The eve's pervasive damp wrung tears from the forest's boughs, a dripping canopy lying in testament to the past eve's deluge of elemental forces. Mold from the wood's ancient trees lay piled in mounds where the Tel'Mithrim's caretakers had left their tasks to flee the wrath of the storming sky. Clouds, even now cloaking the world in their dreary dismal tones, masked the moon's pale light... shredding it to a diffuse glow that left the forest's paths in the darkest grip of night.
Yet a traveler approached...
From the depths of the ancient copses of nature about the GuildHall, a lone figure appeared. Hair of snowy white caught the bare glimmers of moonlight that pierced the cloud's cover, surrounding his head in a pale fairy ring. As he drew closer, his black cloak fell back from his form, a shimmering wave of droplets cascading from its length in a bright token of remembrance from the night's torrent. Armor of lusterless black swallowed the dim light, its cunningly crafted links the obvious work of the Mori'Quessir. Yet the stranger's grey skin spoke of a different history then those dark ones, a mixed birthright of passion and union between two whose very blood screamed defiance to their unnatural union. The fair facial features of the Mith'Quessir clashed with the imperious gaze of the Mori'Quessir... the stranger's eyes even now alighting in an azure glow as he opened his vision to the world of night his heritage had bequeathed him.
A shallow scar, revealed by his eyes intense fire, wound its way across his right cheek and to his chin. It's mark, clean and straight, was the color of dark bruise, brightly vivid upon his pale skin. Its look was somehow... wrong, like a poisoned bite's strange swellings, although it appeared to have healed to its natural course. A finely fingered hand reached out from the depths of his cloak, its sapphire beringed digits nimbly pushing aside a branch as he stepped completely into the open and walked to the Hall's entrance.
The stranger paused, one hand pressed against the fine carvings adorning the door's frame, his eyes shut in a moment of meditation. A long sigh escaped his full lips as he reached down, adjusting the strangely empty sheath that lay at his side. The burden of the blade that once called it home had grown so heavy throughout the many years of its use in his Lord's name... its absence was somehow frighteneing. The moon's light chose that moment to find a chink within the cloud's heavy mail, and threw a silver ray of light upon the wanderer's path, it luminescence catching a silver crescent moon amulet upon his chest, the symbol of a Priest of Eru. Then the dull armor seemed to swallow that light as well, leaving the dark form of the Tel'Quessir alone in its stand before the Hall of the Tel'Mithrim.
An over-poweringly tender smile crossed the elf's features as he took the doors handles and turned them open swiftly, a soft melodious voice whispering to the night,
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