Auerelis Landrasil

[Darkfall]

A note: Auerelis' inward thoughts will be highlighted in red.

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He sits in the darkened area, little light shining between slats in the shoddily constructed wooden room. He sits leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he puffs on his daily allowance of the cigars that his people require to survive. The flame of the cigar flashes to life as he sucks in the mist like smoke, illuminating briefly his smouldering red eyes as he stares with a sneer down at his mangled left, and dominant hand. How long has it been since he was crippled and captured? How long ago was it that he was subjugated to backbreaking hard labor during the day and moonlighting as a torturee; both physically and mentally. How long, since he has seen a countless number of his brothers and sisters butchered. Atleast, he thinks, that they are being butchered...few who are taken away ever return. Those that do are changed, hollow..empty...As if they were forced to stare into an empty void that sucked all that they were from their spirits in an attempt to fill itself. Yes, Auerelis, his own voice echos in his mind, How long has it been? A week? A tenday? A year? Ten? Slowly, he shakes his head the cigar flaring to life once again. It doesn't matter any more, though Slowly, his left hand closes into a fist, joints popping and cracking as he flexes, his sneer turning into a smug smirk.

I'm back.

[Darkfall]

The injury that never should have healed is well on it's way to being just that. Pain is nearly gone. Raising his thumb, he presses against his middle finger with another, slightly louder pop, followed by his ring finger. He wiggles the two fingers slowly, progressively faster. Articulate movement is returning, He shakes his hand, the pain becoming too much for his now daily exercise, stretching his fingers, pushing the edges of his pain tolerance. Soon. But not soon enough. Standing up he drops the cigar from his mouth and heads to the door of the shoddy shack, pushing the door open. Light floods his senses as he exits out into the bright sunlight. Only taking a moment for adjustment, he glances around, seeing numerous grey skinned brethren of his hard at work, trying to do well enough that they may be spared the lash for the day. Ripped from his thoughts by a searing pain across his naked torso, the very dark skinned Nevoaeldar turns around to stare face to helmet with a Ruiner with whip in hand, whose name has been long forgotten, he responded only to the designation Hawkeye. Short for a human, Hawkeye had a very strong upper body due to his favor of the bow. Thick arms and a thickly corded chest were testament to this. Auerelis, by contrast was tall even by human standards, standing at just over 6'' and athletically muscled. Long, naturally white hair with strands of quicksilver flowed to just past his shoulders, normally well kept but due to current conditions it was a mass of a tangled web. Bright red eyes stared out from his proud and refined features. Even for a Nevoaeldar, a race of grey skinned elves, Auerelis was darkly complected, being near charcoal in coloration. "Get back to work, cripple, before I lash you within an inch of your life!" Hawkeye snarled in his hate filled voice. Turning fully around, Auerelis took a full step toward the man, his voice low, almost a growl, "When the first Nevoa bowstring sounds, you will be the first to die." And spat directly on the man's face. In response, Hawkeye backhanded Auerelis, whose world darkened from the severe blow to the face. I'm a man of my word.

[Darkfall]

And so began another day in the life of Auerelis Landrasil, crippled as he was. Auerelis was one of the few surviving Host of Grey, the Grey Elves who had charged the capital to save the pious young Thaos from the rage of Ilihum during the Rain of Salts, brought on by his own father, Lyonion the Mad. Though of course not one of the actual Elves who charged the capital to save the boy, he was of direct lineage from one of the elves who had. The present day Host of Grey were actually far different then their other Nevoaeldar brethren. Where most Nevoa traveled in tightly knit tribes, the Host of Grey were static, choosing to live in a compound central to their land. In this compound they ate, slept and trained together, all as brothers and sisters, studying the arts of those that came before them. Unparalleled archers, wizards, and warriors they still kept close to the old ways of their people, resembling an actual military force. Feared by those that knew them, scoffed at as outsiders who willingly segregated themselves from the general populace by those that did, or simply not known they waited and trained within their compound for a time when their people would be unified once again. And when they were, the Host of Grey of legends would be there as their fighting force.


