[Athilea Majiri]

Alright, so I am an amateur writer that would like to be more then armature one day. It has been a dream for a long time to write a book and have if published. I prefer the fantasy setting, but I would be happy to try some other things to.

Anyway, I will add more here as I think of it. I'm very tired right now. Most of the work below is Fan-Fiction for World of Warcraft and Aion, though I will post other stuff later as well.

Also, for anyone that might be interested you can find my deviantart account here. There is art and writing posted there.

[Athilea Majiri]

Rose opened her eyes to be confroted by a smothering darkness. Her body ached from laying on the chill floor of a stone tomb. There was no time for her to register the sarcophigas style of her prison. No room was left in her mind to analize her situation. All she was able to notice were the nightmarish effects of whatever concoction had been injected into her neck. She could feel where something had been inserted into her neck, but barely noticed the slight pain.

From the darkness faces had began to emerge, the images of peopel that had once been her unfortunate victims. The girls already shattered sanity began to panic and she beat her bare hands against the top of her tomb. Each strike hurt, but the pain she ignored. She did not even take her normal pleasure in the sensation as the side of her fist split open on the stone. Seeping into her mind were voices. These voices different then what she had grown accustomed to. The anger and hatred of these were directed at the only living thing in that terrible darkness, her.

A strangled scream tore itself from her throat as the voices bagered her mind. The ghosts that flitted in and out of sight were visible only to her eyes, their taunting heard only by hear ears. Her hands moved from beating the lid to scraping on it, slowly digging furrows into the stone. The nails on her fingers broke off one by one until it was just skin being ripped from her thin fingers. After what seemed an eternity of this her movements ceased and she stared into the eyes of her first victim.

Her sisters gaze was dull, glassy and still filled with a sense of betrayal. The corpse reached out to her, a small silver dagger clutched in her hand. The blade was plunged into Rose's stomach. The elf gased as her own warm blood oozed from the wound and onto her hand. The visage shited irratically between those mutilated victims she could remember. Each time is settled on one another cut, or act of mutilation was carried out. Soon she was laying in a pool of her own blood.

Her ears were ringing from the sound of her own screams in the inclosed space. The madness in her mind was so chaotic that she had begun to switch between the two personalities that resided there in an attempt to escape her fate. This did nothing to ease her mental of physical anguish. Silver gleamed eerily in the glow of her green eyes as she blade was lowered to one of her hands. Without realizing what she was doing the blade was pushed slowly through flesh and bone until the finger was completely removed. This was repeated several times and she could see the enjoyment her imaginary tormentor took from this revenge on her flesh.

After an eternity of this madness the personalities, Rose and Athilea, began to merge. The deranged elf could no longer seperate herself, no longer knew who she was. Eventually the images faded and she laid staring at the other side of her tomb. She trembled from the cold and from the shock of blood loss. Her thoughts were a jumbled mass of confusion, both sides of her being seeming to arugue. It didn't take long for her shattered sanity to be destroyed even further. The dagger was raised, it's gory tip bit delicately into her skin. An agony filled scream bubbled from her bloodied lips as she moved it down to cut a strip of skin away. She was determind to find her true face.

This motion was repeated several times until her last shakey breath was exhaled and a last hysterical shriek echoed around her grave. The glow of her eyes darkened, they became glassy as they stared dull and lifeless as the opposite side of her final prison. Her blood and gore covered dagger was still clutched in one hand, a bit of the skin she had peeled from her face in the other. The pool of blood spread until her heart stopped pumping it out, and pale red hair was drapped over her face, concealing most of it from view.

[Athilea Majiri]

Athilea sat with her back pressed against the cellar wall, and her nose in a book. The large, open room was damp and dark, causing her clothing to smell of mold. She despised her father for the paranoia he instilled in them all. It was his fear of the Scourge that drove the five members of this particular elfin family into their self made prison.

Her mother was sick from the constant chill in the underground room, and for this the small elf despised him all the more. Her idiotic brother and sister clung to him, believed that he knew best. If they could only see what was obvious, if they could only see him for the fool that he was. With each passing day she grew to hate him all the more. By his own rules he was the only one allowed to leave the room, subjecting his wife and children life in darkness. He was a fool.

As unending days turned into everlasting months she distanced herself farther from the others. She barely spoke or ate, all of her time was spent reading moldy tombs that she had discovered in the cellar. A once bright, generous mind began to crumble into darkness. Athilea could feel the downward spiral start, could hear the raspy and somehow familiar voice that whispered horrible things to her, but she tried to ignore it. She slept less with each passing day until finally she stopped all together. Terrible, and dark thoughts from the most twisted recesses of her mind began to come to light, and for a time she was able to push them back.

Cold fingers of insanity seemed to be invading her mind, sharp claws trying to take hold and push her over the edge. The Blood Elf had no real understanding of how close to madness she was. The rest of the family noticed the change though. They began to worry when she started holding conversations with someone that was not there.

"Athilea, you know what must be done," the voice was harsh, familiar, but could not be placed.

Without realizing that she did so verbally the slight elf responded, "I cannot, and will not submit to these thoughts. Leave me be."

Horrified eyes watched the girl fight a loosing battle against herself. The stood back, afraid to move towards her, and giver her the assistance they longed to. Finally, pulling away from the others her sister, Lani, moved towards her. The others protested, but she would not be stopped. Unfortunately for the girl she didn't notice the bottle that was in Athilea's hand. Not did she seem to notice that the language constantly spoken in was not theirs. The oblivious girl knelt before her sister and reached out to place a reassuring hand on the troubled elves trembling shoulder.

The dark green eyes that looked up were intense with insanity. She was lost in the darkness of a mind that did not seem to be her own, all she knew was a deep, unstoppable rage and seething hatred. A feeling of detachment overcame her when she saw her own hands break the bottle and end Lani's life. Athilea was only vaguely aware of the warm liquid that began to coat her hand, the trembling and sounds of pain of the girl in front of her, all she knew was that the angry mind turned towards her brother.

