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Nazralte · Lore Keeper Joined: 29 Dec 2003 Posts: 790

Happy and disturbed. Two conflicting emotions ran through his mind as he laid down to bed with his wife. Happy, in that he had won the election, yet disturbed in what had transprired in that first meeting.
Nazralte listened to the man from Umbra. His first thoughts was that he is lying about the situation. After the meeting went on, he thought that maybe there is some truth to what he said, not that he trusted the man at all. His upcoming trip to Umbra should shed light on the subject.
Laying awake for hours, he looked to his sleeping wife. Kissing her on the cheek he rose out of bed and went to the writing table.
"So much work to do." he said softly to himself. Sitting down he began to write letters to his council. During his speech he said that he wished the Regency to be run by the council, not by one man. By these letters he hoped to get thier opinions on many of the matters that kept him awake this eve.
Finishing he walked quietly to Mirima's crib and kissed her softly. Watching his child for a moment longer, he slipped into bed and curled up to his wife, falling asleep quickly.
_________________

Nazralte
Former Regent of Britannia

Isk · Posted: Wed Jan 12, 2005 1:32 am Post subject:

Having been defeated by means of a four to three vote Isk felt minor comfort in the fact that his support came from the humans around the table. Where he sat quietly as if at a funeral those around him moved about to speak on the subject of Umbra and Luna, important things that were trivial to him in his condition. Passively watching the people at the table his eyes skipped from one pointy ear to the other, it was evident that the elves had cost him. While he had the support of the guilds with numbers the minor loyalists banded together. Where once he thought that the global elven conspiracy had been eliminated with the removal of Isilmea now he began to think differently. The gears in his mind were spinning and although he formally acknowledged Nazralte as the winner and even wished him luck he doubted in his mind that he would be sitting in these chairs with this group for much longer. Not unless he were needed. Yes, he would have them call on him.

Pleased for his expressionless mask which hid his scowl he visited the grave of his fourth child with his wife purposefully depressing himself further. Returning home he lamented his now unfulfilled dream. And then his limbs gave way, his heart felt faint, for he did not know what he would do next. (1) And when Angelique tried to console him, at her words a black cloud of grief covered him; with his working hand he took dark ash from the fireplace and poured it over his head defiling his countenance (2). And he threw up his working arm in sorrow much like an actor would do for he recited from memory the actions of performers playing heroes from the plays which he adored in his youth. And in this wicked state he smashed his mask with his left hand whilst it still sat on his face and shot at himself with ashes until all of him was as black as his mood.

(1) Iliad (21.114)
(2) Iliad (18. 22-24) (Achilles on hearing the death of Patrocolus)