Prelude - Caine

[Ismaels-Legacy]

Sleep seems like a distant dream in and of itself at this point. Weeks on the run after being declared an outlaw has made life increasingly difficult in these trying times. You've managed to utilize your meager arcane skills to provide food and sterilize water when building a fire was not prudent, though the physical exertion has taken it's toll, not to mention the solitude. Looking in the water of the stream you gaze at the grizzled reflection that stares back. Your eyes have never been what people could consider 'bright' but now, with the dark circles and the sunken complexion, they certainly make you seem inches from the grave. You scoop a handful of water from the swiftest part of the stream and stifle a gasp at its frigid drought.

Using your arcane staff as a walking stick (Indignity upon indignity) you trudge back to the small campfire you've made from the plentiful deadwood in this part of the forest. The lack of smoke will do wonders for preventing raiders. Not that you have much concern anyway. A little bit of magic scared off the last ones, and you've not seen a living soul since then. As you rest against the massive tree behind you, your eyes slowly drift closed. Fatigue has won this day and you drift into a restless sleep.

You're not sure how much time has passed, but you awake to the sound of a female voice. "Caine. Awake, Caine. We have much to discuss."

[Talyn]

Caine opens his eyes slowly, still exhausted. He knows the small amount of magic he would be able to command in his current state won't save him.

He looks towards towards the sound and tries to see who is there. "Have you come to end my life?" he asks the voice. He does his best to focus his vision, but a part of him still wants to fight. He gathers his will, ready to expend all his remaining energy on a gout of flame on the target if needed. He knows the effort would probably kill him, but he will go down fighting if that is to be his fate.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

Tinkling laughter greets your response. Caine's gaze falls upon a spectral beauty, transparent and glowing with the palest of blue lights. Her form is incredibly lithe and draped in a fluid gown. Her hair flows about her, drifting occasionally as if she were under water. "No, Caine, I mean you know harm. In fact, I've come to greet you and welcome you to your heritage. My name is Celeste and I am your father's mother; your grandmother."

[Talyn]

Caine blinks his eyes in surprise. "But..." he says and trails off. He is having trouble collecting his thoughts, still sleep deprived and weak. "My father... never mentioned this."

He shakes his head and focuses on her. "How do I know you are telling the truth?" he asks her, trying to be suspicious. But he is also hopeful that something may come of this. "But if you are... why come to me now?"

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Your father never mentioned this because of the bias toward those of elven lineage; even those of partial elven lineage. You see, we elves are immune to the curse that reanimates the bodies of the deceased. Unfortunately, it does not preclude us from the waves upon waves of undead that swept across the land, and, as you may have heard, elves do not produce many offspring, nor do they sire them often." An odd look crosses her face as she gathers her thoughts.

"Enough about elven breeding habits....Your father. He always kept his ears covered with his cowl, correct? Did you ever get a chance to look at them? They are scarred at the tips. It's because when he was a child he took a carving knife and cut away the tips that belied his heritage." Her face becomes a mask of pain as she continues.

"It breaks my heart to think of him mutilating himself in this way. As a child no less! A world where our own ancestry rises to destroy us and the living must hide the very essence of their beings...my boy did not deserve this. He did not deserve the black eyes or bruised ribs or the names that were laid upon him!" She seems to reciting a monologue more than talking to her grandson at this point.

[Talyn]

Caine shakes his head, its too much for him to take in. "No, he barely spoke to me when I was young." he explains. "When I started to manifest magic at a young age, that is when he took an interest in me." he says bitterly. "Only because I could be useful to him if I became strong."

He briefly rubs the scar on the back of his hand as he talks, his eyelids droop again though. "But no, I had no idea my father was... half elf." he says to her, the words are obviously strange to him. He manages to focus a bit and cocks his head somewhat to the side. "Why are you here, Grandmother?" he asks her, trying to get to the point. "I had to run, because my Father was going to kill me if I stayed."

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Your father did not learn friendship. Ever. He never had confidants or people to share his inner most thoughts with. After I died, his father, your grandfather and my husband, became a different person. He drank his emotions away, providing little support for your father. He was found sprawled on his crude straw mattress, a half-filled bottle still in his hand...."

Celeste shakes her head slowly, eyes downcast. "He died such an ignoble death that his spirit is barred from rejoining me." She pauses, stifling her own immortal pain.

