rythriel - Tumblr blog

[rythriel]

Like all elves, magic was inherently part of his life whether he used it or not. It seeped into his bones from before his birth, passed down like a silent, unspoken, birthright from a servant mother who stitched clothes for nobles. The same magic had flowed in her as any magistrix who walked the streets of silvermoon. It was the cosmic thread that tied all elves together regardless of station or caste. Sometimes it was easier than others to forget their common ties. When you spent a lifetime relying very little on the arcane it was simple to begin to dismiss it's subtle effects on your life. An arrow sang the same without any enchantments or runes. He could hit his mark without magic's aid. He could not, however, discredit the enchantments that allowed him to trudge through rain soaked forests and wade through chest deep waters with the same bow for centuries. Untended by the magicked runes carved into its wood the wax he polished into the frame would do little to hold out the moisture that so quickly ruined weapons such as this. Rough hands were delicate with the rag he ran back and forth along the bow's frame. Black and fairly unadorned, it nevertheless gleamed with pride of care. The bowstring was removed, allowing the weapon to curve back upon itself unhindered, resulting in a strangely shaped piece of wood he could strap to his back. The string was likewise made to withstand water, to keep its tension even when strung for long periods of time. But this was tradition, and habit, and something to do with his hands when his mind was far away somewhere another lifetime ago. And besides, just because you have the luxury of magic shouldn't mean you forget the old ways too. If he had learned anything over the last few years it was that magic, despite what their people may think, was not a source constant as the sun.

[rythriel]

There was a note attached to the door of his rented room when he returned that morning. ---------------------------------- Uncle, I am making a big supper today please come and eat you are too thin. Lyren P.S. Show early if you don't want Athan to eat it all! --------------------------------------- He pulled the note from the door and smirked, unlocking the door to step inside. He sighed, sitting hard on the bed and running fingers through his hair. Shower then visit the twins. First a moment to breathe. He had some things to gather up as well..

[rythriel]

[rythriel]

[rythriel]

[rythriel]

[rythriel]

An autumn night walk

[rythriel]

Veil of Leaves & Mist-ical by Mariko Klug

[rythriel]

[rythriel]

From artstation.com

[rythriel]

He woke from the heat of a fire that did not exist. The sweat soaking his skin was real enough though and the elf sat up in bed with a dissatisfied grunt, rubbing his hands down his face and scratching at the stubble that had already formed.

Rythriel let himself fall back into the mattress, a hand groping out in the dark until he’d found what he was after and brought it to his mouth. A flick of his fingers -one of the few spells he could preform near flawlessly- and the cigarette was lit. Pale blue smoke curled up toward the rafters of the rented room, illuminated by the moon through the window above his bed.

And he returned to the dream-that-wasnt-a-dream, though this time by begrudging choice. No, not a choice. The thoughts would haunt him all night if he didn’t simply let them flow again, relive the nightmare one more time. Again and again. The marching dead and the fires they’d set to their own land. The months crawling on hands and knees through muck and gore over a dead earth he’d once tended. Sleepless nights listening to bone rattling screams and shrieks with no earthly source. The never finding what he’d lost. The never knowing, while his mind continued grasping as if it could pluck her up from his memories and drop her here and now.

No amount of blood or sweat could atone for the call he’d made then, but damned if he wouldn’t drain every drop to change it now. She’d black his eye but she’d be here to do it- or neither of them would. There was little comfort in that alternative. And no end to his penance.