She stood slowly, releasing the bottle, and attacked her brother more swiftly then could have been anticipated. A slippering hand reach to his belt and jerked the dagger out, cutting skin as she did. In a moment her brother was on his knees, his hands gripping a neck that now spurted blood. Using the same dagger Athilea ended the life of her mother as she lay on an unsteady and poorly made cot. All the while the girls mind screamed for the bloodshed to stop, with no avail.

At first she did not notice her father inching his way towards the door. She just stood, speaking to herself in demonic. Her body trembled with adrenaline, and almost every inch of her skin and clothing was covered in blood. Hair that was matted hung around a down turned face. Thinking that he was safe, her father hastened his escape, but was not quiet.

She snapped her attention to her father when he knocked a book off the table. His eyes were closed for a long time, expecting the girl to be upon him instantly. When he finally forced on of his eyes opened, a deranged smile played on her lips and one of the slender hands was engulfed in flame. Everything turned to blackness after she hurled the fire towards her father that ended his life.

Her mind was foggy and distorted. Often she was plunged into a darkness that stemmed from fits of blind rage that would not be controlled. Several times she had attempted to set the mold within the cellar on fire, but the flames always died quickly. The stench of burning flesh, decay, and blood choked the room, making it difficult to breath without retching.

Athilea sat in a corner, huddled and staring at a point of singed moss on the cold stone floor. She muttered to herself in a mixture of demonic and thelassian with what seemed to be an on-going argument that made little sense. The girl was young, confused, and afraid in her inability to piece together the shattered remains of her sanity. With this fear came frequent bouts of sobbing that inevitably turned into untamable fury.

A loud pounding that splintered the wood of the cellar door brought her mind to sudden, intense focus. The sound seemed to be a mixture of kicking, and being slashed at with a sharp weapon not intended for such a job. Whoever stood on the other side was either desperate to enter, or knew nothing of the horror within. She reached slowly behind her to wrap slender fingers around a nearby bottleneck. The warped smile that spread over pale lips could not be denied, or pushed back. She planned on another death.

It didn't take long for the person that assaulted the door to begin throwing their body against it. At last the wooden door exploded inward with a shower of splinters that brought with it the form of a Blood Knight that she should have found familiar. Caroth bit back disgust, and the bile that rose the instant he was confronted with the smells of the room. Wide, glowing eyes searched the wide, dark space, betraying a hint of confusion at the sight of his kins bodies. He paused his search to allow his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, and was able to pick out the slim figure that sat within the shadows, "Athilea?"

The only response to his inquiry was silence, and a look of non-recognition. Caroth took a step toward her, a question on his tongue when he stopped. An odd gleam in her eyes caused his hesitation, as well as the dried blood that matted her hair, and clung to her skin. With dim realization of what must have taken place as well as concern for his cousin, he crossed to her quickly.

The bottle slipped from her grasp and rolled harmlessly across the floor as Caroth gripped her arms and hauled her to her feet. He had not expected the fight she gave him when he attempted to pull her from the prison her father had made for them. He did not expect to be assaulted with spells that she had not previously known.

The sweet aroma of glazed pork stirred Athilea from the exhaustion induced sleep. Something soft was beneath her rather then the slick stone floor she had expected. Cushions, and the soft silken bedsheets that she had grown so use to before the cellar. The elf curled under the sheets, not aware of the dried blood that chipped in flakes with her movement. She even seemed unaware of the tingling pain that lanced up her arms from burns that had been caused in her rage.

Caroth watched her closely, his own hands horrible scarred by her spells. Silently he berated himself from pulling her out the day her idiot of a father took them to such a terrible fate. Instead his family lay dead, and the girls mind was troubled. With a frown he finally pulled his eyes from her sleeping from and set to the task of bandaging his wounds. Hopefully she would eat when she woke, he thought he she was far to thin, much more then she was when he last saw her.

Again she shifted in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. The eyes that stared at Caroth in confusion were glowing green as was normal, but there seemed to be an hypnotic rippling effect. The color was ever shifting between shades of greens, lending it a similar appearance to the ocean. Slowly Athilea pushed herself to a sitting position, offering him a suprised smile, "This is a pleasant suprise, cousin. Where are we?"

The Blood Knight was thrown off by her pleasant mood, he had been expecting anger and likely another attack. Finding himself unable to speak his gaze was hard. He began to wonder if she remembered anything, but the frown that marred her features told him, "Where are the others? Where is my mother?"

Her gaze moved around the room, and her ears strained for the movements of others. All was silent. When she turned her eyes back to him the only response she recieved was a shake of his head, "Wha-" she began the next, obvious question when a rush of memories flooded her mind. Wide eyed and trembling her voice was a harsh whisper as she choked back tears, "What did I do?"

In an instance Caroth was by her side, gripping her hands as tightly as he dared, "It's not your fault. That place was poisen and I told your father as much."

Beginning to sob uncontrollably she leaned against his shoulder, unable to supress the grief and guilt that she felt. The memory that tore at her heart the most was the expression on her sisters face. Lani was only concerned, and she had died for it. It was difficult for him to look past the blood of his family, but he would not abandon her for a fools mistake.

Rose opened her darkly glowing eyes slowly. She was already standing, and in the middle of the Bazaar area of Silvermoon City. Frowning, her gaze moved around this quiet portion of the city, trying to figure out how she had gotten there. Her mind took a moment to register the sound of voices that drifted up to her from the pouch that hung from her hip, only adding to her confusion.

A pale, freshly scarred hand reached into the pouch, and pulled a hearthstone that had been specially marked for Blood Rite from it. This is where the voices came from, somehow. She listened for a time, but decided not to participate in the conversation in the end.

She walked quietly through the streets, her gaze drifting to the other Sin'Dorei with hate as they passed her. A few cringed from her burning gaze, which brought a twisted smile of satisfaction to her lips. The lust for seeing how much it would take to drive them over the brink of sanity cause her to form plans for luring some unfortunate soul away. She was no fool though, she would have to start simple. A drunkard here, a wandered looking for soft lips and a warm bed there.

A cruel smile played on her pale features, and she muttered to herself in demonic, "Oh yes, I shall have my playthings. I shall have my fun."

