Board Thread:Custom Lore Development/@comment-25606723-20160522022700

The interior of the tavern was dark, and filled with tobacco smoke and the smell of bad ale. The place was crowded, and the air was tense and thick. Sweaty drunk men talked loudly, and occasionally a small brawl broke out. They were always quelled quickly. A figure sat in the corner, hood down. His clothes were black, and his face was hidden. None sat at the table with him, despite the many men who had no seats. He watched all, and non watched him. He was largely ignored. He knew that they feared him. It only heightened his depression. He watched the the normal men come to drink off the day's trouble. He envied them. He never had a true life. He went through the motions of what others would consider 'life'. His life was all death. Death was his life. He killed to live. Other's lives had not been his consideration. Only their deaths. He was an assassin, one of the best. A member of a false race, of those who should not exist. His eyes glowed with crimson fire under his hood. He wanted what they had. A life with some semblance of security, without spears, swords, armies, or empires. A life without daggers or poison, a life without constant living death. Another figure slipped into the booth beside him. Her eyes glowed with an orange fire, unquenchable and infinite pools of living flame. He could not see her face, but the orange light could be faintly seen from under her black hood. "What are you doing here?" She asked him quietly. "Why here? Sitting in an old, run down tavern in Harad? Why here? And why do you reveal yourself to us again now?" Her voice pleaded with him to answer her burning questions. "Why did you leave?" Her voice broke slightly at saying this. The red eyed one turned to her. "Follow and you will understand."

She followed him onto the badly lit streets of a small town somewhere in Near Harad. He walked silently and with an air of invisibility. Soon they arrived at the door of a somewhat larger house. He unlocked the door silently and entered. She followed.

He walked up down the small entry hall and into a smaller side hall. He slid open a door and entered. The room was dark. He lit several lamps and sat on a large armchair facing a fireplace. He beckoned her to sit in another about three feet away. A table made of finely carved wood stood between them. Upon it sat a lamp, a book with silver bindings and a red and black cover, some ink and a quill, an empty wine bottle, and finally, a simple, but sharp, dagger. She started to speak, but he cut her off. "I couldn't do what we were doing anymore. I was the wrong ruler. I was only in charge because I was a war hero. I did not deserve that position. So I abandoned it, and my people. So now half of them are dead. I can't help feeling responsible." He paused, and she started to speak again. "No." He interrupted her. "I am not finished. Don't ask me to come home. You know what I'll say. I'm finished, Em. My life needs to be over. I'm so tired..." He put his head in his hands. "I can't finish the fight. That's why I trained you. And the others." He paused, and a lone tear rolled down his cheek. It was the first that had ever escaped him, and it would be the last. "I have over four hundred confirmed kills. Over half of those were Orcs, or other foul creatures. But the others? I killed a living, breathing, feeling, sentient being. And all of them had stories. Knowledge. Countless memories, lost. Not to mention their personalities, their spirit. I can't kill anymore. Because every time I kill, I don't just kill my victim, I kill a little bit of myself. And I've run out of parts to kill." He drew back his hood. His face was horribly scarred. His dull red eyes were sunken into his grey face. They no longer burned with a living flame of hatred. His white hair hung from his head in pale strings. It was dirty and ragged. He looked old. And despite herself, Em gasped slightly. "Ty...what have you done to yourself..." She looked at him, shocked, for a few more seconds before composing herself. "Ty, we're assassins. We kill because it's our lives to kill. There is nothing to be ashamed of in that..." She looked into his eyes, and saw that he disagreed. "I used to believe that," He said quietly, "But now I'm all out. I don't have the strength to continue any longer. The fire He burned into us is running out in me." He looked at her and smiled. "My time is very much up. Goodbye. Say that to Fang for me...and Shark, and the others....goodbye." She looked startled. "Ty, what..." Before she could continue, she realized that Ty had taken the dagger from the table between them and cut a small slit in his forearm. "Say goodbye....goodbye.........goodbye........." He slumped over slightly, and his eyes lost all of their burning, piercing flame...

A single elven maiden cried quietly in a small house in Near Harad over her teacher and secret love. And the world looked down upon her cruelly. It was nothing compared to what would face her in the days to come... 