Consorting with the White-Horn Part I.

[Adorain]

Beside the lake she is again. There's something so alluring and comfortable about a body of water... reminiscent of the womb. "It is strange that the daytime should be so dark." She tells the water, who answers back only with its steady rhythm of rippling. A fallen log, half-sunk into the bank, becomes the perch of the whitecloak'd lady... pressing one booted foot atop it, then the other, and sinking into a low, feral crouch... after a manner which she has seen before. Skirt and cloak flutter softly about bent legs; the wind comes to take her hood off with its passing, invisible fingers combing through the tendrils of brown hair. She sighs at the gentle tickle in her ears... It was cold, but it still felt good. Like freedom.
<Jirai> Her cloaked back was pressed against a tree, knees bent as she crouched in the snow, ignoring the cold and the wet. Gloved hands were empty for the moment, palms pressed into the snowy whiteness. Her hood was low over her face once again, casting scarred features into the annonymity of shadows that she preferred. Silently, she watched over the clearing that housed the tavern and the lake.

<Volans> And where is the shape of visceral rebirth? Where is that column of gray? that root from which garments whorl as errant spirits, as limbs in constant flight, disfunctional appendages of a linen-body meant to stifle chill. He a thing among the boles of trees, among the silhouettes of stones blanket over by powder whiteness, by a chill desert. Pale-glow eyes watch... absorb that which the unnatural night should wish to obscure.

<Jirai> She was unmoving, save for the effects of occasional gusts of wind which rippled through her cloak, swirling it around her booted ankles. Tendrils of pale white hair drifted out of the hood, in turn to be whipped around by the breeze. The faint reddish glow of her gaze dissapeared after a moment, eyes closed as she turned to listening instead of watching.

From the folds of her cloak, a familiar item is drawn: the tiny silver flute. Canting her head, ears flex in the passing breeze, struggling to pick up wayward sounds. The timing and the tempo had to be just right. Honey-gold eyes scan the surroundings... apparently free of intruders. An elfish grin peels across her mouth, and she raises the instrument, daring a few breaths upon it. Flitter-flutter, high and low, even the most random notes have the ability to inspire a quickening of the blood from the listener's ear. The wind itself seems to slow... to pause, reflecting on the ensuing melody. The wayward notes pick up into a full-fledged song, sweet and full of high spirits... Something that may remind creatures of Light to dance, uplift those who still straddle the fence, or be considered disgusting to creatures of complete Darkness.

<Jirai> Beneath that hood, scarred lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Dark eyes snapped open, swinging away from the tavern, towards the lake instead. The lake, where the music came from. The music grated on her ears, fueling the anger that had been filling the slim female for days, obscuring the small voice of reason that occasionally pierced through her clouded mind.

The tempo rises, picking up pace, whirling into a frenzy of the most gentle kind of passion. A new breeze begins to flow around that little corner of the lake, uncharacteristicly warm as it swirls about the lone elfmaiden. A little ways beside her, the half-naked trees seem to part, swaying and groaning their greeting for the majesty of the one who approaches. At first, it is just the dazzling silver spiral of a horn, long and straight... thickening at the base, nestled in a mane of the most pristine hue of white... whitness that matched the elf's cloak, exactly. The bangs fell across the bridge of a horse's nose, parting two eyes bright and blue as a midsummer's sky. No foul twist of nature was this, but a genuine unicorn. He stands a full head taller than the average horse, thick neck and shoulders flexing with each powerful step... that lion's tail swishing slowly behind him.

<Volans> Subtly spoken words are on these paler lips, while breaths hesitate over them like thoughts half-mentioned. Despota ti nyn... Pale-glows vanish beyond lowering lids and he moves, shedding light snow-layers from off garments and describing alien stealth in vanishing.

"Nim-ras." The name breathed with utter reverence across her small lips, curling into a satisfied smile. The music halts, but the final note seems to echo for a few seconds longer. She had managed to call him successfully, today. The benevolent beast seems to nod his head in a greeting, his long white beard nearly touching the snow. Steam purls from the snort of nostrils; a hoof thumps the muddy bank impatiently. "There is danger here? I could feel something... But I didn't know." She frowns, and her long ears droop slightly. "What a pity."

<Jirai> Danger in the dark form sliding through the trees, across the snow. The end of the elf's music had signaled a return of her reason but not, however, a lessening of her rage or racial hatred. Her actions were actually odd, blatantly odd to those who knew her well, but none of those few were around, so this would go unremarked upon. She came to a stop at the closest point of trees to lake, looking out, debating her next move.