In an abandoned house located deep in Eversong Woods the screams of some poor, tormented soul echoed off its bare walls. Spiders scurried in disturbed webs, frightened and trying to make repairs. Thick layers of dust that had coated the stone floor was cleared away in areas by the passage of feet to the stairwell that spiraled upwards.

A man lay on the filthy, rotting covers of what had once been an overstuffed bed cushion. His wrists and legs were stretched out, tied carefully down to prevent his attempted attacks from landing. Bruised and bloodied eyes struggled to catch a glimpse of the elf that had lured him there. In Silvermoon she had been a temptress clad in soft, exposing garments. The cruel vixen had played to his lusts, and desires seducing him in a deadly game he hadn't know he was a part of. He cursed himself for being so weak, for falling so easily for fluttering lashes and the hint of pleasures to be had.

Rose stood in the shadows, admiring her handy work. His screams were perfect, the begging and confusion amusing, and the well of his blood from fresh wounds invigorating. The corners of her lips were turned up in an oddly sensual smile, and finally she spoke. Her voice deep but beckoning and soft, like a lovers touch, "Such lovely flesh and pure skin. A perfect tapestry, love."

The man whimpered and tried to speak, but the woman had already cut it out. She moved towards the bed and streched and arm out to place a bloodied finger on his lips, "Shh, don't speak. There are no words that can describe this moment, my dear."

Her hand became engulfed in flame with a simple spell spoken in demonic, causing his skin to welt and blister. He wished desperately for the blissful dark that came with unconsciousness, but she had thought of that as well. The potion she slipped into this drink in the city wouldn't allow him to sleep. No, she would have no interruption in her entertainment of his pain, in her enjoyment of his sobbing.

Her nearly black eyes roamed his bared chest and the lattice work of cuts already created as she thought of how to proceed. After a moment she pulled her finger from his scorched lips and let the fire die. Carefully she took a small, silver dagger from the table next to the bed, "Hmm, what do add next to this work. Any suggestions, love?" She paused just long enough for him to start trying to speak before she went on.

"Oh, I know." Rose heated the dagger between her forefinger and thumb until the blade glowed a warm orange and lifted one of his hands. His bright eyes widened as far as the swollen lids would let them and he shook his head frantically. The slim elfs smile only widened with ecstasy at his attempt to stop her.

She bent to examine his hand for a moment before forcing the daggers tip beneath one of his finger nails. The scream that followed was loud enough to cause her ears to ring, but her expression never changed. Instead she paused with the dagger still wedged beneath his nail to stroke his cheek gently.

"Such wonderful sounds, dear. Beautiful music," she swayed slightly as she forced the dagger further, popping the nail away. Rose continued through each finger, cooing at him softly, almost soothingly.

He was delirious in his pain by the time she was finished. The fragile looking tormentor had disappeared down the stairs after the last nail had been removed. The sounds of her rummaging through items that were strewn across the cold floor drifted up to him, though he could barely acknowledge it. He was lost in a sea of agony, on the brink of madness. As a result there were no more screams to provide her with entertainment, and to full her twisted pleasures. Rose was bored with him.

Suddenly her steps moved upwards again, proceeded by a disturbing humming. At the top of the steps she held her hands behind her back and tilted her head, her eyes glinting with derangement. The humming fell silent as she started to speak, "Now for the finale, love."

Her arms moved from behind her, producing a cruelly curved sword, the dark blade rusted with years of non-use and a lack of care. The young woman stalked forward, swinging the blade lazily. He didn't care any longer, he wanted an end to the pain. There was no scream this time, just the sickening sound of a blade cutting through living flesh.

---

The morning sun warmed her pale skin, and her eyes fluttered open slowly to greet a new day. She could smell the sweet, salty ocean on the faint breeze. The sound of the wind rustling through leaves threatened to lull her to sleep immediately.

With determination not to waste the day Athilea forced herself to sit up, curious why she was sleeping on the shore. The front of her silken robes were stiff and felt as though they were stuck to her flesh. She frowned and slowly looked down. Her slender arms were covered in dried, cracked blood to the elbows, as well as her entire torso. Her cheeks felt stiff with the sticky fluid and she stood suddenly, feeling herself down in a near panic. There were no wounds though.

Finally, realization hit her and she sunk heavily to her knees. Her body trembled as she screamed in horror. Tears welled in her eyes, cutting paths through the cracking blood on her cheeks when they spilled over, "What have I done?!"

[Athilea Majiri]

Athilea was born into a loving family of noble blood, her parents were Kalil and Isen Majiri. To anyone that watched her childhood she seemed to have the perfect life. It, in fact, would not be far from the truth to say as much. Nothing, however, is perfect. Perfection itself is a lie. The family had its secrets, and it's troubles. The Majiri family also had the high expectations for their young daughter that one might expect of a noble family. She, however, was not the socialite they had hoped for.

Even at a young age, Athilea found that she enjoyed spending the majority of her time in her parents musty library. The company of old books with yellowed pages appealed to her more than playing with the other, snobby children. When her parents did force her out of the house and into their company, they would pick at her relentlessly. She was different from them, and they did not like it.

Her attitude towards the Asmodian nobles that surrounded her did not change over the years. Quite the opposite happened as she became more and more reclusive. She spend so much of her time in the library that servants would often find her asleep over the very books she loved so much on almost every morning. This was a fact that bothered her parents a great deal more then it really should have.

Once she reached an appropriate age to be married, her parents began to make arrangements with would be suitors. Athilea had no interest in the men that came to visit her, however. Men that had roaming eyes and vast imaginations for what was hidden by her clothing. They would pull the books from her hands and speak to her of glorious battles that were so far embellished that they belonged in a bards heroic tale. The young woman would just nod and feign interest until they left, and then she would return to her studies.

