Round and round...

Round and round...

The same thoughts leading to the same conclusions leading to the same thoughts.

How many times now had he contemplated the things he could do? One, two, a thousand times?

Q'wellen was always forthcoming about his nature. An excellent tactian and cunning warrior, he relied on his combat skills and martial knowledge to get him through most days.

These skills offered little in helping to resolve his current dilema.

Myra...

Khellenduras...

Sworn to kill one, fated to love the other. Q'wellen released Noble's reins, and grasped his head in an attempt to stop the swirl of thoughts.

The solution to Khellenduras was simple, discover a weakness and exploit it. Find and strike from the high ground. The current theory on finding his phylactery held some promise, although Q'wellen had little personal involvement in that quest.

The solution to Myra on the other hand was far from simple. Q'wellen knew he held feelings for the lovely elfmaid and despite his desperate attempts, his feelings only seemed to grow. Her dark hair, which turned others' eyes from her, to Q'wellen only better framed her soft elven features. She was a formidable fighter in her own right. Her courage in facing Morde'sythe, no matter how misguided still demanded respect. Her bowsong inparticular struck a cord with the warrior; so similar to his own bladesinging skill.

Q'wellen watched a small moth flitter toward a burning torch, that rested in a scone on a nearby house. How like a moth Q'wellen had become. Drawn inevitably toward Myra, only to be burned by the consumate evil of Khellenduras.

Days passed, nights passed, and still Q'wellen could find no solution. How badly he wished he could turn to Allanen or Valoden and ask the wizened elves for help. But how foolish he would look; a lovesick puppy chasing a childish infatuation.

And then word came...

Whispers at first, almost to much to hope for. Repeated and retold. Rumors and stories. First from a monk at Empath. Then from a wandering healer, who swore he was a witness. Then from Barth and others at The Arrow.

The word? That Myra had gone to anothers' aid. And not just anyone, no, none other than Mely.

Q'wellen left the Arrow, a small grin upon his face. Having confimed the disparate rumors with Barth, a plan began to form. Discover a weakness, exploit it....

Yes, two birds with one stone as the humans say.

The small grin turned to a cunning smile. Those who knew him would later tell others that a glint long absent from Q'wellen's eye had returned.

A new thought broke through the circular thoughts that had dominated his mind for the last few weeks. So simple...

Myra could be saved, turned from her dark path. Q'wellen would be free to pursue his growing feelings. And oh would it ever anger Khellenduras.

The cunning smile grew...