Maglor confides in Malcolm

Malcolm, wise servant of Athena,
There is yet another burden that Maglor carries;
When last I saw my family,
We were convened at the small fishing village of Hirem's Quay,
And I debuted my talents as a singer,
And a story-teller;

My performance was met with much rowdy acclaim
And also with the lovestruck eyes of a woman,
Tara Colds, is she;
A wizard and a beauty;
All my life I have vied for the love of Tara,
With my dark brother, Sheol,
The half-drow;
And my performance, I believe, had that night, won her love

But I was betrayed by my brother,
And sold into bondage,
Taken from my love on the very night of my victory
From that time, I have sworn that I would return,
Nor have I renounced my love of Tara
And so, you see, Brother Malcolm,
That though I love Belindra
There is yet a thing that must be resolved
Ere anything more can be settled
I crave your advice, Malcolm.
Will you not help your helpless bard find a way through the treacherous mires created by a heart all-too-willing to love?

Malcolm pauses to reflect on Maglor's newest revelation.

Maglor my friend, I don't know whether you are blessed or cursed in matters of love.

I knew of Pol's former feelings for you, and of course of beautiful Belindra. At the campfire you spoke of your love for women in general...

Malcolm blushes at the recollection of Maglor's actions towards Kyil.

Maglor, this latest revelation carries import beyond your words... This woman, Tara Colds, aye I can tell she means much to you.

I am troubled to learn your brother Sheol shares an interest in her as well. The deeds you describe him architecting are nearly beyond belief... I am truly sorry, Maglor.

I will not question your feelings towards Tara. As I've said before, only Maglor knows Maglor's heart.

So it seems you must search your soul for answers. Perhaps Athena can give you insight. I can merely share my observations...

Pol is not in your future, that much seems clear. But Belindra... she sees you as her one true love. And you have described your feelings for her as feelings you have never had before...

Now Tara... I only know of her what you've told me. You said you "won her heart". You said you "vied for her love" with your brother Sheol.

It seems you compete with Sheol. That doesn't make your love for Tara any less real, nor any more real. But...

Malcolm's voice trails off. He pauses, then smiles and continues.

Tara is the woman you lost, to Sheol no less. Belindra is the woman who was so much more than you bargained for...

Is either woman enough for Maglor? Is either woman Maglor's true love? And if so, which of them would that be...

Malcolm smiles.

But I have spoken many words, yet I can give you no answers. As a wise Bard once said to me:

"As with all advice, yours is of little help, my friend"

I fear it may be true yet again... Maglor, pray to Athena. Perhaps she will share with you Her wisdom, to help you reflect on my words, and find the truth that lies within your own heart...

Malcolm smiles, and turns to face the fire, sitting too close, and leaning forward still. Beads of sweat roll freely down his forehead and around his cheeks, mingling with and masking the tears...

The heat brings back memories. The hot sharp feel of embers burning through workgloves. The scene of smoldering wood that had been a modest house hours before. And the sickly smell of burning flesh...

That thought brings more recent memories to fore, of the burning of the trolls. A different smell entirely, yet so familiar. That fool dwarf joking about troll bits as older memories came flooding back unbidden...

The sounds of men. Moving charred wood -- roof, wall, floor -- a jumbled mess of chaotic insanity like the thoughts pounding in Malcolm's skull...

The board, the sickening sound of seared flesh pulling free... her hair... that beautful face.. a smile unlike any other, now unrecogn....

Across the fire, Mal hears Kyil's soft, halting voice speaking of the dead of the elves, fixed as stars in the sky...

Malcolm smiles a sad sweet smile. The fire burns...

Vren glances at Pol through a puff of smoke that slowly dissapates. His brow furrows while he ponders the group's circumstances.

That ring comes from a maker whose purpose is unknown to us. It is obviously affecting Pol--she seems to either have lost control of her will, or to be possessed by that of another.

He peers upwards at the menacing volcano. Heat distorts various parts of the landscape where molten rock flows openly.

We face two volcanos and have no idea when either might erupt!

After taking a final puff on the pipe, Vren carefully taps out its remaining contents on a stone and tucks it away. He lies back uncomfortably and stares at the stars.

I almost found my place among you! thinks Vren wryly. His mind moves to Kyil's story of the stars and he suddenly wonders where his wife's soul might lie. A quick wave of pain washes over his heart. Elves end their lives in the sky, but humans end theirs in the earth.

He pushes the emotion away with a skill that is well-practiced. He turns his attention back to his comrades.

We will need to do something about Pol. It is obvious the ring cannot be removed by normal means, so we must find...well, an un-normal means. Pol's emotional stability has always been tenuous; this magic will do nothing but destabilize her even more. Pol is in danger--we all are in danger.

