Lánilmathién was more then enraged at the events of the past couple of months –she was utterly and undeniably pissed. The cool water brushed up against her almost bare skin, covered only by thin pieces of red armor which would not truly protect her much in a battle –the young Sorceress did not much need protection. She had magic to rely on, and a thirst for power which would undeniably turn into a hunger that would soon be sated. Of course, this was a long-term goal, one of which she could not accomplish without the key assets she had once set up for herself. This was before she was touched with a Mana Crystal and kidnapped several months ago. Mana Crystals were rare artifacts created by the High Elves of the past, Elves whose power as Mages and as Wizards was renowned in numerous art forms. Truth be told, Lánilmathién had once possessed a Mana Crystal that she had stolen. Three months of intense planning had allowed her to kill all who protected the secrets of the stone, and gave her the window she needed to steal it. Then, everything backfired. High Elves, as Lánilmathién well knew, should not be trusted, and a magical booby trap had been placed on the crystal. Quite simply she was not to touch it for long or it would take her magic –slowly but surely it would sap everything she had in her body. Every ounce of Magical energies, or Mana in the lore of High Elves, and she would be a useless shell. So, what happened? They had planned it. They wanted what she had, and they didn’t. Knowledge. Ingenious plans and strategies, the abilities to plot for almost any situation. They tried to extract it magically, but with little luck. So they asked her aid –asked her to teach it to them. But she refused. Instead, she killed them.

She took over their small encampment, making the remaining survives slaves with what little magic she still possessed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show them she was no force to be reckoned with. She had to find her blades still, anyway. Each weapon –most of which were all found and inherited by the Moon Elves and the Sun Elves- were each her own pride and joy. She was quite angry that they were missing, even though she wasn’t particularly the best in using such weapons. She could use her blades, and still hold her own, as she once was an Assassin, but she did not often choose to. Not unless it was particularly necessary. She tortured the remaining survivors, after they did their chores and tasks to keep her comfortable, into telling her where her weaponry was held. They cracked like little babies, and she smiled in sheer delight. After finding all her wonderful tools of the trade, she slid them in their proper places on her body and then proceeded to kill the silly little elves who had once been her underlings. Easy enough. However, before the last one died, she muttered a word that Lánilmathién did not understand –she knew many languages, but that of the High Elves was not one of them. The small male grinned back at her, and within a moment the boat she was going to take to escape from the island –her only way to escape- burst into flames.

She slit his throat with Hex Fire burning bright.

With an uttered sigh, she had sheathed the blade and went with her best bet. She was close to a mile or two from the shore –she could make it, she assumed, and if she couldn’t she would be able to relax in the water in her final moments. She mainly had to worry about fatigue more then other aspects of her powers. Rubbing her wrists and cracking her wrists, she stretched her arms out and flicked her fingers forward, then slowly pulled them to her closed eyes. Pressing the pads of her fingertips to her upper cheekbones and then swiftly opened her eyes, a soft glowing protruding from the general vicinity of her orbs. The light would have blinded someone normally, if it was not created through means of magic, and allowed the caster to see far, far ahead of what normal vision allowed. She traveled along the sea, looking at the shore as if she was feet away. It couldn’t be too far, so she reluctantly set out, canceling the effects of her magic, and taking but a single pack of food with her.

So her she was, months after she was stolen from the Temple of Darkness, and long after Ranewen had disappeared. Magic was still as strong in Imythess as it always had been, but Lánilmathién wasn’t as powerful as she once had been. She needed to regain that strength –she had to. She could handle a blade or two for a bit, but she was certainly not skilled enough to take more then a couple of people down. She had been an Assassin years ago, but she had given up that lifestyle for the magic which had been her birthright. Right at that moment, she knew she needed to sleep –to rest and build up her reserves, and fill herself with enough Magical force to execute every spell in her large arsenal. An arsenal which was slowly growing and would allow her to take control of things which she once assumed impossible. Quietly, Lánilmathién closed her eyes and allowed what little magic she had left to slid over her demonic spirit, opening up her Erinyes features. Magical shadows swathed Lánilmathién and, within a moment, the female was quickly blessed with a tattoo on her collarbone and beautiful Raven black wings tipped with crimson and scarlet feathers at their ends. She swiftly allowed the wings to give her flight, and she lifted herself to the clouds, with only the need to discover where she was and get to safety fuel her.