One day, though, two of her suitors came to her at the same hour. Promptly, of course, they began to argue about who had more right to be there. She watched in growing annoyance as the argument came to blows and one of the men was knocked to the ground with a bloody nose. Before she had time to consider what she was doing, Athilea rushed over to intercede. She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture towards the agressor, muttering what might have been a curse under her breath, and he quickly found himself held in place by roots that had suddenly broken through the stone floor. He yelped, and fell back as he tried to break away. She paid no attention to him, though, she was too busy dragging the other man out of his reach. Again she muttered something as she examined his nose, and found that the break had been healed. Both men stared at her in wide eyed astonishment for what seemed an eternity before she told them in a cold, level voice to leave.

Her life grew more hectic from that day forward. The local priesthood gave her no peace as they attempted to ascertain the extent of her new found abilities. Everyone, especially the girl, were curious to find how well she could heal without formal training. She was astonished that she could do so at all, as there were no hints to her abilities before hand. It was time to train though.

Athilea spend less time in her parents library when the training began. She was only one of two adults taking the lessons, and as such it was decided that they should be taught separate of the others. The other to train with her was a man that was not much older than herself. He had sharp features and a strong jaw with short, teal colored hair that matched his skin color perfectly. His keenly intelligent eyes were a dark green that set her stomach to fluttering every-time he looked at her. It seemed that he could see into her very soul. His name was Theoric.

As her training continued she found excuses to spend extra time with Theoric outside of her studies. He had a charismatic personality that tended to draw people, especially women, to him. He was a leader, perfect for the roles that so many suitors had placed themselves in. The man had never, however, bragged of prior battles though his military past was obvious from the way he bore himself. When he asked Kalil for her hand in marriage, Athilea could hardly contain her excitement. He was perfect.

There is no such thing as perfection. Theoric had his own secrets. Secrets that could destroy his new fiances family. He had plans that had been years in the making, and the Majiri's were walking right into his trap.

The same night that he asked for her hand a feast was held. Her family swelled with pride for their daughters choice. The could now see why she had rejected so many before choosing this statuesque man. They even questioned why they had tried to force marriage upon her in the first place, when she could make such a wonderful choice. It was Aions will, and that was the only answer they needed.

Theoric and his family were provided with rooms in their large and well appointed home so that they would have no need to travel after the feast. She could not wipe the smile from her face as she spent the entire evening in his arms. She seemed to glow with her own happiness. If her new found love acted differently that she attributed it to the wine. It was such an occasion that even she drank far more then she should have.

When the night ended he attempted to gain early access to her bed chambers as would be expected of him. He kissed her and whispered in her ear persuasively, and just as he had almost convinced her to do just that, her childhood nurse came to her rescue and shooed him away. Athilea was ushered into her room quickly, scolded thoroughly, and locked in. As soon as she lay her head on the pillow she drifted into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of her husband to be.

Hours later she awoke to the creak of her heavy, wooden door being opened. Her eyes were blurry and her head swam as she tried to make out the silhouette. It had to be a servant, possibly her childhood nurse. It was no unusual for her parents have someone check on her. They worried of their daughter and the amount of sleep she was getting. The person that intruded on her rest this night, however, was large and silent. He did not call out to her, but the fluttering in her stomach when he kissed her told her who it was.

"Theoric?" Her voice was quiet and breathless, "You should not be here. If you ar-..."

He quieted her by placing another kiss on her lips, "Come with me, dear."

The womans natural curiosity got the better of her. She followed him without question, trusting to easily in his motives. Theoric lead her to the gardens while those he claimed as 'family' stole through her home. They were silent and methodical in their work, anyone in their way was killed swiftly. As they reached the largest tree in the garden he kissed her again as only a lover would, his hands slid over her side and came to rest at the small of her back. If they can keep silent long enough, he though, then she will have to comply.

A long, high pitched scream shattered the silence. Theoric and Athilea both jumped at the sudden sound, though he cursed under his breat as though angry. A red-orange glow lit the sky over the house, a fire had started and was spreading rapidly. Fear on the edge of panic replaced the blissfully happy expression on her face. She tried to pull away from her beloved, moving in the direction of the burning house, but he held her. The man whispered in her ear as a lover, with an edge of anger, "If you come with me, love, your parents will be safe. If you do not, then they will be killed."

Her black eyes grew wide with shock and her legs gave out. The same man she had expected to spend her life with let her fall to the ground. His arms grossed over his broad chest and he glared down at her. This is not what I intended! Those fools! It was obvious that he expected her to comply with him. This was not something that she could do when her family was in trouble. She had to fight.

Theoric continued, a smug look in his eyes, "What is it, my love? Are things not turning out the way you expected?" He stressed the word love as though it were an insult, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Athilea glared at him as she stood slowly. How could she have let herself be so blinded? "Let me pass, Theoric!" She moved forward and attempted to move around him. He twisted around, grabbed her shoulders and slammed her head against the trees rough bark, "You will do as I tell you, wench." His voice was low, almost a growl as he reached up and put one hand around her throat, "If you do not then I will ensure that your parents, and everyone you love, is killed."

There were pinpricks of pain where his talons began to dig into her neck. She panicked and her talons cut deep gouges into his hand in her attempt to escape. Theoric let out a howl of pain and released his hold on her. Athilea fell to the hard packed ground gasping for breath and coughing. He was, however, working through his pain with anger. A string of curse words was all the heard before he was on her and the world went black.

Minutes, hours, days...how long had passed? Everything was a blur, but the memories were there. She had been betrayed. Her entire family had been. Black eyes flickered open to a world that was fuzzy and grey. A world that was so filled with smoke and ash that it was choking. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes and found that the sky glowed even more brightly with the glow of fire. The whole house must have been ablaze, maybe even the surrounding gardens.

She attempted to move but quickly found that either her 'beloved' or his 'family' had bound her. Athilea struggled against the rough rope that bit cruely into her delicate wrists, but when she cried out it was muffled by the gag that had been stuffed into her mouth. Someone was talking nearby, but the voices were to low and fast for her to understand what was said. They had noticed her movement, and the sound she made. One of them came to loom over her, a woman with sharp angular features and harsh green eyes set in alabaster skin.