"You father learned that only discipline and power could garner respect. It's not his fault. He never really knew any other way. His.....talent....was noticed by another equally reclusive man who taught him the arcane arts. That man was as abusive as any schoolyard thugs. I was only newly manifested, so I could only view his progress for short periods of time, but what I saw caused me to weep for countless days on end.

"I wish I could comment more upon what he did to you, but I only knew of you in passing. Your father has wards constructed to bar spirits from entering his home. I think he was afraid of his mentor returning, but I cannot say for sure. Because of that, I know little of you or your mother."

[Talyn]

Caine shakes his head. "I never knew my Mother." he says. "What little I learned said that she had a great beauty that seemed to entrance him." He doesn't seem too bothered by the mention that she is a spirit. "Whatever hold she had on my father, it didn't last long. Once she was pregnant with me, my father become cold to her." he looks off into the distance as he tells the story.

"I never found out what happened to her." he says sadly turning back to his Grandmother. "She vanished when I was four." he lets out a sigh and sinks down against the tree. "Why does it matter, I will probably be joining you in the beyond soon enough. If I don't die out here, my Father will find me and kill me. He can't risk having me out in the world. Not knowing what I do about him."

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Your father has little desire to leave his residence. You have little to fear from him save perhaps a few ill-informed footpads that have been dispatched. Though, I must say, their bounty has been somewhat under-exaggerated. In fact, I believe your father neglected to mention you had any talent in the Arts." He expression remains level as she talks of bounties placed upon your head.

"There are other concerns I have for you, though. It seems that there are unforseen effects of your Fey bloodline. The House of Mirsland, my families house, has a unique trait associate with it's ancestral totem. Since you know little of my family, you would never had chance to see the family's crest: the Rampant Wolf fighting a Rampant Stag. We are the guardians of, and against, nature. We become the wild so that we may defend against the wild."

[Talyn]

Caine barks a short bitter laugh. "So the bandits I encountered were not random." he says darkly. He is managing a bit more energy now that he has been awake for a bit. But he is still in no real condition for hard traveling.

He jerks back a bit surprised. "The Fey were all but wiped out." he says in protest. "How can I have Fey blood?" he asks her. "And what do you mean by 'become the wild'?"

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Oh, no, those certainly WERE just bandits." She says with a smirk. "Of course these men aren't much more of a concern. Just be ready. As far as 'becoming the wild' I cannot say more. I simply come to warn you that it is coming and that it will be confusing and painful for quite some time, but you will learn to harness it. Just remember; the Wolf and the Stag."

[Talyn]

Caine slumps down some more. "I will remember." he assures. "But I need rest, or I won't be long for this world."

He brings his staff closer to him and tries to get more comfortable for sleep. "I have a long way to go before I reach the next stronghold." he tells her. "I am not even sure if I will survive the trip there."

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Sleep?" Celeste gets a confused look on her face for a moment before she smiles again, "Did you not realize? You ARE asleep!" She laughs gently, her voice trailing into the night like tinkling bells. "No, you do need rest, so I will not tarry here any longer. I will be with you to guide you in your heritage, though there is little I can do beyond offer my words and wisdom."

As she fades, you find your sleep-self drifting further into sleep, your eyes closing. After a brief reverie you awake again with a scant bit of light shining through the cloud cover and tree-limbs. Dawn has come and you've just enjoyed the first bit of untroubled sleep in weeks.

[Talyn]

Caine stands up in the morning and stretches as he greets the morning sun. He feels a lot better, but is still slightly troubled by the things his grandmother told him. "Best to keep moving." he says aloud to himself to break the silence. "Still a long way to the nearest Stronghold."

He picks up his staff, its familiar feel in his hands gives him more confidence. He heads out in the direction he knows the nearest Stronghold is, hopeful that non of the undead will block his path.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

Most of the morning passes uneventfully. You continue to keep the stream in sight so that you may seek water at your leisure, not to mention strongholds will be closer to water sources at this point in time. By mid-afternoon you come upon a strange sight; houses built in the trees. They are not much, constructed of scrap lumber and roofed with woven vines and fieldgrasses, but elevated none-the-less. There seems to be little activity save for the small trail of smoke drifting from one roofline.