But she was weak. Much too weak to actually control what was happening, and thus the female blinked her eyes, fatigue running over her features as she tried to concentrate, and then Lánilmathién closed her eyes and plummeted towards the cool waters that would do nothing to wake her up.

She was unconscious and would surely drown.

Stallion Thunder watched in the distance as he noticed black falling object heading straight for the water. "What is it some kind of bird? A Spell?" He thought as he tried to think what this falling spec could be. He stared sharply, then he noticed it was a person, or creature. The details of who or what, were still unknown to his eye. He just knew it was falling, and not moving.

He was afraid of the water, and to go out into it most of all was very frightening. But something over took him, as if another side. He unknowingly began to strip of his clothes except for his pants, and laid down his instruments of battle but keeping the wooden stakes strept to his belt, he began to sprint into the water. It seemed as if his fear was gone, but he was not controlling his own actions. He swam, and swam, and swam some more. Until he reached the creature in the water.

He took no notice as to what the creature was for he was to concerned on the work of swimming and just grabbed hold of it and began to swim back to the shore of which he came. He made sure he held the creatures head above the water, but he was still not sure if it survived. For it had been out at sea for a while, but the notion that she was still floating assured there was still oxygen present in her lungs.

He swam as hard as he closed in on the shore. His feet touched the bottom of the of the water and he began to rise onto shore. He carried her until he reached grass and layed her down. He then noticed what he had just saved. A girl. With large black wings. That was all he cared for. She was safe. No one deserves to die alone. He then walked over where he had left his weapons and picked up his scythe and head to a shadowed spot under a small tree, and collapsed.

His last thought as his eyes closed was. "Who is she?"

Who was she? An Immortal hybrid of Sun Elf and Moon Elf, two constantly battling Elven races, and as such her skills were beautifully crafted together. Who was she? She was a crafty woman who knew her way through any situation. Who was she? She was a brilliant mastermind who knew the ins and outs of most great strategies in days past. Who was she? She was a master Sorceress who could work magic by simple thoughts, words, and overall the prowess which had always been her own imagination. Who was she? Lánilmathién, the Great, the Powerful, and overall, the twin sister of Ranewen, the former Goddess of Darkness –that was who she was, and that was who she knew she would be in the future. Of course, Lánilmathién was much more then anything she had previously listed. She was mysterious, she was powerful, and overall, she was one of the few people who could easily manipulate the strongest foes into giving her what she wants, without a single word of magic uttered. She was brilliant, simply put, and one of the world’s foremost experts in the magical arts, and how to properly apply them in their master plan to rule the world. Generally speaking, of course, Lánilmathién would rule the world oh so soon. Of course she would –she had plans, ideals, and the knowledge of how to do it.

It was only a matter of time.

She thought she had dreamt it all –the attack that had been placed on her by those wretched High Elves, the draining of her Mana, the enduring swim back to the mainland of Imythess, but she hadn’t. She knew that now, even in her state of unconsciousness. This was much, much too real, and she definitely didn’t want it to be. She thought this could be relaxing and soothing, and even, quite possibly, amazing, but it wasn’t. It was far, far, from. She was tortured inside, struggling to survive the eternal battle that her soul pushed against her. She didn’t like this feeling of being weak –not in the very slightest. Her first thoughts, as she spiraled into the blackness of her mind, were what it would soon be like to have her magic back. She had went close to three months without it –so why should she not have it returned to her immediately? Good question. She was incredibly pleased that it did not matter much, as it would soon be hers anyway. She smiled, she sauntered, and she marched through her mind with the prominent domination that it would be her birthright to one day rule this world. She no longer needed the armor she had that allowed her to change her shape. She now needed to return to the flowing crimson and raven gowns, with frills and bodices and corsets, and allow herself to be restricted much like a woman would, but beneath it all she was a dangerous Sorceress, and she would hold her blades in the hidden folds. She definitely didn’t mind –she hadn’t before she had found this dreaded armor that had only caused her problems.