"So ye be wakin' up now, eh? I suppose I should git tha Cap'in." The womans eyes narrowed as she prodded her captives side with the tip of her muddy boot, "Don' know what he be meanin' ta do with ye, lass, but I'm guessing tha' ye won' be likin' it."

She turned away with the cackle of a madwoman as she moved out of sight. Athilea had time to realize that her face felt swollen and sticky with congealing blood. She could not see out of her left eye and suspected that she would find it blackened if she were to look in a mirror. Theoric was there in moments glaring down at her. He had four deep gouges on his face that she could not remember inflicting on him.

"You, my dear, have failed to comply. I will show you what you strong-headed ways have cost you."

She felt herself lifted to a sitting position and would have screamed at the nightmare laid before her had she been able to breath. The dark eye she could still use properly was wide with shock as unhindered tears sprung to her eyes. The estate was a blazing fire that lighted the sickening scene. Every tree on the grounds had servant and nobel alike hung by the neck from their stout branches. Some of them were bloody from the fighting, others looked as though they had been killed prior to being strung up, while still others looked as though they had simply surrendered. The women were naked and likely violated before they had been killed.

Athilea struggled against the ropes that bound her again. The young Cleric had rediscovered the ability to breath as grief took her and illicited screams that did not sound beyond the ground because of her gag. Her entire family, her nurse, everyone she had truly known was dead. Or so she had thought until Theoric knelt before her. He took her chin roughly in one of his hands. When he spoke there was a dengerous note in his tone, "I tire of these games, Athilea." He made a gesture towards the estate grounds that encompassed everything, "You will meet their fate if you do not cooperate."

Her thoughts began to race. What could he possibly want from me? There is nothing left. They are all gone.

Her eyes darted between him and the vision of her worst nightmare come to life. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet with a weary sigh. Dramatically, perhaps to dramatically, he turned from her, "Where have your parents gone? They have managed to elude us thus far. You must know of secret passages in the house." When he looked back at her a cruel grin spread across his lips at the sudden, hopeful look in her black eyes, "You have but to tell us of their locations and you will be set free."

He had misunderstood the expression. Her parents were still alive. Just as suddenly as hope had sprung to life it was replaced by a clouded, distant expression. If they were not killed than they must have escaped. Why had they left us all to die, even me? The only conclusion she could come to was that they thought themselves so much better than the rest of the household that they did not deem even their daughter worthy of rescue. Even with that thought dancing around in her mind she could not tell them where her parents would have gone.

She found her will to speak as the woman removed the gag at a motion from her Captain. "I do not know where they have gone." Her voice was raspy from screams she could not remember, "If they have a route to safety then I am unaware of it."

He growled, grabbing her face again. The man almost screamed at her in his rage at her defiance, "Then you will suffer their fate!"

Athilea watched in stunned silence as her captors readied a noose and it was fixed to one of the trees stout branches. Her expression was schooled to stillness though her thoughts were a jumble of terror that darted around her mind quickly. The thought of death terrified her as it would anyone but a Daeva. She was not immortal though, when she died she would remain that way. Her thoughts, however, did not show on her face. Her killers would not have the satisfaction of seeing her fear, and she would not bend to their will and betray her families secrets...whatever the cost.

When the sky began to lighten with the coming of dawn the woman with the sharp features came to stand over her again. Suddenly she was lifted and made to stand on a wobbly stool that had been placed directly beneath the rope. The loop of the noose was draped around her neck and tightened to a snug fit. As his lackeys moved from in front of her Theoric walked up to the Cleric again. He reached up and carressed her cheek, his talons trailing down her smooth skin lightly until they trailed along the rough rope.

"This can still be stopped, my love." He smiled, but the look did not touch his eyes. "There are things that you do not know." The tone of his voice was meant to be soothing and persuasive, instead it left her feeling sick. She had trusted him more then anyone before him. His perfect personality was nothing but a lie though. When he motioned to the burned out shell that was the remnants of her estates and the nightmare that was laid out before it. Athilea found it difficult to stay on her feet. All she wanted was to fall to her knees and beat her fists on the cold ground as she wallowed in her despair for a while. "You would learn why this was necessary if only you would cooperate."

The Cleric set her jaw and stared straight forward, unable to stop the flow of tears that fell down her cheeks. She would not flinch away from him, she would not show him more then the most minimal amount of her pain. Her mouth did not open to respond to him. The man staring intently at her was not allowed to see her fear of him and of the death that he would bring her. He pulled his teeth back in a snarl and nodded to the man that was to execute her. As she chair was kicked from beneath her she had time to realize that it was her birthday just before the rope grew taunt. The fall, however, did not break her neck. Instead the noose constricted around her throat and cut off her ability to breath. Death seemed to take an eternity as she struggled against her bonds and made strangled attempts to gasp for air.

When death was finally taking her within it's cold, cruel grasp with what should have been her last attempt at breath, black wings tore through the skin on her back. Theoric and his men stared at her limp body in wide eyed disbelief. Her ascension had come to late to save her from her fate, but she would live again. The looks they exchanged showed that they all feared the wrath of an angry Daeva. She would return to find them....

[Athilea Majiri]

Books filled every available spaces on the shelves housed within the Temple of Knowledge. There was very little sound in the vast library aside from an occasional hushed conversation, or the gentle rustle of a page being turned. There were tables situated in a precise alignment to either side of a circular desk that dominated the central floor. Even this was filled to the brim with books.

A young, recently ascended Daeva descended the stairs that led into the darkened hall. When her feet touched the fllor she closed her pure black eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the musty smell of old volumes. When she opened her eyes again she noticed that a few of the libraries occupants were staring at her oddly, Athilea smiled nervously as she brushed a few strands of short-cropped black hair from her face. She nodded politely to the Asmodians who still watched her and then made her way to the starway that was located at the rear of the Temple.

Athilea was a Cleric of average height with a suprisingly toned figure for one that seems to live in the library. There were tattoos around her eyes intended to bring attention to them, and a small mole just over her lip. She could usually be found in the Temple of Knowledge wearing the same armor that she hunts in. Normally the armor is kept in pristine condition, but it can sometimes be seen with specs of blood marring the chain mail.