Vren lies awake for many hours before he drifts off into a troubled sleep.

Polradia

*walking a bit apart from the group Pol sits on a rock, takes out her journal, a pot of ink, and pen, licks the nib and using that great elven nigh vision of hers begins to write as early evening sets in*

I look up at the volcano castin' a spittin'a crimson light against the night sky. Wonder how in tha 9 hells we got here. No matter how I hard I dig and how hard I try I cannot remember anythin past that damnable, stinking orc village and tha urge to put tha ring on--ahh tha ring, this fool ring for ONCE in my cursed existence that passes for a life could I have just PASSED on an urge. *Wry smile* not as if I haven' been lettin' tha others have their way with tha goodies--so why? And--*frowns* most important--how'd we, me, get to this place.

Dammit all, *looks at the others* well we all be in one piece--ceptin' the old dwarf--well he said he was feelin' poorly he did after all that fightin'. *Sighs* said he new tha backroads and every way round the area anyways and that bein' by his self he could travel faster and quiter and catch up easy. *Shakes her head and rolls eyes* AS IF!!! Hell he was having trouble keepn' up as is, how he's gonna move fast?? Fast enough to catch up. And an ol' man in plate armor is gonna move quiet like? PLEASE.....*at the thought she stops writing and laughs quietly so hard tears are rolling down her cheeks, as she doubles over laughing* Aye I recokon' we see the last of tha old boy, if tha' orcs and wolves don't get him, well he's just to damn old to catch up ever I think. And iffen he does show, well I'm thikin' he got some things he can teach Pol about sneakin' and such for sure-and they's no one can teach me anything that way *grins* or anything about anything I think. Still *sighs* I be sad to lose the old man. *Quickly shoving down the feelings of sadness* well be wastin' time with this here scribblin' and me hand, me finger *frowns at the cracked, bleeding, festering wound* be hurting something awful.

*shoving the journal deep into her pack and carefully closing the ink pot and packing it and the pen carefully away, Pol quickly makes her face a mask*

Her hand a fire, feeling like the insides of the volcano, Pol is careful to show no feeling at all, really of her inner turmoil and confusion. Walking over to Vren, in a great deal of pain emotionally and physically, she asks for the pipe, and takes several draws of the weed til both sets of pain are dim and distant. As she does, she hears Kyil start to spin her tale and briefly wonders what it must have been to be a child, and have parents who told stories. Pol slips off into the shadows and blends with the darkness using the excuse of keepn' watch to fore go the campfire. But she does not slip so far away she cannot hear Kyil's tale. Laying a gentle hand on here own pointed ears, aye she wants so badly to know all things elven.

She climbs to an outcropping, hunkers down, chin in one hand, bow in the other to keep watch and listen--her eyes wander to the endless sky packed with stars as Kyil weaves her tale. *Indeed she thinks, wonder if that includes mothers who were whores and fathers who were thieves livin' in a big city, and their daughter who is and has been both? eh? Somehow I don't think so, she smiles wryly. Phffft its all just children's stories anyway---stories mommies and daddies tell their children.*

The tears fall blurring the landscape and Pol sucessfully stifles the great wracking sobs that threaten to break loose from her, diaphram heaving with the effort. Her mind briefly touches on her brothers and sister, wondering where and how they are doing, but at that painful thought, her mind quickly flits to other things.

Wipeing away all evidence of crying she smiles sarcastically at the fear of the others over a bunch of dark elves. She whips out both swords and does a graceful dance in the night with both, *thinking haaa I am the equal and more of any dark elf, and looks at the others with dispassion, so what if ye die, really. Why do they seek to cling to this miserable life full of blood, sweat, dirt, tears, pain.* But in the midst of those dark musings she thinks back to her own place outside Esirup, the old growth, the soft golden sun giving color to all the shades of green, the sweet smells, to the peace of mind, body and soul.

Calmer, she watches the others, profiles lit by the fire's light. She notices Vren brow furrowed with worry, streach out after Kyil's tale a sad look quickly masked by him. Pol knows, she thinks why,--after all what is the only rememberance that has ever moved him? *Aye she thinks, he is mornin' his wife again and *grins* damn near good as me at shovin' the pain away, almost.* Then she remembers another thing, and makes her mind up soon to ask Vren and the old dwarf about love and how they knew their wives were the one special person. To Pol, so used to being tossed aside, it is a never ending wonder and fascination that both men would still be so sad after all these years apart from spouses long dead, and still remembering them so vividly. *Is that love, she wonders? Is that what it is like? They never left their wives and still think of them long years later? Is that love, wanting to stay with only one person, and if it is, what in the world does it feel like and how do ye know? Aye, well I know pleasures of the body, and and aye was in "the business" for some years, but this is different, I know.* And all at once a sharp pain of hurt, sadness and longing, whose source she does not know or understand, briefly fill her and as quickly leave under the influence of the weed.