She felt the cool tides slam into her lithe body, engulfing her and swallowing her being. Quietly, she began to drift towards the body of the ocean, her lungs not obeying her demand, her body not following the strict orders she gave it to move. It didn’t want her to be free. It was if her bodily functions had taken a life of their own and began to act in horrid manners. She was unable to fight or struggle against the ripping currents, unable to push against the torrent tides which threw and tossed her body all around in the ocean. She could do absolutely nothing, and yet she wanted to, so horribly did she want to. She wanted to struggle and fight, and free herself from the burden that pinned her down to the ocean floor, but she could not do such a thing. She couldn’t fight the waves to free herself, and she only grew angry at such a thought. After a brief moment, she felt the cool, soft hands brushing against her soft flesh, drawing her closer to the surface. Though she was not one to accept help in most cases, she would in this one. She had no choice, and she was only pissed knowing such information.

She was brought into the light, and then the hands were gone, moving away from her body. He was gone. She knew it was a he. Lánilmathién and men did not get along too well. Ever.

“Wh…Who is the..there.”

It came out as a gasp, but it was clear as to what she was trying to do –discover who saved her, so she could decide if she needed to kill them, or thank them. It was rarely the ladder.


[[It's short, but I got lazy tonight, and then got distracted by a book I was reading when I wanted to take a break from the internet >.>]]

((Short! Ha, not at all i actually feel down casted by it. Your an amazing writer! But it gave me something to read anyways... I was very bored!))

The nightmares came. Green lights flashed inside his eyelids, as hundreds of years of total damnation flew by. The death and screams of the people, he couldn't save, or where they the ones of those who he had killed. They were so alike, but in the end it didn't matter, the nightmares didn't wait for him to chose which.

Then, he stood before a wall of stone, he looked up and saw that no matter how he squinted the tip was never in sight, it seem to loom mockingly over his now comparatively small body. His eyes searched the wall for some sort of sign, or something that stuck out. He began to walk down the wall, it was if he was standing still the pattern didn't seem to shift in the slightest no matter how fast or slow he walked. The were was no sign he was even moving. He grew impatient of the endless stone. He reached out and placed his hand on a stone block. A low grumble emerged from the other side of the wall. He took several steps back and picked up his Scythe that had appeared at his side all of a sudden. The block slowly began to move, it slid towards him. A smell appeared, it was to familiar, it frightened him. As the block slid it must've lost its air-tightness as drops of water began to combine and led to a small and steady drizzle of water. But the stone block did not stop, and as it came out the drizzle became wider and wider.

His breath quickened and he took several steps back. He looked at the floor and the space between him and the wall, and he took several more steps. The stone block and continued to slide until the stream of water was as wide as the block itself. The water began to emerge from the sides and the top. Then the block fell, a spout of water funneled through the wall and landed almost at Stallion's feet. He looked at the wall, and watched solemnly with a tear sliding down his cheek as the other blocks surrounding the now forcefull spray of water began to crack and fall away. He turned and faced an empty blackness, he ran, ran as fast as he could. He turned to look behind to realize he had not moved. The wall began to fail and fall. If you had been watching this strange occurence. It would have been as if he had dissappeared as the water covered him, that was how quick the water came.

Stallion woke up and could not catch his breath, as if he were drowning on air. Every breath he seemed to take made it so the next was even harder to achieve. It took him several seconds to realize it, but he did not need to breath to live, he had never needed it. It must have been the memories of the humans lives he had stolen the blood of, that overtook him for a second. Maybe it was that which is making him compassionate, the blood of the filthy humans. He stared over at the female he had just rescued. He saw her lips move and some emit some inaudible words and her eyes gaze and wander over the surroundings. "Good your still alive." He commented as soon as he was sure she was over the shock.

[[SO sorry for the lateness. I remembered about this RP today, and I was like EEP! So I rushed over to reply >.< So sorry. RL is totally weird right now, so I've been in and out of Imythess. For cereal, uber sorry.]]


