang over and refresh the body. As sternly as always he walked to his favorite stool, second from the stairs. This morning like all other he was carrying his sword. It seemed he was never apart from it. John was already filling up a mug of cold water to help the Elf wake up. After quickly deal with another customer John returned to Roth who had finished his mug already.

"Sleep well?" he asked in this burly voice, strained by demanding customer.

Roth simply nodded. John forced a smile on to his face, which wasn't too hard, and got his friend more water. Roth sighed as he stared into the mug.

Roth finally spoke grumbling to himself, "It is lunch, is it not?"

John smile turned genuine and he said, "Aye, but think of it as getting needed rest."

Roth had to concede a small nod. "But I lost time. After tomorrow night what will I do?"

"Make a decision, my friend. I am sure you have done that before in your travels. Thought I guess it make it no easier," John said plainly.

The Elf gupled down the water. "I have a small order of whatever happens to be good, John. I have to get out on the streets quickly," Roth said.

John went to the kitchen. Roth servaid the gathered crowd. Commoner, merchants, travelers grouped together sat around the common area eating. He had started to ignore the feeling but it was still there. The looks people gave him. The thoughts they must be having. He could hardly blame them. He knew he ment trouble to those who saw him. A stanger of a strange race. A race that doesn't even live on this land naturally. A stranger who always carry a sword. As his thought quieted he could hear it more. The supicion, and the hate in the room. It stirred ill feeling in the Elf. He could feel his anger towards them. A group of peopl ehe didnt event know. He could feel the brewing. He never need to know a person to hate them before. Hate came so naturally. But people do change. People can seek their mistakes, there blindness. Could he, or was it too late.

Roth was thankful to leave The Gauntlet Inn after quickly finishing this meal. He had to get away from the eyes. Get away from himself. The relatively fresh air filled his lungs and he exhale his ill feeling. From person to person, from stranger to stranger his eyes wandered, bt he wasn't looking. His mind was far too busy in thought. What was he going to do? What if he had nothing more then he had now tomorrow night? What should he do? Why did he come to this place? Now all he wanted was to leave before he was forced to spill blood to live again, like the leech or parasite he really is.

Soon he became frustrated with his thought, his question, and no answers. He started to look at the people on the streets as he wandered. Poor and dirty working men they were. Getting poorer and dirtier and they had to work harder and harder to pay higher and higher taxes. Spending there live running in fear from the abssy of complete poverity. Roth could not run, he could only stare at it, looking straight into it, and still not see what it was.

Roth spend the day just wandering. He had all but giving up idley asking shop keeper and people on the street if they could use a hired hand. Over the last serval day it was obviously as such pursuit was a complete failure. Roth was scared of the reacting he might have if he had to hear the same story about how they barely have enough to get by. To see the look from well off who have no time for a poor dirty Elf trying to run from the abssy.

All he could do was walk through the streets and alleys seeing the world infront of him and trying to understand it. Shops, Inns, fountains, street performers, and the great market bazzar gave him distractions from the decision in front of him. Commoners were allowed into the nobel section of the city during the day but it gaurded at night. In park set aside in the richer part of town kids played. Kids of rich parent of course. They were mock sword fighting. Roth couldn't help himself from clenching up when he head one the younger boys announcing loudly, "You're dead!" to another child. The elation in the boy's voice cut through Roth's thoughts. He turn out of the nobel district and headed toward the habor. What was he going to do with himself. He can't survive here. Should he head back across the sea. What could he do there?

As the sun was about an hour from the sea, Roth heard another voice that interrutped his thoughts.

"Money sir, do you have any to spare?" said a voice lacking any rememberance of what elation was. A poor thin boy was still half hidding in the shadow of the alley way. He had to be 18 or 19 years of age, barely a boy. A torn bed sheet made almost into a cloak covered him. He tried to kee warm in it, but he still shivered. The boy looked at the Elf walking by.

Sterly with a touch of anger and resentment Roth eyed up the boy. The beggar was surprised by this Elf suddenly stopping. He turned his begging to the Elf.

"Would you good sir Elf have money to spare?" pleaded the boy.

Roth stood looking at the boy, thinking. Then he steped closer and announced to the boy, "If I had a coin beyond the money I need to survive it would be your, but I fear I have far less than that."

"Good sir elf, you are poor?" the boy asked with a wide eyed kind of amazment.

Roth was a bit taken back. "Yes, in a few day I will be much like yourself. Having no money for anything."

The boy looked at Roth strangely. Roth could quite figure it out. Then a small smile appeared on the boy face, and he moved into the alley way directing the Elf to join him. There, away from the nosie of the street, they sat. The boy begain nibbling on a previously discarded piece of stale bread, looking out into the street almost paranoid.

"So what is your story, Elf? Sorry. Perhaps I sould learn your name first, I assume it isn't 'Elf'," the boy said with a light laugh.

"You may call me Roth," the Elf said sternly.

The beggar looked at him sideways, "That's not a very Elven name. Not... flowery enough."

Roth nodded. "Yeah, I not very flowery either."

"Well mine is Damynd, " the boy rose and did a little bow. "Now why are you out of a home in a few days?"