She shakes her head dourly at the bard, watching him trying to ponder it through with the preacher. To her mind the bard will always find the words to do what he wants anyway, and they are just empty words to her, but tis obvious for all his learing that he does not know. But she listens closely to the preacher man and his response. And again she wonders what a preacher man could possibly know about love and loss of love. It seems to her that the dwarf and Vren know far, far more. But as she listens, Pol regards the preacher intently, and thinking * his words be soft, and gentle and sweet like. Maybe he do and maybe he don't know anything. Still *grinning* he is a handsome sort,and wonder if his kisses be as sweet and his hands as gentle, aye-- and no matter, even so maybe I will ask him. After all what do I know of him anyway?*

Finally she looks at Kyil flanked on either side by TA and the preacher. Tilting her head she thinks about the other female with a stutter. A slight smile, Pol shakes her head, thinking aye everyone loves Kyil, even me, I am protective of her. As Pol sits removed from the group, she thinks about Kyil and thinks about herself. *Must be nice to be so naturally sweet and naieve, aye? Instead of stubborn and hard and afraid all the time in ways different from Kyil. Aye, looking at TA and the preacher both falling all over themselves to attend to Kyil, phffft, well, a person is not what they are not. I could no more reign in me feelins' and pull off how Kyil just naturally is than pigs can fly. And well naieve and I am not either, would've been long dead otherwise, haa.* Looking at TA, a tender smile crosses her face and is as quickly gone. Tis obvious to Pol TA is all besotted with Kyil as is the preacher and remembering the hard lessons the bard has taught her about loving or caring for any man, she shakes her head and walks away thinking, aye let Kyil have them. Tis obvious Kyil is the type men like. Still *shrugs* to bad there. Just leave them be and leave TA to his Kyil. The likes of me is to wild a ride I reckon.

As she watches them a look of pure terror and naked fright antimates her face. One she would be totally ashamed for any of them to see, so busy is she trying to hide and keep a lid on her feelings,but especially not fear. She just does not know how she got here and the others....the others seem afraid of her? And, she is ever in the habit of making and bringing trouble, even when she does not mean to. Aye tis been her role in life ever since her own father's death. But as if she did not have trouble enough, at least TRYING NOT to create problems now she looks at the others not comprehending at all what is wrong now. She looks down at her finger, and licks at the blood still coming from the finger. And studies the sore raw place where the skin has been ripped away somehow. The ring had badly burned the flesh and now well, now the skin was torn from it and it is festering badly. Despairing all she remembers is the others standing around her, yelling at her that the ring was gone when she knew without even looking, by the horrilble pain, that it was there. And oh boy were they mad! And afraid....

Aye mad they have been, lots of times, but never afraid.....What in the world had she done to make them so afraid and angry with her? Shrugging she figures tis their problem and by the 9 hells always worrying about what evil this or that lay ahead anyway. Always afraid of drow elves or what ever in the hells lay ahead of them. On her dark outcropping, keeping watch, she shakes her head, thinking only just to take each day as it comes, wanting only to get back to her own secret, sacred place. *can't worry about what ain't there, she thinks, only thing I can worry about is what's in front my face, which is moren' I know what to do with lots of tha time anyways.

And disgusted, confused, alone and lonely and scared, she tosses a stick out into the brush, only to hear it's rustle answered by another rustle in the dark.

Pol had taken her last shall I say, "opps" spell at one of her group members and they decided that it was time to do something about the ring, especially since they saw it glowing in the colors of red, white, & black.

A few of the group wondered if it was the ring and decided to take it into their own hands. So Spag grabbed her from behind lifting her off the ground while binding her arms. Vren walked up and grabbed the ring trying with all his might to take it off. The next thing he felt was him landing on his backside as he saw the ring fall to the ground but when it did it disappeared. This in turn surprised Sprag that he released his grip and Pol ran for... well she just ran.

The group finally caught up with her and were asking if she was ok, Malcolm saw that her finger was bleeding where the ring had been and began to bandage her wound. Spag too looked at her finger and he saw the blood where the ring once was. The ring was no more, but as Kyil looked into Pol's eyes they suddenly became multi-colored and when Pol reached out from her hands sprung a rainbow of colors.

All shocked and confused the group began to think of...

Next Page...