[Taralphiel]

I just finished this draft, I've been thinking of a nemesis,or to put it, giving a face to the evil. Ive come up with a character of two. I'll probably be asking for people to fill these characters. Let me know what you think of it (if the race of the informant doesnt work, I have no problem with changing it)

~*~Walking through the shadows, the creature watched for the stray beams of moonlight that threatened his concealment. Indeed the open aired house of the Swan Lady was hazardous for him, the light stunning him and leaving him vulnerable. He slowly traced his steps through the house, like a routine, and made his way down the halls to the bedchambers. Listening to the foreign rising and falling of breathing, he found a small group of guests. He assumed them to be a makeshift legion, and gave a low growl. Soon he found the room he was seeking, and a grin spread on his face.

Moving in, he saw the Lady Laurel lying asleep. Her face was still but had a disturbed look on it, as if sleep unnerved her. He ran his finger gently across her pale jawline and smiled, then let out low whispers. ‘I know ye brought them here dearest, and that ye wish to hide from me, but I shall no’ weary. They will come for this place, and I shall have your beauty to my own. Only I can bring ye comfort to that eating darkness, and I will no’ yield’ At that a beam of the moon struck him and lit up his face. Pale as the light, his eyes were darker than any abyss. His long hair was tied back and flowed lightly over his shoulders. His featues were strong and handsome, but fey and sickness rose from his features above all else. His ears gave him away as an Elf, and his curse on the moonlight was also obvious. But this Elf was no longer of his people, but twisted and fallen. Cuor moved quietly back into the forest, humming his plans, and cursing the rest of the damned House.

~*~

Cuor made his way back through the forest to the camp of the stinking rebels. The smell of rotting and burning meat assailed his senses, as well as the reek of the many filthy bodies jostling, telling tales and searching for more Ale. Quickly he darted into a tall tent at the end of the heap of soldiers, and threw himself to the floor. Inside, skins and rugs were thrown down, and jugs of wine and food stood nearby. Leaning against the tent were broadswords, stained with blood and evilly tarnished. Also were a quiver and arrows, and a small skin pouch. In his prostrate position, Cuor stared at the shiny darts that had spilled from the satchel, their ends feathered black, and their tips gleaming a sickly yellow.
A voice boomed out over him ‘Get ye up, fool! Tell me news!’
Cuor stood to face the man. He too was grubby, and smelled foul. His dark beard fell long over his ragged skins and clothes, and he did not suit his surroundings, which were a sight more refined, but not too much. His dirt stained face showed a twisted nose and two, small dark eyes, with a menacing stare ‘Well! Out with it!’

‘The Lady has employed mercenaries milord’ he began slowly ‘there are many, and some may be hidden, I am no’ sure. They will put up a greater fight then we may be able to stand’

At that plates flew about the room as the Wild Man roared ‘We shall see! Wretch! You are no better then that damned old witch, sitting on ‘er throne! That land will be mine! And I’ll ‘ang her from the nearest tree!’ he scowled at Cuor, and his voice turned chillingly meek ‘Tell me, little pointy ear, what be you wanting from this? Ye came to me and told me o’ a wonderful palace in the forests ripe for the taking. We only knew of a small village then, and never thought to attack in such a number! You lead us straight there. And we are almost at her door! But naught have ye said of reward! Spit it out, wretch!’

Cuor’s eyes narrowed ‘I be wanting one o’ the ladies of the House. The warrior. Leave her alone’ The Wild King grinned ‘Hehhh! You be picking out the best, m’friend. Why do ye not just take her now! Why kill her graddam, and all her friends hm?’

Cuor did not move. He turned the question over and over in his mind. Why kill them all? ‘She will no’ want ye any other way’ a voice assured him, and he spun around. A dark cloaked figure appeared at the door. Throwing down the hood, a Wild Woman grinned ‘Ah! Gita!’ smiled the King. Gita looked far better dressed than Wild Men, enough to blend into the town, which was what she did. ‘This thing was stealing from the twon in his hunger pains. He was brought to the House and fell in love with the Houses beauty. But her gran’ wouldna’ have that, and sent him away.’ She smirked. Cuor was astounded she knew such things. ‘And ye would love to know where he came from? The charred wreck of the cursed ring o’ Black Mountains’ At this, the King again scowled ‘The cursed Lord’s leftovers eh? Well, he serves his purpose, and he shall get his reward if he does as he is ordered. Out a my sight!’ With that he received a stern kick from Gita, and was out the door. Nursing his sore backside into a tree, he grinned in malice ‘They can have the Land, and I shall have my Lady. But she will no’ love me without some sport. Yesss, she’ll hunt them down fer me’ and he smiled though the night, dreaming of being Lord of his own Land.

~*~
Clearly this informant is both poweful, but bordering on completley dillusional [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] wanted him to add a bit of humour, but still be dark and possesive. I wait for your opinion

Tara