Lanilmathien was not entirely sure where she was. She could smell the water --especially since she was drenched in it from head to toe-- and could even feel the gentle breezes of the air which brushed against the bear skin that was exposed via her dress. The cool heat of the sky radiating down on her, and the tempting pressure of reserve Magicks heating in her womb. She could feel it pulsing in her, begging to be let --begging to be released into the world of utter damnation which was her own decent of utter, glorious power. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. It felt odd, and at first she questioned it --at first she thought she could understand the power that was resonating through her, flowing through her blood as though it always had. In truth, it hadn't. At one point, she had relied heavily on the blade -heavily on the weaponry which she carried around with her, attacking any she deemed were worth the threat. She was a danger to everyone around her when she was in her vicious mode, and she didn't mind the utter pain she cast out in anger when she did. She had once been an Assassin by trade, using all the weaponry at her disposal for a kill -the more chaotic, the better. As time slipped by, Lanilmathien found herself changing her mind constantly. Perhaps she should do this. Perhaps killing wasn't the best option. Perhaps she could do that. In time, she learned where her true calling was --where it had always been, but where she had fought it.

Magick was the reason she ran from her home in the first place, and she wasn't incredibly pleased that it wished to reclaim a place in her life. She resisted for a while, hence her cold-blooded turn to weaponry and Blademanship, but she abandoned that style of battle once she understood the true concept of her own Magick. It was natural now, but before it hadn't been. It had tried to be, but it was the original cause of her pain and suffering. She turned against it, and because of that she had a period of her life where she was ashamed of herself. Not anymore, she reminded herself. Lanilmathien Alwyen Salandel was a powerful Sorceress with Magick beyond the boundaries of any mere mortal, and as the day went by she learned so much more. Bit by bit she began to process the power which she was gaining. Bit by bit she was understanding the power which she could control at the mere whim of a thought. She was, as of yet, no one powerful, but she would be. She promised she would be. The pressure of Magick gathering in her stomach tightened.

"That didn't answer my question. Who. Are. You."

Each word was articulated, a lace of annoyance and rage filling in behind each word. It was as though she was impatient --as though she had no place to go, which was far beyond the truth. She had numerous places she wanted to be, but none were urgent enough to require her attention until she had control over her body again. Full control, not this half-assed attempt of control which surged through her viciously. She was utterly angry on the concept of that matter, of course, but she could deal with it as she did everything else. Soon enough she would once more have a suitable range of Magickal abilities available to her, and oh-so-soon would she be prepared to take down those who messed with her goal. Blood Magicks were now under her command, as were those of Dark and Light. She was much tamer, she realized. No longer was she held down by the binds of her temporal distortion of control. Lanilmathien was, as of this point, a Chaoticly Neutral party --she had to be if she had any hope of performing Holy, or 'White', Magick without harming herself.

"Step one is to work on your social skills by informing me of your bloody name --step two shall be me deciding whether you're going to live, or whether I'll have to kill you now."

Sadly, Lanilmathien meant every single word of this warning.

He smiled, her words cut deep... deep like paper cuts. He didn't fear death he had lived a long time and would gladly live longer if he need be but death is always inevitable. Smiling he answered "My name is, Stallion Thunder, but you may call me what you may. Your gratitude of saving you from the depths could have been expressed by a simple thank you, but if a death threat suits you better... So be it." He stood gently as if his nightmare didn't even occur. He could smell her blood it ran sweetly across his face as he inhaled. He looked at soaking dress. Not unusual for being consumed by water, but then he too realized he was soaked nonetheless.

Munal his inner demon spoke to him swiftly "Stallion she is dangerous, you can sense it yourself. Dress and gather your weapons, and do it now!" He ordered and Stallion obeyed as if he had no choice. Stallion quickly gathered his clothes and began to dress in his usual manner. His weapons he left for last and if he needed to fight he would need to be quick and vigilant. He picked up Cranark, his graceless, for it improved his overall speed. But he could tell if he did fight he had no chance at all. He did not want to fight especially if he knew it meant an untimely death. But he just smiled and gathered his weapons. He sheathed all his weapons, and took several steps towards her.


((OOC:I'm sorry for the short posts.... I'm not as good as you, plus he doesnt have a past to reflect on like you do, well he does he just can't remember it.))