Roth look down on the dirty ground. Should be humor this boy and tell him, tell him his sad story. Why would he care he obviously has his own problems. Roth then thought that maybe he could learn something for this kid. The Elf relaxed a bit and looked up into Damynd's eyes. "I have hoping to start anew here," Roth began, "but I could not find any work. I don't have many skills. My money I have remainning will run out in two days."

Damynd piped up, "Don't worry, I have skills and I still can't get work anywhere. I did have one. I was a backsmith's aid, but tax and competition drove old Dan out of business." Damynd feel silent looking at the scrap of bread he was nibbling on.

Roth was afraid to ask, he eyes wondered around the scene finally ending up looking out on to the street. Soon enough he raised his voice, "What will happen to you, us?"

Damynd stopped and looked at the Elf. Once more there seemed to be angry in his eyes, but he started to speak, "Well... by tonight the Kellar Gaurd should have found me begging, they will beat the crap out of me and thorw me in the slums with the rest of my 'kind'."

Roth's eyes grew wider.

Danymd continued, "Or so I hear. Then as I understand it I will be infected with a slum plages and rot to death surround by the poor sick people who I don't know, or care to know."

Roth looked at Danymd for a long while. Then stated, "You don't seem too worried."

Damynd laughed a bit. "I am. I really am. I never been more terrifed of anything in my life. Maybe I am just so scared I have no concept of how to expressed it. I am the walking dead. And why? What can I do. They tax our asses. The only reason they need more from us is to make their houses bigger, and to fight there dumb wars. We work harder and harder and get poorer and pooer. The gap between us widens and the middle class are getting pulled in."

Roth grunted, "Myself, I never cared anything for politics."

Glaring at the Elf, Damynd said, "Most people never do until is creeps up and bit them in the ass, and then they are already dead."

No one said anything. The only noise came from the street. Roth was deep in thought, and Damynd was just staring at him. Roth feeling the gaze of Damynd suddenly spoke, "Sorry I could not help you, Damynd."

The beggar's image darkened even more. Roth could start to feel hate coming from Damynd now. He felt it, Damynd's hate was directed toward him. What had Roth done? Confusion creased Roth's face. Damynd almost was grumbling audiably.

Roth wasn't quite sure what to say or how to say it. "What.. what is wrong?" He whispered.

"Oh... nothing," they poor boy said with a voice dripping with spite. "Just that you lie. You'll will be fine in two days. Be fine for weeks. I will be long dead before I see you in the slums!" Damynd was almost yelling now.

Anger now filled Roth's mind. "How dare you. Why would you assume such?"

Now Damynd did laugh a bit. Then he stated, "You will sell that sword before you are condemed to death in the slum."

The tension faded, Roth calmed. He understood. Silence crept over the pair. Gradually sterness returned to Roth weathered face. Lost beyond consciousness he reached down and and drew the sword. Damynd flinched. Roth paid no mind. The blade shawn in the low setting sun, It still was the most beauitful sword he had every seen. As clearly as if it was just occurring now he could remember the first day he saw it. As he looked in thw sword he saw the trees that stood around him on Kisharimore, on his day of the blade. The thin strands of silver that made up the hilt each caught the sun and shawn brilliantly. The inscription around the blade that told a story. The way the stain grip that felt so right in his hand.

Damynd's cautious stare made Roth feel hot. He could feel hate, and more distrubing fear. Fear Damynd was right.

Still looking at to elegent weapon, Roth whispered, "Melindia Calesu Baunaious." His attension finally turned back to the beggar. Out loud Roth stated, "I would never sell it. It means more to me than my life ever could."

After all it was his life. For fifteen years it was the only thing that provided him the ability to get money, but could he use it again. Could he bare it. Though even beyond his respect for the blade he knew that no other could possibly use the weapon.

Damynd's lips became a sadistic grin. "You'll before you die, or you will be killed over it in the slums. I would try to take from you myself, but I still fear you would use it on me. I would be a quicker end my life than the hell that is the slums, but I can't over come the fear of pain. Stil, do you even comprehensition how many months of food and lodging that is?"

Roth sat up and turned to the street. "Yes," was the last thing he said to Damynd.

Sunset

Soon enough Roth found himself in the habour district. Most boats had already gone about the daily fishing rounds. That sat quiet along to warf, no one was still about working on them. He could hear the music coming from the various bars along the harbor. The noise faded from the Elf's mind. His eyes stared at the sky as the sun set over the clear large sea. This view was a thing of beauty that he had not indulged before. With all the time he spend below deck on his journey across the sea he never happened on it before. The sky was on fires, the beauty penitrated deeply into Roth's spirit. A tear welled up in his eye. He wondered how on long it had been since he cried. He used to do it so often.

He could remember to beauty of the sunset over the Elven forrest. Most days he would climb a tree to view it. Climbing trees was something he had always been good at. He would watch the sun fall behind the mountains in the distance. He cried then. Even when he was so sore after the tortmentings that eventually became beatings he still climbed the trees. Often he wondered what hurt more, the beatings themselves, or how no one believed they could happen. Amathelia believed him, but she too was ony a child like Roth then. She was so beautiful, perhaps the only think more beauiful than the sword. Roth cried the day she died too. She was still so young when she was taken away. She had going out exploring like she did so often. That evening she didn't return. When she was found she was too far gone from the snake bite to be revived. Even that day after Roth found out he wasn't spared. He can remember that sunset seen through a veil of tears.

