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La'Tris sat propped against a large silverwood. Her labour was well adva nced, and she was alone. It was that bastards fault. For as long as she could re member the Elves had had good relations with the Humans. Now, there was nothing she hated more. That filthy soldier had done this to her; taken advantage of her trusting nature. Behind a bar, in an alley smelling strongly of ale and vomit, he had thrown her, hit her anytime she screamed, and had his way with her. Two h ours later, she had stumbled into her village holding her torn, tattered clothes around her as best she could. Her blackened face reflected the moonlight, makin g her look like a misshapen Drow. Her father saw her first, and ran to her aid. She could plainly see he c oncern and distress in his sharp features, but behind, she could see something e lse: disgust. And as time went on, and her belly grew, she became more and more aware of everyone staring at her. They were all disgusted and disgraced. By her eighth month, she knew she had to leave. She couldn't stay here. These people wo uld never accept this half-elf child of a rapist, she knew that beyond any doubt . So she had left. Now weak from the last 12 hours of labour, the tears streamed down her f ace as she reflected on how alone she was. The pain was excruciating. She wished desperately that her mother could be there to help. Another contraction. She cl enched her teeth trying to control the pain. Sweat beaded on her brow as she fou ght to stay conscious. Another contraction. This time she screamed. The ear-spli tting shriek reverberated through the silverwood forest. Another contraction, sh e screamed again. The contractions were very close together now. Her screams ech oed through the wood like one never-ending scream. The sweat mingled with the te ars and stung her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat between the sobs and scr eams. A new wave of faintness threatened to take her. Another contraction. Now, her body wanted to push of its own accord. Another contraction, another push, an other scream. The first rays of the morning sun weaved through the wood to find the new mother, the head of her child just visible between her long elven legs. Another contraction, another push, a new wail. The cries of the new baby echoed through the wood, cries the mother would never hear. Unconsciousness had finally overtaken the exhausted mother. Her body involuntarily continued to push the cr ying baby boy into the bright fresh light of the new day. The new baby boy greeted the new world from between his mothers still le gs wailing. --------------------<£>-----------------------------------------------------------<£>-
Elder Stram pulled up short at the edge of the silverwood forest. From s omewhere within, he could hear a baby crying; a rather unusual sound for the are a. He looked back at the monastery, it was a magnificent building made larger th an life by the sun rising directly behind it. The founders had chosen this locat ion for the monastery for its remoteness. There was noone living within a full d ays ride in any direction, offering great peace and solitude. The site assured t hat all training in the old ways, and all worship would be uninterrupted. Yet, t he unmistakable sounds of a baby drifted to his ears. Kicking his horse into mo tion, he weaved between the trees following the sound.
He had travelled some distance before he came upon an appalling sight. T here, before him lay a dirty elf woman, her hair tangled and knotted with burrs. Her gown had been pulled up above her waist revealing a bloody mess. He dismoun ted and approached the scene. He was sure the baby would be there hidden behind the bent legs. First he checked the womans pulse, but was not surprised when he found none. There was an enormous amount of blood on the ground. It seemed that she had bled out while birthing her child. He felt for her, the pain she must ha ve gone through. As he expected, he found the child crying between the legs of its dead m other, its umbilical cord still attached. It was a miracle that the child was st ill alive. Stram cut the cord with the knife from his saddlebag, and washed the baby boy with water from his canteen. Digging through his saddlebag, he found a spare shirt he could use to swaddle the baby. Taking the woman's pack and the ba by, he returned to the monastery and sent two neophytes to retrieve the body and arrange a funeral. That evening Elder Stram read through the woman's in Elvish, but he had been studying Elvish for years. The 's rape, her villages reaction, he self instated exile... names she was considering for her child. In the event of nnadrin. Pinnadrin Silvanos. --------------------<£>---------------------------------------diary. It was written book told of the woman She also mentioned the a boy, it was to be Pi