[Adorain]

"Don't let me keep you, then, dear Nimras..." Her ears have drooped to a pitiful low. Her frown fades but leaves nothing but a blank expression in its wake. Her shoulders shift with a little sigh. But the beast growls again, and with a swish of the long white mane, rears his head up, silver horn pointing towards the sky. There is a gleam in his brilliant blue eyes. Adorain glances up quickly, ears perking... "What - my sword? But I swore... not to use it anymore." Brows wrinkle faintly in confusion, but all she can do is watch as the unicorn treads across the muddy bank, and halts as his two front feet sink ankle-deep into the water.

<Jirai> A unicorn. She hissed quietly in annoyance. Fight...she wanted to, but knew how few daggers she had on her at the moment. But there were other ways. Quietly, she stepped simply into view, hands still empty, dark eyes flicking between unicorn and elf from beneath her hood.

A hiss slithers from the bridge of trees behind, reaching the sensitive length of ears... and the light-elf's head jerks up and twists about sharply, piercing golden eyes landing upon Jirai. Rather than get riled up though, her initial fright seems to relax into calm... This was the dark elf she had seen twice before, around Volans. She assumed the two were friends, but couldn't be certain. Nimras, the unicorn, also turns his massive head, white locks sliding across one powerful shoulder. He lifts one foot, the silky hairs around his ankle dripping with water. The muscles that resemble eyebrows pinch together warily as those bright blue eyes settle on the dark elf. His look seems to say that all will be well so long as no trouble presents itself. Adorain rises to her feet, hopping down off the log and taking just one step towards Jirai. She senses the woman's discontent, and bows her head quickly, offering her empty palms to the air. Her voice comes forth clear and soft, "I greet you in peace, Dark Sister." Her head lifts again, golden gaze fixed to the dark elf.

<Jirai> She was pacing, slowly and steadily, in a wide arc around the pair. Her movements were as graceful as any elf's and as threatening as any predator's. Friend to Volans she was, as much as she was anyone's friend, but this elf was fair game. She made no response to the other woman's greetings.

Though she would attempt diplomacy, Adorain was no stranger to the ways of the dark elves. This lack of response was a clear indicator that she was in for trouble. Watching Jirai pace, Adorain's expression grows more and more grim with the realisation that she may have to fight this day. The unicorn snorts, and while Adorain does not look at him now, she responds to him thus, "Yes, Nimras. I see your point." Pun intended, perhaps, for a half-smirk curls one side of her lips. The beast lowers his head, suddenly charging head-on into the water of the lake. He appears to be swimming, but soon dives below the surface, vanishing from sight. Only the circular ripple of waves created by his body indicate that he was there at all. The elf's hands clasp the hood of her cloak, drawing it up and over her ears... then slide down, and close the fabric completely over her body in a protective manner.

<Jirai> The only thing preventing an immediate conflict is the fact that there are not currently any weapons in those gloved hands. Abruptly, she reversed direction, her silent stalking turning into something closer resembling the pacing of a caged animal. Her face was hidden, as was her internal conflict. There was no Curin here, to drive her past reasoning. Her hands curled tightly into the fabric of her cloak.

<Adorain> She is surprised indeed that the dark one hasn't made an attempt yet. Usually they were leaping for your throat before 'hello'. She cants her head, puzzled, eyes turning this way and that, following the other's movements. At last, she attempts to strike up a conversation again. "You have come to me for something, this much I can tell." Her voice is soft and compassionate, steady as a sage's, nothing arrogant or taunting in the tone. "If not to kill me, then why not try talking to me? I know our kind have been in conflict for aeons, but let me tell you now that I am excommunicated from the flock... so to speak. I hold not in my heart the prejudism that has marred my people." She speaks the truth - she has nothing to hate about Jirai... But she doesn't expect this will work, either. Anyway, it's worth a shot.

<Jirai> There was a constant conflict within her, a desire to speak instead of fight warring against learned reactions and the desperate wish to somehow please the person she most hated in the world. Full of contradictions the dark elf was and it was due to this that her moods swung so abruptly, as they were doing now. Jaw clenched, she stopped moving, staring at the elf for a moment more before her cowled head jerked a stiff nod and she swung around, moving swiftly for the treeline again.



