Steph's Fiction

*************

Before we start....... some in-game screenshots of some characters!!!

First, here is the character that I played: Sephria, Dark Elf Wizard:

Secondly, here is an NPC who lives in the Neriak Commons in the House of the Spurned.

'May I also recommend skimming over the maps of the Dark Elven City of Neriak. All you really have to know is that the city contains 3 quarters, in order of "holiness". First, there is the Foreign Quarter, where unclean races are allowed entry to sell their wares. Second, comes the Commons, where everyday dark elves live most of their lives. Next, comes the Third Gate, where only the most honoured and respected are allowed: Royalty, nobility and religious leaders only.

Okay, now that you know what everybody looks like, on with the show!!!!

**************

He tasted sharp and bitter grapes in the wine, balanced with a light and sweet aftertaste. Perfect. The brewers of the city of Neriak were as skilled as they claimed.

Morgalanth, High Sorcerer of the Spurned, glinted his wine glass in the firelight of his office. He was pleased at his apprentice's progress. He knew that the Board of the Spurned would be angry when they discovered that he had taken this gifted initiate from them so early in her training. But it would be some time yet before they discovered their loss.

Contemplating the day's success, he traced his long, dark-elvish fingers along the delicate stem of the glass. Despite their evil nature, Dark Elves did indeed have an eye for the beautiful. The Intricate pattern sang its magic in tiny lights thoughout the glasswork; surely, it had taken great skill, likely of a magical Enchanter, to create such beauty. The fragile wine flute quivered in Morgalanth's hand, as if in fear of the horrible power sleeping within his very fingers.

A tug at Morgalanth's consciousness respectfully but urgently made its presence known to him.

"Enter," the socerer allowed, turning to face the doorway to his office.

The doorway revealed an armored soldier, clad in traditional black-blue chainmail of the underground elves and blood red tunic. He'd removed his helmet, revealing a complexion like Morgalanth's own: stark white hair over dark bluish-black skin. His eyes were ice-blue, unlike Morgalanth's, which were violet.

Morgalanth allowed only the highest officers within the Indigo Brotherhood limited telepathic connections to his mind for rapid communication. Officers rarely used this facility to contact him, aware of the ruthless punishment his authority allowed him to inflict, should they bother him with trivialities.

"My lord," said the officer, "We have apprehended an intruder within the Third Gate. A lightwalker."

Morgalanth's eyes narrowed. A lightwalker? 'Hated scum: humans, dwarves and fair-skinned elves who dwelled in daylight: very few were allowed into dark elvish territory. If any, they were restricted to Neriak's Foreign Quater, and, rarely, the Commons. Neriak's Third Gate housed the sacred halls of the Tier`Dal - dark elves - and the Temple of the Dark Father, the god Innoruuk, Prince of Hate. The temple was so sacred that only pure-blooded followers may enter the gate; even some dark elves were not allowed entrance. To have a lightwalker even lay eyes on the sacred Spires was unheard of.

"We would have slain it," the officer explained quickly, "but it bears the energy patterns that you indicated. Perhaps you would have us stow the creature in your laboratory?"

Morgalanth's frown deepened. "No," he commanded. "I will deal with it immediately. Take me there."

The officer nodded and performed an about turn, allowing the sorcerer to follow.

Morgalanth's long red robes billowed like fire behind his long, rapid strides. Could the appearance of the intruder be related to this morning's success? Where was Sephria? He had not seen his apprentice since the experiment; he'd presumed that she'd find her way to her quarters well enough. He reached out his mind to contact her. She was nowhere to be found; either she was sleeping, or dead.

No matter, he thought harshly. I will question her later. He pushed the latter possibility away from his mind.

The officer led him though the corridor exiting the Commons area, where Morgalanth commanded the House of the Spurned, and into the Third Gate. Neriak's most noble and honoured guild houses lay within: The Lodge of the Dead, home to Necromancers and Shadow Knights. Morgalanth's own arts - Wizardry, Magic and Enchantment - were less-respected, even "Spurned", which was why his House of the Spurned was so-named, and its location was in the Commons area. Although his art was not revered, Morgalanth commanded the noblest of blood and his devoutness to the god Innoruuk allowed his high stature among the nobility of Neriak. That, and his deadly skill with magic.

Five officers of the Indigo Brotherhood encircled the intruder. It had been shackled, with a soldier clutching its arms on either side. Another soldier stood behind, his sword drawn and pointed at the prisoner, another similarly in front. The fifth soldier stood guard at a distance, bow and arrow knocked and drawn. The lightwalker was a small human female. Although apparently harmless, soldiers of the Indigo Brotherhood did not take unnecessary risks.

As they drew closer, Morgalanth felt his distain for humans twist at his stomach, and his fingers itched with fire; he would do away with this vermin as soon as possible, as soon as he could determine the source of the energy fluctuations. His eyes flickered over the intruder's features. Fair-haired, young, with bright, intelligent eyes. Wait.

Sephria?

There was no mistaking it. The lightwalker - impossible, but it was her! Her colouring was different: blonde hair instead of white, pinkish-human skin instead of her dark elvish indigo complexion, green eyes instead of Sephria's blood-red eyes.

His eyes locked on hers, Morgalanth strode between the guards, and turned the girl's chin so that he could examine her face. Recognition flickered in her eyes, amid fear and confusion. Then, as always, he could see her thinking behind those eyes. Always calculating, always questioning. His Sephria.

What had they done?