Cereals (OOC)

I am a serial killer. And since this is the internet, I don't mind letting it out. I usually go out at night, looking for that special someone who fits my fantasy, torture, then brutally kill her while she begs for her life. But that's not what I like about it. This city is full of lousy houses, poor neighborhoods and half-lit alleys. The quiet is a pleasure to my ears, as I use all senses to hunt. I convince a security guard to let me through the university gates, so I can lurk around hallways which, during the day, are full of students. And then I see my mark.

Tonight, I'm a serial killer. But yesterday I was a stalker. And tomorrow I might be a thief. Rarely, when I'm truly bored, I'm a vampire. It's the lurking I like, the walking around with the pocket knife and impractical long black coat I bought for this purpose alone, even though it's humid and hot at nights, on November. Once the couple appeared at the university grounds, I follow them, as quietly as I possible can, walking on the soft edges of my feet so I don't make any noise while walking. A fantasy book character I like walks like this, but in the book, he is the hero, and in my imagination, I'm the villain.

Listening on their conversation is the most interesting part of the adventure. Usually I eavesdrop on dull, day-to-day conversation, even though the night is half passed, and the moon isn't shining as much as it did earlier. But tonight I've hit a jackpot, because they're talking about what they're gonna do in bed when they get back. I grow hard, and smile a smile which is half hidden behind the up-folded edges of my coat's collar. Thoughts of what I'm going to do to them once I follow them into the apartment begin to float into my head. Being not-so-creative, below average even, I think of that movie about a serial killer who's a dad, who breaks into lovers' apartments and kills them in the act. And I replace him with my image, in my mind.

I wasn't too surprised that I followed them to a place very close to my own home. I would be surprised if it was day, because honestly - what's the probability? But I'm not surprised now, because this is tonight, and I decide what happens.

They still haven't noticed me. They probably didn't even realize they should be afraid. I'm not really going to kill them, or even try to break into their apartment, but sometimes, when I walk without pretending, strangers give me odd looks. Tell me, strange people, is it a self-defense mechanism, to make the people on the street fear you? Or are you just generally impolite to strangers? So if they did see me, they'd be scared shitless, as they say in Hollywood. They'd be so scared, they wouldn't even try to attack me. They'll run.

Because it's the night, it's my reign. It's mine alone, even as I leave them be and walk back to my home, and enter my room, and take all my clothes off, and go to sleep, once again, in an empty bed.

The Last Tale of Ra'han Lhalabar - II

27.06.09

Even through the thick b lack veil he wore over his eyes, Ra'han Lhalabar found the painful sunset of the surface world a marvel. Pink and orange stripes filled the horizon like strands of dyed spider silk on an enchantress. The lights flew around mountaintops which were taller than the ceiling of any underdark cavern, their tops covered with snow. The soft, frozen material fascinated the old weaponmaster; the only aspect of frozen water he's ever seen was ice – cold and dangerous. It was nearly unrecognizable using a drow's heat vision, and where ice covered the ground it also covered the ceiling, threatening to drop stalagmites. The sun, thrilling, yet wallowing and unstable mass of the terrible sun pained Ra'han's eyes, quivered without rhythm at the edges; a state the old warrior felt very similar to his own. Always putting on a cold face, dangerous to others through appearance and reputation, but unstable and unsure at time; Ra'han felt melancholy sweep over him. It disappeared behind the mountaintops quickly and without splendor, so it seemed, and Ra'han once more found he wished he could just stand up and head to these mountains and climb to their tops, that that was the only way he will ever feel peace.

Instead, however, the nagging feeling of the matron's order crept into his consciousness again, as it had for the week since Nebul's visit. The drow was sitting cross-legged in the shadow of a large, flat stone, inside a small cave, barely outside of the line of light. His arms were restively spread on his thighs, and he could see the last light fade into darkness. Evening birds chirped noisily and a strong breeze blew, yet neither could keep the underdark guide's thoughts off of his seemingly eternal turmoil – the dilemma keeping him under the overbearing ceiling of stone and rock against leaving his old hateful home. He could never find a viable solution, an unrecognizable force pulling him in while his will desperately wanting out. Shadowrealm hasn't been his home for decades, and the underdark was no one's home. He felt any old and strong drow like him could master fears of the surface world, yet something was keeping him from it.

