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Mark O'Aiwendil
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History - The Drow's dark look surprised the wizard as he spoke, "What have you named him?" The drow's gaze drifts to the corner with cold malice.
"Named? I cannot get near him since the birth," was the wizard's reply. His eyes darkening into a visible red glow, the drow asks "What is it's Lineage, Istari? What did you do?" Fiery eyes studied the wizard: an etched face of a man weathered by many seasons, deep set grey eyes gone cold with life's turmoils, and a long white beard. His garb, a pointed wizard's hat, a cloak of shifting colour, long staff of ebon black, capped with silver bands etched with runes of power, & a high traveller's boots still dusty with wear. The wizard leaned back, producing a long thin pipe with a deft hand movement, and slowly tapped tabac into it. In a low tone, the Drow heard the Istari mumble "scir rak" as the pipe is lit. Smoke trailed around his head he began, "Our bargain is void, the mother did not survive." The Drow seethed, his glance toward the baby, still sleeping in the corner, taking in the three grey wolves between them. The three wolves looked up as one at the notice, their eyes reflecting the fires light and turning them into golden orbs of danger. The wizard continued, his eyes studying the child, "He is either 'Maiar' or decended from an Elven spirit older than this world itself. By the animals who appeared here shortly after his birth, I would say he is decended from the ancient line of Radagast the brown (Aiwendil). By reckoning of this worlds moon's his name would be Mark O' Aiwendil." Tight lipped, the Drow shifted onto the balls of his feet, menace burning from his stance as his hand fondle the hilt of his blade, "How could this happen? Tell me wizard!" The wizard sighed and replied, "Magiks that meddle with unborn life are difficult. Bringing evil into this land by birth is not an easy task. In this child, we have failed." With a swift motion the Drow's blade flashed against the firelight, whirling in a tight arc and sliding easily into the throat of the first wolf. A tiny yelp escaped from it's surprised throat as it gurgled its life away in a fountain of blood. The following two wolves leapt into motion, throats bursting into growls as they defended their charge and fallen comrade. The second wolf leapt straight over the Drow's next swing, sharp canine's biting down on the blade arm with a bony crunch and pulling him to one side and off his balance. The third was ready, taking the Drow's momentary unbalance to leap for the his throut. A grunt passed through the Drow's lips as he shifted his weight to one knee, ducking as the wolf flew over his head. A swift twist of left wrist produced a dagger of ebon black, a dark green fluid coated across its blade. The wizard incanted "schi fik" and a shimmering shroud covered the child, then he turned to the watch the fight, grey eyes as cold as stone. The wolf upon the Drow's arm twisted his teeth deeper as he maintaned his death grip, yanking him further and further from the child. With a grunt of pain, the Drow staggered with the wolf's pull, his entire arm going limp as tendons snapped benath ivory fangs. Red eyes burst into flame as the Drow spoke a gutteral incantation "kirak" and the wolf on his arm was flung back from him with a magical force. His left hand darted forward, envenomed dagger burying itself deep into the wolf's heart as the wolf struggled to regain his feet. Turning to the wizard, blade held low, the Drow waited in tense anticipation. His body burst into movement, lunging forward towards the wizard. The poisoned blade swept in a deadly arc towards the Istari, yet a sudden jerk brought him short of his mark. The third wolf had bitten deep into the meet of the Drow's calf, savage yanking pulling the dark one back from the wizard and the child he stood before. The wizard, suprizingly agile for one so old, jumped back a step with a gutteral sound eminating from deep in his chest. His right hand swept towards the fireplace and back to the Drow as he spoke a short incantation "en tir enfik", the fire leaping into brilliance at his command. It's flames soared from the hearth in a fountain of fiery death, engulfing the Drow in it's embrace. The wizard leaned against the wall with a weary sigh as the Drow's death cries finally stilled, muttering to himself, "I am getting to old for this." Leaning heavily on his staff, he shuffled over to the "crib" to study his new charge. "What have we hear, Litte One? You are certainly an elf, and a boy at that, both totally unexpected." His fingers reached down through his protective shield to stroke the child's fiery locks as he continued, "Your hair will certainly make the world question, but we will find you a good home." Gathering the child into his arms, he nodded to the last wolf, who waited patiently at his side, blood still coating his muzzle in a crimson mask. The wolf crept forward on silent paws, golden eyes scanning the way as he continued his charge to protect the child. With a shake to his head, the mage looked upon the Drow's corpse on last time. Shaling his head, he turned to leave and oticed a metallic glow from near the fire's hearth. Grey eyes curious, he stooped to pick up the object. "Interesting, I will have to study this…" muttered the wizard as he pocket the object and followed the wolf's path, the fireplace abruptly going cold as its flames were snuffed with a casual wave of the Istari's hand, leaving the room in the darkness of true night. |