When she finally reached the section of book shelves that she preferred for pure entertainment she began to chew on her lower lip. She always found it to be a difficult decision when it came to choosing what to read. There were to many favorites on those shelves and not a single volume had be left unread by her. After much debate she settled on Asmos and Ellie, a book that she had not read as often as others.

The Daeva found a comfortable place to read in a dimly lit corner. An overstuffed chair had been placed there and she made constant use of it. Athilea leaned comfortable back and opened the musty pages of the worn book. Her dark eyes drank in even the smallest details of the story. Hair fell in a short curtain around her face, but she made no move to brush it aside. Only a short time had passed when she finished that story and found another, and still another. When she could no longer keep her eyes open the Cleric drifted off to sleep, her head tilted slightly against the high back of the chair and a book still sitting open in her lap.

Dreams, they always haunted her. Nightmares came every time she slept, filled with memories that felt a thousand years past. The world of her dreams was twisted and wrong. The people were but shadows that neither moved nor spoke. Even the air was wrong, colder by far then what the Asmodians had grown accustomed to.

Athilea chewed her lower lip fearfully, hard enough to break the skin. Blood, its taste filled her mouth and its scent hung heavily in the still air. She took a step forward on the cobbled path, the sound hallow to her ears. Another step and another, each coming more quickly thank the last and with them came the fog. Her feet moved of their own accord, speeding her along the path, even while her mind screamed for them to stop.

After what seemed an eternity the Cleric fell to her knees, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her head was bowed and her eyes were focused on the smooth stones beneath her hands. As she sat, desperate for a breath that did not burn her lungs, a shadow fell over her. Athileas' eyes widened, the breath catching in her lungs. Slowly her gaze moves up, taking in the details of the figures clothing and body. A small, terrified sound escaped her slightly parted lips when her eyes topped on the face of an Elyos man.

With a start Athilea sat forward, sending the book clattering to the stone floor. Sweat beaded on her forhead and strands of hair clung wetly to her face. One of the historians stared at her in surprise. Their eyes were locked for only a moment before she stood and all but ran out of the Temple.

[Athilea Majiri]

An exhausted angel landed rather heavily on the hard red dirt of the ground just outside the mouth of an ominous looking cave. She fell instantly into a state of unconsciousness upon impact, which left her extremely vulnerable to any predator, or scavenger, that may have happened upon by her almost lifeless form. Even more so to the goblins that lurked within the nearby cave. They peered out from the darkness of their cave; they had heard her land and looked forward to a good meal.

Immediately upon seeing what had fallen just beyond their door the goblins deemed her as a more then worthy prize to risk the burn of the sunlight. Some begin to leave the safety of their cave and, as soon as the sunlight struck them, they shrieked in agony. Their skin began to burn and smoke rose from their bodies as they collapsed in a growing pile of burning flesh. The stinking, smoldering mass of goblins was warning enough the others not to go out. So, though she was a worthy prize in their eyes, no other dared to leave the protection of their cave.

By the time night had fallen, every last one of the goblins had begun drooling with the anticipation of their next meal. As they crept slowly out of the darkened cavern they keep in mind what they had planned, that is if she didn't suddenly wake up. They gathered around her still body in a large loose circle and slowly closed in, being sniveling little cowards they wished not to do this too quickly. Were they to do that, she could quite possible wake up from any sound they might have made. Once they felt that they were close enough to her, they tied her up with old, frayed ropes, and took her into the cruel looking cave.

As they drug her deeper into the pitch dark cavern the angel awakened and, after realizing where she was, she struggled to escape. Yet, try as she might, it is of no use; she had exhausted herself flying for to long and to hard. She was still quite weak and the goblins had actually tied very strong knots, which was and unusual thing for them during the best of times. There was only one thing left for her to try: screaming. So she screamed, though this scream was not very loud at all. It was all she could do to keep from coughing her lungs up.

“It’s no use wearing out your lungs, Light One,” the goblin closest to her face said, “No one will be able to hear you. We’ve brought you to deep underground for any on the surface to hear.”

She did not give up though. If she knew anything about herself at all, it would be that she had a very loud, piercing scream. A scream that was capable of busting any creatures’ eardrums, which tended to cause profuse bleeding from the ears, followed by the inability to hear anything. Though it often hurt her to scream like that, she also knew that what the goblins had planned for her would be much worse then the sore throat she may have to endure for a couple of weeks.

As she let out a scream much louder then she though herself capable, the sound reverberates off the walls of the cave and out towards the entrance, as well a deeper into the cave, she realized that the goblins had dropped her so that they could grab their ears as her screamed. It did her no good though; she had been tied up rather well. So they picked her back up after the echoes had subsided some and she was carried into a tunnel off to the left. Her scream could still be faintly heard in this cavern, but soon that ghost of the sound disappeared as well.



Just outside of the cave was a large jeweled dragon, with black scales, and white, shimmering wings. He had just begun to eat a large cow when he heard the scream, however faint, from the entrance of the cave. He looked toward the cave and cocked his head slightly to the left so that his right cheek was raised towards the heavens. He looked mournfully to the cow for only a moment before another wave of the scream filled his ears. Without another thought he went to the caves jagged entrance and entered, the scream had called for him to help whatever poor creature the goblins had captured. When he reached a place where he was much too large to pass through he shifted his form to that of a human with the leathery wings of a dragon, or perhaps a bat. He continued through the cavern without another moment of hesitation in a nude manner, he tended not to have clothing on him when he was in his dragon from, which was most of the time.

A few goblins heard the noise the dragon had caused as he ran into some stone while they wrestled with the weakened angel. Four goblins finally manage to hold her down as others began to torture her by cutting soft, pale her and pulling perfect white feathers from her wings and where ever else they happened to of sprouted. The few that heard the noise quickly went to investigate what may have caused it.

They left the cavern the angel was in and want back through the cavern the way they had came. Just a few feet away they ran into the legs of the dragon turned human and slowly look up, the fear of children in their eyes. They soon realized who, and what he was and shivered with horror before they turned to run. The dragons’ hands shot out and he easily snapped their necks. When there was only one left he grabbed it by the scruff of its scrawny little the neck.

