Welcome to Gaia! ::

And in that moment, Maximos breathed a sigh of relief. A gentle smile spread across his lips as he drifted closer.

Oh, its quite alright, you were learning.

His hands lead, his right hand gently tapping the hilt of a sword and with a snap returning it back to stately little stone it once was, a stone that hopped back into his hand, vanishing with a flick of the wrist.

He reached out gently, carefully, to give her a warm hug.

Its alright to fight, as long as you only use it to defend yourself and never use it to make anyone unhappy.

That was a wide rule, butit covered alot of ground. Malicously attacking someone made them unhappy, killing made lots of people unhappy. But while a person may be unhappy losing a fight, the thrill of the fight usually makes all but the sorest losers happy. And if they get so very down after a simple loss then its probably best not to fight them to begin with.

Are you ok?

He kindly asked, with any luck her headache had subsided.

Having been hugged, pounced, and pulled for a good portion of the day Maximos almost immediately recognized the change, and moved his hands up and down the sides of her arms to ry and warm the poor elf.

Wow! Your freezing.

He said, finding her still so chilly, his hands reached out beside her grabbing at the air itself and with a flick of the wrist and an audible pop he pulled a black blanket out of thin air draping it around her shoulders. Basic shadow manipulation.

Thats good.

He said kindly.

But you can still learn to defend yourself, right? How did you like that sword?

He could only hope her temperature rose, though as of yet, not having a full understanding of a fire elementalists make up, he had no clue what was wrong.

Maximos brought his hand back, gently tapping her chin. It was something in what she just said...it sparked a curiosity in him. Perhaps just a fledgling idea, sound in principal and perhaps soon in execution.

Yes, I suppose we'll need to get you something more "personal", first, lets get to the ground.

He smiled from ear to ear loosening the thrust on his boots to gently bring him down, while delicately holding her hand to sort of guide her into the idea. Whoever she was, she was still Tiera, Sierra would have to wait.

Once on the ground, Maximos immediately dropped to one knee placing his hand ito a small puddle of black around Teira's feet. Her shadow.

Yes...

He said quitely, like a mad doctor checkinga monsters pulse.

...Its here. A little something from the other side of your mind....

His eyes gently looked up from her shadow, while he maintained his position.

Tiera, do you think you can grab it? Just reach your hand right in here and see if you cant pull it out.

In his grasp her shadow seemed to thicken, seperating from the mass of black that filled the room and the house appearing deeper, stronger.

If you think hard on what you would like "your" blade to be...I think you'll find just that...

A sword is an object, an empty vessel.

Maximos said, lifting his left hand from her shadow for a moment and patting his chest, gesturing to himself.

Just like this, the flesh.

He watched as her hand sunk into the inky black. As her pierced the shadow she would notice it felt very cool, not icy cold, but simply cool and very thick, like reaching into tar. The father she reached, the more an odd chill would be palpable in her chest. It was like, for a moment, her blood had turned very cold, and it chilled her veins as she reached.

Some believe that the time it spends with you, being the vessel for your rage, your skill, and at times being all that stands between you and death...gives the sword a soul...a personality. A spirit if you will....

Yes, that was it. This hilt seemed made for her hand, it seemed to call for her to draw it, fiercely and quickly, it silently longed for her, a longing she would be able to feel.

Early, the spirit is weak, silent, yet present. Later it grows...it grows feelings, emotions, sometimes a voice, sometimes it simply seems to miss its master....

Pops jumped down the blade as she pulled it back as if it was being snapped free from something. The tar was indeed thick, but as her arm exited the pit, it was entirely clean, and home for something, A blade roughly four feet long.

The moment it touched free air a symbol seemed to glow on her open palm, it was a thick black ring....it represented shadow. And meant she had been chosen as the swords Champion.

...This spirit missed you...

Maximos said smirking. As every passing the second the blade should appear more familiar. Granted it was black now, with a gray blade that seemed to shine only in the shade. But was it....by feel, by face, a pristine monument to elven construction.

The blade itself was lashed with cool, lavender flames licking at her hand like a puppy. She was given all the time she needed to gaze over its construction. To let instinct and memory slide in.

To realize it was, without doubt, Elven Fire. Just as she had come back, in black. Its spirit was dawn to her across existence, bathed in shadow.

Maximos smirked. It was a faint and quiet "I know something you dont know..." kind of smirk that sort of blend into his response.

Oh, not at all, I live with a few others, you should most definitely get the chance to meet some of them at the dinner table.

He paused hovering over that last part of Damion's comment. Boredom? Perhaps if Shadow Island truly was just a flat land with a windmill.

Yes...it seems so doesnt it?

They would continue for a bit further until they to the Windmill itself. In front of it was a rickety wooden door. Which is to say that while the wood was clean and of good construction...it was just a wooden door. A door which Maximos then immediately peeled open. Behind it however was what appeared to be a wall of black. It ate the very sunlight that tried to pour into it. Maximos turned to Mr. Hedley giving him a bright smile, before stepping through.

Considering Maximos previous line of questioning and the glasses he had afforded the fellow, now would likely be the most opportune time to place them on.

If he did, one can only wonder what wonders awaited him behind the magical veil of black.

---

The blade would sing a hymn for Teira and Teira along that only she could hear, that only she could understand. It was the bond between Master and Tool. The sword gave Teira power, skill, a blade to cut. And in return she gave it purpose and function lest it rest in a closest for eternity.