The drow weaponmaster refused to let the extreme contrasts in view hypnotize him as he abruptly stood up and turned around. He picked up his old blade, Elghinnsila, and started trotting toward the black, dull underdark.

OOC - Picture

So I can't find the draft for the second part... Must have left it at my parents' place. Anyway, here's a picture by Roni Yoffe.
This is what Ra'han used to look like when he was very young. Probably a lot before he lost his ear and became a weaponmaster. This image is missing the dragon amulet, I'll see about uploading the one I have in Rishon, although it might be of lesser quality.

OOC and Welcome

ברוכים הבאים.
בעתיד יעלו פה סיפורים שלי, בעיקר כאלו על הדמות הראשית שלי כבר מ 2002. אני אודה לכל מי שישאיר הערות.
עידן

Welcome.
I'm gonna be posting stories of mine here, especially about Ra'han Lhalabar, from now on. Thanks in advance to everyone who leaves a comment.

The Last Tale of Ra'han Lhalabar - I

(written 03.06.09)

"It's what?" Ra'han did not sound as suspicious as he intended. These things simply did not apply to his way of life anymore, not since he has taken on his original albeit lonely lifestyle.
"I'm telling true, I swear, Master Ra'han! You must believe me and correspond at once!"

Ra'han made a show of sneering at the young drow's tone of speech.

"I must, lord Nebul? Who said I must? As far as I know, it has been decades since Matron…" The old weaponmaster paused and gave a careless twirl of his hand. "Sinifaine", the young lord dared to frown as he assisted Ra'han's apathy, mistaking it for forgetfulness. The weaponmaster returned a scowl of his own, to which he received an appeasing flinch from the young Nebul.

"Sinifaine, yes. Thank you my lord. As I was saying it has been decades since Matron Sinifaine has refused me entry to Shadowrealm". The experienced fighter paused for a few moments, letting the younger drow realize his lack of interest in the cause.

Ra'han has played the part of underdark-guide for almost a century, highlighted by the event in which he was outcast from Shadowrealm, his ancient homeland. However, he failed to show any inclination of coming back, especially since he has been hunted ever since that sorry occasion. It is needless to say no bounty-hunter has ever been successful, initiating therefore the current status-quo between himself and the nobility of Shadowrealm; he was to stay out and they were to stop bothering him. As an underdark-guide, and a drow warrior with a few centuries of experience, the old drow had no need for cities in any case, being able to survive the underdark reaches known to him.

The young noble shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Ra'han sat and glared at his standing counterpart. It was a preferred strategy of his to make young upstart drow uncomfortable, relying on his reputation as well. It was unclear, however, at whose annoyance at him lord Nebul feared more, Ra'han's or the matron's. The weaponmaster didn't care about that either. It has been more than a few decades than he cared about Shadowrealm politics. Nor did he care what any of its inhabitants, like Nebul, thought about him. "Master Ra'han", the noble inquired with a puzzled expression, "Since you seem so eager to forget Shadowrealm exists, how is it you still lurk around so much? Homesick much?".

Ra'han was both surprised and infuriated at such a personal question. By the time it took the old fighter to pick a feeling, and for the young Nebul to realize his mistake, they found themselves thrown on the ground, the weaponmaster looking down at Nebul, sprawled on the floor, his limbs pinned to the ground and bleeding a little from where Ra'han's black dagger penetrated Nebul's lucrative piece of armor.

"Wrong subject, lord Nebul", the old weaponmaster snarled. Nebul glared up at him half terrified half angry, whimpered "But what of the ma…", "Tell Matron Sinifaine the same thing, you brat!" Ra'han snapped. He waited for Nebul's nervous nod and got up. The young drow took his time and dignity standing up, he was a noble after all, and stared expressionlessly at the weaponmaster. "You grow old and careless, Master Ra'han. That little stunt will cost you. You'll hear from us again".

He left right after without another word or other sort of sound. The underdark-guide found himself thinking he was growing too patient with these bastards and upstarts from his hometown. They feared him on their own, but felt brave thinking of the support of their matron mothers. They could rely on them, of course, but that meant little to Ra'han. They were forgetting who he was and what he was capable of. They already forgot he taught their ancestors everything they know.

It was past time he reminded the lowlifes their place in the underdark's treacherous domain. "And I'll be waiting, young lord Nebul. It is indeed past time I had a chat with Matron Sinifaine".