He turned the goblin toward him and looked the ugly little thing in the face, “I will let you live," he said calmly, "but only if you tell me what caused the scream. Do you understand?”

“What scream,” the goblins eyes darted from side to side quickly, a sure sign that the despicable creature was lying.

The dragon squeezed its neck slightly emitting a low, rumbling growl that originated in his chest, “Oh, you mean that scream,” the cowardice goblin responded quickly, “She’s back that way.”

“And what cause it,” the dragon growled as he tried not to roar at the thing.

The goblin hesitated until he felt that squeeze again, this time tight enough to cause a squeal, “She’s an angel.”

He growled and threw the goblin toward the entrance, obviously not thrilled by this news. Though the goblin is stunned by the landing, he was not killed. The dragon has honored his promise, as he did all his promises, at least for the time being. If he were ever to lay eyes the goblin later he would kill it without a second thought.

The dragon turned toward the cavern he was directed to and entered as quickly as he could in the clumsy human form. His first impression was that it was snowing, but then the scent of blood filled his nose. White feathers tinged with blood were falling gently to the ground, and a few goblins tried to overwhelm him once their original shock wore off. He dealt with these puny creatures just as easily as he had dealt with the others; he seemed to break their necks subconsciously. Once he was finished with that he stepped closer to the remaining goblins and the angel they sat atop of.

Once they realized that something stood behind them, they turned toward it. As the two faced him they realized that they have no chance. This was all the more apparent when the smell of their fellows blood reached them and their eyes fell upon bodies of goblins, ones they had known sense they were born, on the ground around him. They looked around for a long time before the sudden urge to run through a crevice where he couldn't follow them seemed to strike them at the same moment. The cowards almost knocked themselves out when they ran headfirst into one another trying to get through the hole at the same time.

Normally he would not have given the chance to escape before he killed them, but this time his mind was on other things. At the moment he was only concerned with only the angel that lay before him, bloody and unconscious once again. He moved slowly closer to the woman taking in her appearance and wounds. He took note of the bloodied condition her once white wings were in, and of her torn clothing which lay in bloodied strips beneath her. He knelt by her side and, carefully placed his hand gently on her left breast, checked for her heartbeat.

He sighed with relief when he felt the slow but steady beat of her heart. He then took bits of her torn clothing and did his best to dress her wounds with the fragments, he was no healer though. He remained hesitant to move her until she was at least awake for fear that he may cause more damage then he could hope to heal in the process. All that he could do was think on what must be done next. He sat next to her on the dusty floor of the cavern with his knees raised and his hands dangling limply between them.




After what felt like an eternity she moved slightly, a soft whimper passing through partially opened lips as she began slowly wake. She jumped and jerked her head in the direction of the rustling she heard next to her, not to find goblins, but a man with a strange set of wings. She noted the leathery texture of them, her eyes fixed on that for a while, entranced by them. Then she realized that the two of them were completely nude, and tried to move away from him. Before she could move far he grabbed one of her wrists as gently as he could.

“Please do not fear me, Angel. Look around and you shall she that I come not to harm you, but to help you. I heard your scream as I was beginning to eat outside of the cave. Understand that I was compelled to find you.”
She kept her eyes fearfully on him for a long while before she finally decided that it was safe to look around. She found that the goblins bodies were strewn across the dirt, or was it ground bone, floor of the cavern. When he sifted his position a little she jerked her head back toward him, “What compelled you,” she asked, her voice sore and rough sounding, still fearful of him.

He shook his head, “I don't know why I felt the need to come here, and I just did. Something within told me that I should find the source of the scream. Your scream called me to it, like I was meant to find you. That’s the feeling I got at least. No matter my feelings though, something wanted me to find you. Something that thinks that you are important, and that I can keep you safe for now.”

She arched a silver eyebrow, her fear dispersing a little more, “I'm not sure if I should be grateful, or embarrassed then,” the sparkle that was then present in her eyes would tell him that she was falling for him, but he didn't think that could possibly be true.

She cast her eyes down at her nude body, examining the dressing of her wounds that he obviously had to of done. She seemed to concentrate too hard on her wounds; the only thought in her mind was how his eyes felt on her. It was as though he could see straight into her soul even when he couldn't see her eyes. When she looked back up their eyes automatically locked onto each other. In that moment they felt as though they could die together in a perfect bliss, as long as one was in the others arms.

It scared the hell out of them both when they heard movement from the crevice the two goblins had escaped through. He decided that it would be a good time to get out of there and stood up quickly, careful not to hit the angel. He leaned down to pick her up but was pushed away by slender hands.

“Do you really find it necessary to carry me?”

“I thought that you hadn't the strength to stand,” he said, perplexed.

She did try to stand but without any success, “Well, perhaps I don't. I had to know for certain though. I don’t like to be carried if it is unnecessary.”

He nodded understandingly and picked her up, “Then I shall carry you.”

They left the cave the way she had been brought down as quickly as they could, the sound of pursuing goblins echoing off the cave wall the entire time. It even sounded as though the goblins were getting closer and, many times, far to close for comfort. Until they were outside of the cavern neither of them felt as though they had gained any distance.

Once they reached the warmth of the late summer night he tried to shift her body to his back. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to do it and immediately he changed to the form of a dragon. He took flight as quickly as he possibly could, he lowered his head as he pushed himself from the ground and, when he had enough altitude, he let fly the fire hid dragon lungs provided for him. He scorched the few goblins that had gathered below him, and some of the land that surrounded them.

Flying ever higher, he began to turn his body to the North with the hopes that it
would throw the few unscathed goblins off their trail. When he felt that he had gone far enough to not be seen he gradually turned west, and continued in that direction until they reached his lair. He was able to enter the very large cave before he had to shift forms again.

He lowered the angel to the floor who watched as the dragon went off in search of something. She was still much too weak to stand without the help of someone else, so she couldn't follow him when he moved from her line of sight. All that she could do was hope that her strength returned to her quickly, and then she wouldn't feel so indebt to this kind stranger. When the dragon finally returned he had a dress in his hand, presumably for her to wear. It was rather old and somewhat musty, and by the look in his eyes she could tell that he hadn't even realized that it had been there.

