The mage approached the crypt, "I'm late' he thought, as he looked
around and saw all the others has gone. 'Long ago master.' The
wolf was sitting at the door to the crypt, guarding it from intruders.
On the doors were engraved the various markings of different guilds
each of the occupants belonged to. The wolf let out yet another
mournful cry, howling in pain, in anger at the skies which in response
opened up to drench the ground again, as if even the skies wept.
'Who knows, maybe the heavens cry in joy at receiving such a
prize.' The mage pondered. The day was getting old, and the
rains poured down upon the mage who threw back his hood letting
his dark hair tumble about. 'She always did say I needed a haircut.'
The cold rain splattered about, the wolf sang again. A long
mournful wail, pain shuddering through him. The mage looked upon
his old friend, his bodyguard and sighed. "You did not fail in
your duties my friend" he said aloud. But his thoughts
towards himself were different. He walked up to the door, running
his hands over the markings, the magical marks of each guild. He
lingered as much as he could, not wanting to enter. Finally he waved
his hand and the doors opened, even with all his power the doors
would not open for any spell, only his love opened it. Still
he hesitated, pain washing through him though he hid it under his
customary dark brood. The rain still washed over him and he was
now soaked, hair clinging to him, robes heavy in the harsh, cold breeze.
The wolf nudged him inside, then followed him in. Mandos shook off
the
cold, and with a few words he was totally dry. Still he lingered, this
crypt
was made special, magic had hewn the stones and crafted the rock.
The wards of protection sizzled in the air like a living presence.
Standing in the first room he looked around, all over the walls were
pictures of the four sisters in various acts. Dancing here, feasting,
there,
in battle here. As he stared into their beautiful faces his heart shook
with grief yet again. There was a big painting here of the Freedom
Festival, all four sisters sitting at the head table with all the
LoF council members. The magical painting was so life
like that Mandos had to turn his eyes away, the faces were too real.
He thought of all the adventures he had shared with them,
here was a painting of him, Scrink and Josiella slaying the Daemon
King.
A hint of a smile crept onto his face as he remembered that battle,
her hair flowing about as her fingers crackled with magic. The mage
turned his head away slowly, not wanting to remember anymore.
He looked over at the wolf who was caught in his own memories. "Well,
there is only one more thing left to do here." With that said he headed
towards the next and last set of doors, the wards here set his hair
to
rise with their strength. Once again he waved his hands and
they swung open slowly, he hesitated for a moment gathering himself,
then he entered.
He stopped at each monument to say his final goodbyes. Where
Silverelia rested he put down his cowboy hat, the one he had given
her a long time ago in LoE. He remembered how much she enjoyed it,
and all the fun they had there. For Jacella, he left his sword, the
one he
carried in the realm where they spent many days adventuring together.
There were many times he fell and she carried it for him. For Josiella,
he called upon his magic, something he had never tried before. He held
open his
right hand while making passes over it with his left. An orb of pure
energy formed in his open hand, it spun in a circle faster and faster,
the power burned the mages hand but he hardly noticed it.
The light turned from blue, to red, to yellow, to purple, to white,
then to no color human eyes can imagine, then every color ever
seen. Finally the spinning stopped. And in his hand he held a perfect
rose, from one angle it was red, another it looked blue, and yet another
white, or yellow, or green, or whatever color you imagined. "This flower
will
never die, it will be in bloom forever, as will my heart always carry
love for you and yours Josie." The mage said in a dry whisper.
Then he placed it on her chest.
'Only one more goodbye to go', he thought to himself. And so
with tears welling in his eyes he turned to the final monument,
where his heart now rested. "Melodiasâ". The word was a
prayer.
He looked upon her final resting place and swayed, almost losing
himself in his grief. The wolf was at his side but just looked
up at it's master helplessly. The mages heart was dying, never
had he felt such pain. He held his hand open again and another
sphere of light formed, it took the form of a square. It expanded in
size to that of a painting the same size of the ones in the first room.
It began to take shape. The background was a quaint old tavern,
it was one of the stops made by the lady and the mage on their way
to the dead city, one of their greatest adventures.
The place was lit by candles and elven lamps, and heated
by a huge fire. Melodias was dressed in a violet dress that set off
her eyes, and the mage in his customary black robes. The mage bowed
and took the ladies hand, and they danced. The animated painting
floated, then rested at the foot of the resting place. Satisfied with
his work the mage then bowed to the ladies. Then fell to his knees,
he first prayed, then he sang, an old elven song, the one the
band played while he danced with his love that night. It was
a powerful
song, of an elven princess who loved a human. He had come
across her one day in the forest singing and he fell under her spell
and had no choice but to love her, and so she loved him too. Mandos
felt the song was fitting, because that was what happened to him
when he first set eyes on Melodias.
His voice grew stronger as the song went on. At the end the elven
princess still in the prime of her long years of life held her elderly
husband close to her, as he breathed his last breath. He ended the
song, fighting back tears and trying to breath but his throat felt
as
if it was swollen ten times the normal size. Eventually he got
up,
and tried to walk out but found he couldn't leave yet. He turned,
and
throwing both hands up called on his magic one last time. Four
orbs were born into existence, smaller ones but powerful. As their
glow
brightened the mage smiled. The magic spun the orbs
around and around with increasing speed until finally they all
stopped and floated into the hands of the mage. Each one was a small
crystal orb, and if you looked closely into them you could see a perfect
representation of each of the sisters, one orb for each one. And in
each one they were smiling.
The mage and wolf then left the crypt, but lingered at the front doors
for a long time.