"I can see that you're troubled," a soft voice pulled Roth from the setting sun. There stood an older lady. Like nothing was the matter she smiled at the Elf. There was caring in her eyes that came from a life time of experience. Her wispy grey hair swayed in the wind.

Roth sucked in his tear and his emotions. But the soft face of the old lady relax his spirit a bit. He stated, "I am." Roth was quiet for a moment and then added, "I have been for too long."

Her old voice was strangely soothing, "These day we all have been troubled. Poor boy looking for life in a dieing country." Her voice turn just ever so spiteful, "Lord-King Kainin as been strangling his people with taxes and his Enforcers. My grandson, Alan is his name, lost his job. Now I wonder whether or not he is still alive." She paused to look out at the setting sun. She laughed quietly, and then said, "I am sorry. Here I am troubling you further with my worries. I did mean to distrub you."

"You didn't," Roth said quietly, "mind if I asked you something?"

"Not at all," said the old lady.

"I am new here, and I don't really understand the polictics. What is your impression of Lord-Sir Hallane?"

She took a step forward and looked out over the docks. "He is one of the main Lords in this City. He enforeces to word of Kainin. Some call him a demon that takes personal pleasure in beating the prisoners in the jail, but I am more reserved. He is a man who has a duty, he cries, he bleeds, and he greeds. Just like any man. Demons are for the mages. He knows he is unpopular but he needs to keep control." Her face grew tighter, "People don't like to be treated in that way for long. Revolution is in the air, and if I was an outsider I would leave as soon as I could, unless you want to be caught in a storm."

The sun was coming to the end of it voyage and approaching its most beautiful. The old lady turned back to the Elf and smiled. "I have a family to go home to, you though, becareful and wise now." With that she slowly but surely started walking away. Roth told himself that he did not care for these peoples problem, his own were more important.

Roth walked out the end of the longest dock. Standing surround by water looking out into the sun and it was disappearing. Suddenly the thought of the stories his friend used to tell. He was a bard of sorts with a dark view of the world. Tales of wars, death, trechery, hate, and lies. At the tie the bard was a good companion for Roth. The Elf since has used the stories and poems the bard wrote in his meditaions and trainning.

Staring out over the water Roth drew his sword. Slowly he went through the motions, the dance. Bladesinger taught sword fighting as an ever changing dance. Every move encompassed a strike block and trasition. Like water it flowed, guided by its surrounding, but also shaping them. Suddenly he stopped. It didn't feel right. It never did. Normally his internal throbing was so much louder than the feling. It was wrong, every moment of the dance was wrong. Roth experienced a rush of thoughts. How could he! For fifteen years use this sword, a sword of the Bladesingers. He had to right to it, and the things he had done with it. The lives stolen by its shining blade. Life was the most important thing to all Elves. They cared for the tree to help preserve life all around the land. From the first day to last test to become a Bladesinger it stressed that ending a life should be last resort. His failure to pass the spiritual test for life and compassion for peace and the world was part of the reason Roth was originally exciled to the remotest parts of the Elven wood. Of course he failed, he hated life, then. He hated everything, all the pain from his personal torture, all the punishments for lieing about the incidents to the elders.

Perhaps he could take all those lives. With hatred consuming him it was never hard. But the sword did not deserve the fate. Now he was considering his own survial the sword fate was the most unsure. Never again could Roth use it to spill blood. No one else could possibly treat it with the respect it deserved. Roth never respected it. He was as selfish as Kainin.

Roth started to feel worse. An honourable Elf deserved to weild this beautiful sword. The beggar was right, he would sell before he died. If only he could return it to the forest where an Elf with enough honour, and Elf who passed the trials, a true Bladesinger could have it, and try to restore some of the respect it deserved. Here, in this land there was no one who deservered to touch the elgant weapon. There was no one.

For Roth there was no other course of action. He brought the blade to his side and with a mighty heave thrust the sword away from himself. As it spun in the air it reflected the last remaining sun light. Roth's mouth gapped as he watched everything fly away. The beautiful blue gem on the end of the hilt was the last he saw of the sword. It was of the finest Eleven make, abused by the worst Elf. Sadness engrossed him, he sat down on the dock. Tear flowing down his cheeks once more.

The sun was long set before Roth remember where he was. Time difted away from him as he sat in a kind of trance. It became clear to him now. What he must do. He had to live the only way he knew now, like leech, kill once more. Only until he got enough money to cross back over the sea. He should have never of come here, but it was to late to regret it now. Once back across the sea he would go home to the Elven wood and plead with the elders that he had changed. No, he couldn't live among other Elves, but he could live in the forrest again, live peacfully, undisturbed. His mind was made up. Still it didn't feel right, but he knew no decision would. Only in the forrest could the pain end and the healing begin.

Next Chapter 2, Falling