She breathes a sigh of relief, hands releasing their clutch from the whitecloak. Her shoulders sag with the release of tension, and she silently thanks the Goddess for mercy shown this day. Whenever words could be more powerful than swords, is a good thing. At that moment, the sound of water splashing loudly calls her attention back to the lake... Where the mighty horn penetrates the surface in a spray of waves kicked up by hooves. A beam of light shoots skyward for an instant, fading again as the beast splashes to shore. Glorious white mane flat and dripping, he bears a token in his teeth... And approaching the elf, lowers his head to drop a small sword at her feet. Despite the mud and bits of algae clinging, the slender blade gleams with unearthly silverine hues, tiny jewels encrusted into its hilt prismatic with the faintest of light in the dying day. But it has changed since she dropped it into these fathoms months ago... And the elf's eyes widen as her mouth forms a silent 'O' of both horror and amazement. From the sticky mud, the little sword jerks to life, picking itself up by means of two tiny white-feathered wings, fluttering fae-like from their attachments at the hilt. The thing hovers for a moment, clearing itself of debris, and then slips gracefully into Adorain's outstretched hand. She closes her mouth, letting her fingers slide slowly into a firm grip about the hilt. The wings instantly stop and fold up tightly, soft as they brush against her skin. Soft as her own once were.
She realises then, that she is trembling... staring at the item in her hand in utter awe. Remembering herself, she looks up quickly to the unicorn. "Nimras... I... This is... Thank you." Words cannot express what she feels now - but silent understanding passes between the two. He grumbles low in his chest, and nudges his velvet nose into her cheek, elicitting a smile and soft giggles from the elf. She in turn raises a slender hand to caress his cheek, amber-gaze catching the wink of his bright blue eye. Then he turns, nodding towards the forest, striding off in the same silent majesty that he arrived. The trees close their branches behind him.

[Adorain]

(...Months ago...)

Morning came swiftly, the black slip of night replaced by the bright orange scarf of the dawn. Dew still clung to the trees, and to an elfwoman's white-cloth hood as she glided through the forest. Lost from her people, her home, and her way of life, Adorain was for the first time completely on her own... like one of those wandering adventurers from a storybook. No more kingdom halls to protect their shining queen - or to keep her prisoner there ever again! She was free, at last, and would never return to that unwilling throne. But true freedom comes at the terrible price of feeling like all your personals are dangling by a slim string in a stiff wind. It was too soon for loneliness to have set in, and Adorain felt no fear for being able to fend for herself. So what did she feel then? A terrible loss piled on top of a terrible loss. The edge of the forest is reached, a pristine lake spreading out before her feet.

She lifts her tear-stained cheeks to the sun, a strange choked cry fighting its way free of her throat.

And then she did the strangest of things... Fingers that were the slender instruments of precision now clawed viciously at the clasp of her cloak, tearing it open. The cloth drifts down into a pile at her feet, but her movements have grown less graceful. A sword hangs at her hip, a slender elven blade crafted for the hands of a woman, tucked like a faithful guardian against the white and silver of her dress. Soft, white-feathered wings open up from behind her shoulders - small appendages that don't seem really useful for flight. Her chin tilts down to her chest, the tears running freely down her cheeks as she steps onto the lake. Yes, she's walking on the water... away from the edge of the lake where someone might find and interrupt her.

Onward she strolls... To the center of that body of water, vast enough to hide her intentions, she slows her steps... And draws the Singing Sword from its sheath. The light-crafted metal fulfills the promise of its name, and emits a soft soprano hum in the light. With blade pointed skyward, Adorain clasps the hilt with two hands, and draws them to her forehead in prayer. "Kalshe, I am yours no longer." After this short speech, she kneels, the water's surface lapping at her garments... And in a motion almost too swift for the eye, spins the blade around, behind her, and in front again. Her lovely wings are thus lopped off, and the severed parts flop, one by one, and begin to sink.

It hurt - like hell, but she doesn't scream. She clenches her teeth and trembles, squeaking and groaning. Sweat beads on her forehead, a thin line of spittle forms at the edges of her lips. Her knuckles turn white as hands grip the hilt of her blade tightly. Blood flows slowly from the stumps where her wings once grew, leaving dark stains on her pale skin and white garment. The sad little stubs of marrow and tendon wiggle grotesquely, as Adorain lifts her arms again and draws the flat of her bloodied sword against them. She murmers something indistinguishable, and the blade heats up like a sodering iron, sealing the wounds shut. Now, she allows herself to cry out - the pain unbearable - but necessary in this self-initiation... or excommunication from her kind.

Trembling hands drop the sword altogether, and it plunks into the water, sinking fast to meet her fallen wings at the bottom. She rises on shaky knees, hands and dress splattered with blood, and continues her trek across the lake... to the other side, where she collapses, face down, on the muddy bank.