-Feathers

Deleaduindill strode through the doors of the Silver Arrow tavern into the chill night air, his dark sapphire eyes narrowed in displeasure, his stride strong and brisk, leaving Calista sitting at the table by the door with a look of somewhat dubious indecision on her face. His heavy footfalls were accentuated by his dark armor, carrying him to the end of the walkway, just before the steps that would lead to the forest around the Glade. Moments of concentration later, from the shadows around him, the unrestful spirit of a great war-steed materialized before him, still clad in the ghostly raiment of heavy armor it had borne when it had fallen, so very long ago. With a quick pull on the creatire's maine and his foot in the sirrup, Deleaduindill slid into place, the ethereal saddle at once beautifully soft, and cold, beneath him. For a few moments his dark sapphire eyes snapped to the doors that had swung closed, almost daring the slight elfmaid to exit them as his gauntlets found the ghostly horse's reins, pulling hard to subdue its tireless lust to run free. Moments passed.

At length, Deleaduindill reined the ghostly creature on, his snowy white hair and thredbare shadowstuff cloak whipping behind him, disappearing into the shadows as the creature transcended the world of Sosaria and sped into the Second World - the place that existed a whisper of a moment behind the present. It was an empty, bleak place, void and wan by the eyes of any living creature, but here time meant nothing, and thereby - distance. The warped images of a world without time and life, flavor or rhyme, just became clear to the Dread Lord's eyes before the world suddenly died in a swirl of grey and black, giving way to more natural midnight blues and the silver of the half-concelaed moon, the ghostly creature having stopped at the stair of Deepshadow Keep in the physical, finite, mortal world that was Sosaria.

With the smallest exercises of will, the steed dissolved into black ether, the ribbons of its' ghostly body streaking toward the nearest shadows with with a hungry speed. Deleaduindill, still pacing strong, started up the long granite stair, pounding hard on the solid iron doors as he neared, sending them swinging swiftly - gonging harshly into the granite walls that made up the entry-way of his home. As they rebounded, the Dread Lord was already through them, pacing straight, and then left, around the corner and past the kitchens - stepping upon the magical flagstone that took him to his bedchamber in a single, magical zinging.

Silence.

For a few, long moments, Deleaduindill stood still, crestfallen as his brow rested upon his thumb and forefinger, and then that elbow upon his other hand at his waist. The pale incandescence of the Candelabras of Souls bathed him in their pure, silvery-white light; some of the racing thoughts that assailed at his restraint fell away immediately. It seemed that more than just his thoughts were hounding him - and it was no surprise - he had his demons, just like every other living creature.

Given even the boon of the magical light that chased away all manner of spirits, Deleaduindill's mind was still a dangerously piqued environ; his rapt, still exterior showing nothing of the world that he dove into, within his mind.

Calista. She was not the elf that he had desired once; nor, Deleaduindill thought, would she ever be, again. It had been nearly a year since he had returned from his campaign, finding the one he had called 'melamin' heavy with child, spoiled by the touch of one of her 'friends,' and in all, ignorant to the years - more than two decades in all - that they had spent with one another. To the ancient elf it was incomprehensible to think how it had happened, or why, even now - with the child's birth resultant in a son, Fingolfin, nearly a year behind them. He had not changed from before his last campaign to his present self - it was another battle beaten, and won. It had been hard, though not impossible. Nothing that Deleaduindill didn't already have was tested by the experience, and nothing that he had before was lost in the nearly four-years of strife he bore in the cold bosom of Ravenloft - in all of the fighting that he had done.

Yet, the elfmaid's affection for him had withered like a tulip bulb upon tundra, just before his return. She had been so genuinely surprised at the depth of his passionate fury, then. His son's life was put on the balance within her womb as she and the half-human 'friend' she kept gave action to their lustful pleasantries, mindful, yet heedless, of not only himself, but the unborn son that Calsita was to bear.

Time, and life, had moved beyond that juncture, though only to give birth to a fiery irrationality inside the young elfmaid that seemed to feast upon itself. Deleaduindill tried making his presence known intermittently and discreetly, though she either ignored him or threatened him with her 'pets.' She believed the distance that separated them was due to her newfound 'strength' and the white Wyrm that she had befriended - completely unable to accept that it might be Deleaduindill's choice to let her be alone, as such was what she said she needed, and wanted.

The keep that he had built for them by the mountains north of Minoc stood empty, Calista having seen it in passing and having dismissed it like so much broken pottery. This night, his inquiry to her change of residence had sparked a bit of hope. She had sworn never to leave her Trinsic home, yet now it lay in ruins, and her belongings and their child had been moved to the glade, beside Iwendari's home. He had respectfully asked about the nature of her move, and why she had misled him, proposing thatshe finally come and live within the safe, strong walls that he had built, and he had been greeted with open disdain with respect to his offer as well as his presence. Immediately thereafter she chastised him for not being more a part in their child's life, and always, always, she challenged his martial prowess; trying to get him to lash out at herself or the white Wyrm, Mevarith.

Deleaduindill finally straightened from where he had stood, his shadow-blue eyes staring through the flagstones beneath his feet, having reined his passions; rage, vengeance, jealousy, and finer, into a controllable engine of motivation and mettle that he would need, shortly.

Deleaduindill strode between the two Candelabras of Souls, his midnight blue eyes sliding softly closed, the brilliant silvery-white magical fire burning, filling the void behind his eyelids with the same pure, untainted light. Now, all he need do was muster his will to himself; something that was not difficult for him, though caused him to be aware of a certain delicacy in and about himself, though he did not know what it was, or from where.

The Dread Lord's breath let out suddenly, drawn in again, then let out more forcefully as he summoned his strength, his malignities, pushing against an invisible barrier...and as he felt the Bond that he had given to Calista break like a dry twig - sudden and irreversible - a pain inside him responded - a wound within.

Just as any wound bleeds, so Deleaduindill stood, somewhat hunched, the bitterness and hate he had built before, flowing out from the intangible divide like very real blood might. He had no regrets, though he shuddered, the malice and envy somewhat familiar, the cold emotionless wall that he had embraced in times past coming closer by the moment. There, caught in a world of pain, the vile curses he would have screamed then, and his own tears, mingled upon his lips - though no sound left them.