The years came and went, and by his 17th birthday Pinnadrin had been tra ined in the ways of the monk; their martial arts, and their spiritual ways. He h ad also tapped his innate talent for sorcery. At times Elder Stram would get fru strated at his slow pace, as he himself had learned much faster than his adopted son. But Pinnadrin always had the gleam of enthusiasm shining in his eyes, whic h was encouraging to Elder Stram. Every day while he was growing up, the Elder h ad read his mother's diary to him, until he had been able to read it on his own. But for all of the Elder's explanations, Pinnadrin had never quite understood w hat had driven the soldier, or the villagers, or even his own mother to behave a s they did. Elder Stram was human, and so was everyone else in the monastery. Ce rtainly not all humans were like the soldier had been. At 18, the age of ascensi on, the age that all monks are considered to become men, he set out on a quest t o see the world, to understand that which he couldn't understand at the monaster y. His parting had been a tearful one, at which Elder Stram had passed on his ka tana according to tradition. Pinnadrin travelled the world for a year, and returned to the monastery at the appointed time. He had learned much, and done much, and he had also compl eted the Rite of Ascension. But the monastery was not as he had left it. It was cold, there was no life to it. There were no Elders welcoming him back as there should be. He went from room to room, and each was the same: empty. There was a strong stench in the air, a smell which reminded him of death, but it wasn't the same, it was different somehow. It was the basement library which was most changed. He swung open the bi g double doors and was instantly greeted by the worst smell he had ever encounte red. He turned to the side and was violently sick. Finally after he was sure his lunch from 3 months ago was on the floor, he was able to stand again. Inside, t he bookshelves were overturned, books scattered all over, some in pieces. Miscel laneous papers and ribbons littered the floor and chandelier. Directly beneath t he chandelier he saw the inhabitants of the monastery. Some lay there with no he ads, while some were just heads with no bodies, some were intact minus their eye s and fingers, while yet others were so mangled that he couldn't be sure they we
re even human. He suddenly had to be sick again. He had known these peopler, gro wn up with these people, and now, he was all that remained. What would he do? At least he knew where to start. Three days later, he finally tamped down the last of the soil on the las t of the graves. He looked out over the field of freshly turned soil. He had jus t buried 38 of his closest friends. He sank to his knees and wept. --------------------<£>-----------------------------------------------------------<£>-
The sun had been replaced with the moon when Pinnadrin woke. He didn't r emember falling asleep, but he had been terribly exhausted, it wasn't surprising that he had cried himself to sleep. He looked again at the field of graves. Thi s time no tears came. "What do I do now?" The silent question echoed again and a gain in his head. Then he remembered Elder Stram's assistance when he was prepar ing for the Rite of Ascension. He sat, cross-legged, breathing easily, he emptie d his mind, and the world around him ceased to exist. He floated through the cos mos and waited for the answers to come to him. Suddenly, he was sitting atop the monastery, and with his six eyes he lo oked again at the field. There sat a tall figure with his eyes closed. He was re markably handsome with a narrow lightly tanned face, his hair, light brown, hung just to his shoulders with the bangs pulled back in a pony tail. His ears, not covered by the hair looked normal, except for a slight, barely noticeable point at the top. This person must be a half-elf he realised. The loose fitting clothe s were of the familiar light blue worn by the monks of his order. He looked peac eful, and yet ready for sudden action. The man sitting in the field was actually himself he realised. As he realised this he moved each of his legs and looked in the opposite direction. There, in the woods not far from the monastery were several spires o f smoke rising into the sky. With amazing speed and grace he ran down the side o f the monastery to the woods. He climbed a tree and then swung from branch to br anch, resting finally just outside a camp. He scanned the camp, taking in all th e details. There were five tents in all, and the tents seemed large enough to ho use ten people each, though there seemed to be only about 20 soldiers give or ta ke a few. His blood boiled as he realised these were the men who had slaughtered his people. Suddenly, he was swinging through the trees again. He ran down a tree at the edge of the wood and through the field directly to his sitting self. Pinnadrin's eyes snapped open. There in his lap sat a spider. Strangely, it almost seemed to be smiling. This wasn't an ordinary spider he saw. He felt bonded to it somehow. And now he knew what he must do. Returning to the library he took several books, some magickal in nature. He wouldn't be returning here again. Travelling around the monastery, he collec ted several other items he thought he might need. Then he set out for the camp.
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