“You can bath in the pond next to the wall over there if you want,” he pointed to it, “Don’t worry. The water is fresh, and I’ve seen to it that no creatures live in that particular puddle of water. I will carry you if you decide that you wish to.”

She looked to the pond he directed her toward unsure of weather she should or not. Looking down to her body once more she could see the remainder of her clothing, used to dress most of her wounds. After much debate she decides that it really did not matter, that he had already seen her unhidden body.

She nodded slowly, as she tried desperately not to make eye contact, “I will take a bath, and thank you for your hospitality . . . as well as all else you have done to help me. If not for you I would not be alive, and I am very grateful for it.”

He smiled to her, unable to remove his eyes from her form for what seemed an eternity. Then he picked her up just as gently as he had before and carried her to the pond, after he handed her the dress. He sat her in the pond and took the dress from her and laid it off to the side.

As she sat in the water she felt very aware of his presence in the cave. Though he did not watch her at that time and, though she feared the feeling that would come with his glances, she wished that he would look to her again. She bathed in silence and felt how the water seemed to restore much of her energy, then she could feel his eyes upon her and a smile spread across her lips. He could not, however, see this smile because she was turned away form him and her hair shrouded her face from view.

Once she was finished she discovered that the dragon was standing next to the pond. The thought that filled her mind was that he was there to help her up if she still needed it. She stood up and moved toward the dress before she had time to realize that she had nothing to dry herself off with. When she turned back to him she could see that he was holding a piece of moderately clean cloth in his hands.

He took a couple of steps towards her, giving her the makeshift towel. When she reached for the towel their eyes meet once again. For a long time they just stood frozen in place, lost in each others gaze. They found themselves unable to pull away and, before they realized what was about to happen, their lips met in a light kiss. This kiss, though it was light, is more passionate, and more filled with love than any could ever imagine in a simple touch of the lips. The angel broke the kiss quickly, however, once she came back to her senses.

Without looking directly at him again, she took the towel and started drying herself with it. She then laid the towel down and picked up the dress, careful not to get it wet. She pulled the dress on slowly desperately hoping that the back wouldn't be to high for her what was left of her wings to be comfortable, she felt his eyes on her. Again, the feeling of them burning into her soul filled her mind, yet she loved and feared every minute of it. Her heart beat heavily within her chest with love that she couldn't quite understand yet.

Neither of them understood what was happening between them. They only knew that it became more unavoidable with every glance. When she finally turned to face him she noticed that he is had clothing on. Though he wasn't wearing a shirt, most likely not owning any, he did wear a black pair of pants. Perhaps he donned these to make her feel more comfortable, or perhaps it was to make himself more comfortable in her presence. She moved timidly closer to him forcefully keeping her eyes cast to the ground.

“Why will you not look at me,” he asked, sadness filling his voice.

“I fear what will happen if I do. Every time our eyes meet it feels as though I am already dead, and in a world that is absolutely perfect, but I know there isn't such a thing. And the kisses frighten me all the more, but I cannot explain why,” she responded softly.

He let a sigh escape and looked around for a moment, as though he could pluck the words he needed from the air, “If it would make you more comfortable I will leave until you are well enough to fly again. Other than that I know of nothing I can do to make you more comfortable here.” She shook her head vehemently, almost looking up to him, “I cannot do that. This is your home, and it would be rude to force you to leave because of my silly fears. I will just have to get use to these feelings, and to looking at you. No matter what the consequence may be, or I should leave myself.”

“Are you certain of that, Angel?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she raised her grey eyes to meet the dragons golden ones, “What do you think?”

He doesn’t speak, finding himself unable to. They keep their eyes locked onto each others. Still they wonder why they couldn't move, why they seemed to be frozen in place. They both felt paralyzed.



A few nights later the dragon heard something outside of the cave. He dismissed it at first before the realization that the angel was out gathering food for herself hit him. He ran as fast as he could to the mouth of the cave still not use to his humans legs and not knowing exactly what he should expect. All he knew was that he feared the worst for his angel and moved faster. He had never known just how fast he was capable of running in this form when the need arose.

When burst out of the cave and found nothing he called out to her, “Adalia!!!” he paused,”Adalia where are you!!??” His voice echoed across the forest.

There was a rustling in the bushes to his left and just as he jerked his head in that direction he saw a single feather float lazily to the ground. He flew to that spot, his form nothing more then a blur to any watching. What he found was a heart wrenching sight that brought tears to his eyes, and a lump in the back of his throat, it was the first time he'd ever cried for another.

Beneath a hill of fighting, scrambling goblins, lay the angel in a pool of blood that one could almost swim in. When he saw this the dragon shifted forms, and let loose the most anger and grief filled roar any have ever heard that tore across the clearing and into the forest. Goblins were grabbed up into his mouth and torn apart in the same manner a dog would tear up an expensive rug. In a matter of moments the goblins were nothing more than bits of hateful, stinking meat strewn across the ground. Ignoring the scent of their poisoned blood, as well as the taste of their rotten flesh, the dragon shifted forms again to lift the angels form gently.

It was at this moment he realized without a doubt that he had fallen hopelessly in love with the angel. Tears of silver that mixed with his blood rolled slowly down his cheeks. He sat on the ground for a long time, his arms wrapped around the bloodied angel, and his head resting on her cold shoulder. She was dead, and he was lost. He could never find another like her. As he gave up so did his strength and will to live.

As his tears continued to flow, they mingled with her blue tinted blood, and dripped from her raised shoulders to the ground. Everywhere that the mixture of blood and tears landed and pooled around them roses immediately began to sprout from nothing. Roses of all colors imaginable, and some unimaginable, grew around them with flying dragons on each petal. With the deaths of these two star crossed lovers was born a flower more precious than any could have ever believed. And if one looked closely enough, they would see the tiny figure of the angel that once rested on those mighty creatures back.