Auerelis himself was the first born son of Car'das and Mabriala Landrasil, two of the strongest archers who mixed the Arcane with their arrows in recent history, a skill set they had passed down to their first born son. Showing amazing aptitude at archery alone, they were hopeful that their son would quickly pick up the Arcane aspect of their art. Though much to their disappointment, Auerelis himself left much to be desired. His mental focus, or lack there of, upon the spells randomized their effects or rendered them non existent even. Over the years of his life though, he gradually improved to functionality as an Arcane Archer. Though even to present day, as an archer he is among top of his peers, as an Arcane Archer, he is mediocre at best. If those responsible for his capture were aware of this, however, he would not still be breathing. In fact, the only reason Auerelis is still even alive is due to the crippling of his drawing hand. During a raid on the village in which he was at during the time of the Ruiner occupation, he was captured with his left hand mangled by a Felldrake Raptor. Thinking him a normal Nevoaeldar archer, they forced him into the labor camp to live with his crippling injury as he slowly worked himself to death as an act of pure contempt.

But too proud to be broken so easily, Auerelis works hard for his captors, for only the reason of survival. The more useful he makes himself appear, the more he can get away with his defiant and proud nature. Though he is no fool, he knows even the 'favor' of his Overlords will not spare him from Hawkeye's rage, the Ruiner archer that he has purposefully targeted. Keeping him close with his taunting, he weathers the beating and torture sessions administered by the 'man', a term Auerelis uses loosely, waiting and biding his time. Waiting for the chance to steal Hawkeye's bow, clinging to the hope that the opportunity will present itself, his only desire to cause as much damage as he can before he is killed. Well, Aurerelis often thinks, Atleast helmet head will die before me.

[Darkfall]

Slowly as feeling returned to Auerelis so did the pain of what had just occured. As a painful ringing entered his very mind itself, he audibly groaned, the memory coming in short order. Hawkeye had knocked him out with one blow to the face. His tongue flicked out to lick his top lip, tasting his own blood as he opened his eyes slowly, the haze of pain over them. In the low light of the room he was in he could see and feel he was in a damp, underground room, his hands shackled to his sides, his legs shackled together and a final chain going over the tops of his legs and chest. A whole new groan escaped him as he realized where he was. Hawkeye's little play room. He heard the heavy wooden door opening and closing slowly, the dry chuckle of the Ruiner, "Oh, have I got a new experience in store for you, cripple." He said in his arrogant voice. Smirking, Auerelis put his head back down. Calm, Auerelis."Tell me, do you know what it is like to drown?" By now the Ruiner was standing above him, staring down with his featureless helmet. I must not fear."Answer me!" He snarled, striking Auerelis in the face again, starting the bloodflow once again as his nose was rebroken. Fear is a short death that brings total annihilation to one. I will face my fear. Snarling in anger Hawkeye took a piece of cloth and slapped it over the face of the elf. "I may not be able to kill you, no. Not fully," I will let it pass through me. "Too good of a worker, they say. One of the only males left. They say." Hawkeye mumbled as he walked away from the table, leaving the cloth on Auerelis' face, the thickness of which made it difficult to breathe. "But I can do whatever else I wish with you. I can bring you to the cusp of death, and bring you back, denying you release. By the time I am finished with you..you will beg me for death. But do you know.." And when it is gone... "Just how much you vex me, little man? Your pride baffles me! Enslaved, tormented, and yet still you will not resign like the others. Accept that this is your lot in life, boy." Auerelis could hear the sloshing of water above his head. "No? Good. I am going to enjoy this." For the first time, Auerelis speaks, his voice muffled by the cloth "You talk too much." And with that, Hawkeye began to slowly pour water onto Auerelis' face, through the cloth resting atop of it. Only I will remain.