But despite its familiarity, Elven Fire had sacrificed something great in reaching across this gap to its new home. Its voice echoed with a deeper tone, an echo as if it was bounding through the abyss to her ears. And in away it truly was, crossing though Shadow does not go without it price. The blade was very much Shadow Touched. Where once it manifested blaze, it now manifested essence. Teira's very being, her spirit, her burning passion would fuel its now ebony flames. Shadow Flame born of dark emotion, flames that can lash at even the most hardened and pyro-immune individual.

Seeing her recognition, feeling Elven Fire's new form and power Maximos took a step back, raising his sword between them both. Her new abilities would take time and patience to master, and without such she could hurt others or herself. She needed a trainer, and training, as soon as possible.

Shall we continue?

Maximos said, looping his blade around once before bringing back to a ready stance.

What better time than now?

Over the following months Maximos would alot a portion of his day to Teira's training. At first it was small, giving her basic concepts and maneuvers to remember and focus on. Early training involved zero armor, and Maximos would even move to correct her should she instinctively summon any. This was all to yo cement her foundation. But as the days pressed on the Shadow was startled to find that she was learning far quicker than expected. Their hour long training sessions became several hours, until entire days and even a few weeks were devoted to intense training with only the most minimal of breaks for sleep and food.

Teira would learn she was not made of flesh and blood. This was a shell wrapped around a soul. It could be cut, it could be impaled, it could be given "fatal" injuries, but death would only come if she succumbed to her memories of the flesh and believed herself dying or dead. She would see she did not need food, or sleep, or drink. And in the later weeks that would be tested as the duo would fight for days on end.

As she matured she would see the truth in combat, past beauty, past skill, the underlying ugliness. Brutality. And she would be taught to exist with it, not become it.

Teira's training would be long, and hard, but in the end she would be stronger, better, perhaps than she had previously been. Sierra would be proud.

Soft clinking noises of metal buckles being closed filled the room. A room that otherwise didnn't seem to hold any other sound.

Metal against metal.
Leather brushing along cotton.
A zipper was being closed.

Despite the fact this room didn't allow any noises from the outside to enter, to penetrate the walls, its atmosphere was calming nevertheless, telling you this was a place of retreat. Creme colored shawls graced the soft brown tapestry and built a nice contrast to the dark wooden floor. Of a dark chocolate were also the furniture, worked by hands of mastery and showing noblesse as well as they were offering endless comfort.

The mattress faintly groaned when she stood up. Heavy heels clacked where the floor wasn't covered by thick carpets.

She'd miss the scent of this room coming from a group of candles on a small round table: grass, green tea and a trace of freesia.
But it was about time to leave.


When the shadow doesn't answer anymore, the voice has to step through the darkness on her own and see what is going on.


Or something along those lines.


The Siren's face didn't show, but she was worried. More than just a tad. Be it her reborn senses or the instinct of a loving being: Lucind could grasp something was out of order. Maximos being the judge for this years Heaven or Hell tournament was something she liked to see, knowing how much fun he gained from it.

She hadn't accompanied him, though, for the recent change of her own world had demanded some precautions - simply for the sake to bring her back to the every day life with all its sensuous stimuli bit by bit.
She probably still wasn't ready. But there was no way avoiding it. She was going to leave the island and travel straight to the hotel Maximos was accommodated in. How excited he had been describing how awesome his suite looked. For several days she hadn't heard anything from him.

He sure had a busy job there. But...there was more to the current silence.

She had to go and lay her hand on it. See it. Hear it.

Hoping that she was just being paranoid.



Ever so softly, the wide door was shut behind her and when Lucind turned left she saw Walter standing at the end of the corridor.
She smiled gently and nodded.
I'll be back in a bit.




Harsh wind played with her hair until the woman slipped up her dark coat's hood and hold it in place with two straps.
Standing at the edge of Shadow Island, the Siren spaced out for a moment before she finally put on a pair of fingerless gloves (one holding a tiny ruby right over the wrist). And with that she was set.


When you call for the darkness and the shadow doesn't answer, is that the moment you should start fearing the things that might lurk in the background?
For you know that even the thickest night has its two faces...

The one you love.

And the one that comes for you with iron claws.

She always slept so peacefully.

It was like watching waves gently crash on a shore, or listening to white noise only so much more personal than any of those things could ever be.

Shadow creatures didnt need to sleep, that was true. But while the body was shadow, the mind belonged to flesh and such things happened. And when they did, especially in moments like this, Maximos didnt have the heart to move or wake her. Watching her sleep, so peacefully, so innocently, showed the shadow something he couldnt but words on, but missed...somewhere deep, deep inside.

Today was a story book, from Nocturne only knows what world or place. This Library was assembled over countless ages, from countless more travels. But the contents of the book didnt matter. It was the time he got to spend with the elf laying so peacefully. Time he feared may slip away, but at times like this fear slipped into the background.

Eil ser shas si col kodaer mys.

He continued reading, it was elven, and seemed somehow fitting. His arm wrapped around her holding the book up where he could see it without disturbing her.

Eil vyri cor mor eil vylastaer...

"Mmmm..."

Now for that, he couldnt help but laugh. It might wake her, but the humor earned it. Of course first he had to stop laughing. At which point, he held the book a bit more triumphantly, though keeping his voice low (just in case), to add to the humor and read it again. Translated this time.

And thus the black knight held his sword, then rose high his shield and proclaimed...

A pause as the triumph slipped from his voice, slipping to a smiling tone.

...Mmmm? You sleepy head.

A pale loosely bandaged hand gently ruffled her red, if sleep was to cling, he'd let it. If she was to rise, he'd be there to greet her first with a warm smile.