Once, some time ago, there lived a family. They had some very peculiar talents, as did the grandparents of their granparents, all the way back to their earliest ancestors. It was an interesting inheritance, this gift. Some thought it to be witchcraft; the devil's work in human hands. Others believed the family to have an angelical talent given by God. When looked at from most, the talent was a demonic power; a reason to despise and fear whoever had the family blood streaming through their veins.

Eventually, the hate for this bloodline had grown to an overlapping size and they were killed off, one by one. Nobody knew if there were any survivors in the family. Rumors were spread about the bloody smears that had stained through the wooden floors of the family house. About how quickly they had all been taken down, and about how each member of the family had died in such an innocent manner; murdered by disgust.

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The Elkwoods were never one of the social bloodlines. They weren't one of the benevolent, social families that some would call a 'Golden Household'. They were anti-social in society, always attempting to keep to themselves. It was as if they didn't want to put themselves at risk. For the Elkwoods held a great and dangerous secret.

It was a secret that ran through their bodies. 'The Devil's work' people would call it. Others simply classified it as witchcraft. But the Elkwoods knew that their 'powers' were neither of the two. Their talent of being able to commune with the whispers of the wind and the sloshing of the ocean against shoreline sand was nothing more than an inherited skill. It was a talent that ran through the family bloodstream. But people rarely chose to believe these words. To them, these people were nothing more than demons.

At the time, the Elkwood family contained seven members, the mother and father being Julianne and Gregor. The eldest child was a boy by the name of Johne, a strong and determined worker. The second eldest son was named Charlie. Then, just one year younger than Charlie, was Ragnair, the middle child. Then there were dear Katheniah and Elizaire, the youngest in the family. They were a loving family within their borders, but when it came to society, they were silent and uninterested.

A slightly longer lifespan was also an inherited trait in the Elkwood family. Unlike being a nature-tongue, this 'power' was a gift that only ran through the bloodline of the family tree. Their bodies seemed to be crafted from sturdier material that ordinary beings, their lifespan slightly increased. The lysozomes that would normally start to break down areas of their cells, causing their bodies to age, would came to a halt, and freeze in place. Living a solitary life in the shadows of the castle, the Elkwoods remained to themselves, glad to be where they were in life.

However, one day, when the news of this family reached the King, he was troubled. "They could pose a threat to my kingdom," he stated, "We don't know how they use these powers of theirs. And if they don't age.....hm. It's inhuman." He ordered for the head of the Royal Military to step in. "I want the Elkwoods to be killed. Every single on of them." The King paused. "But keep one alive. We need to get some answers about this family." The head of the Royal Military nodded with a 'Yes sir,' and exited the throne room.

That evening, Elizaire and her Father were off to market to trade for cooking goods. Johne entertained Katheniah with a hand game. Julianne was occupied with removing a stain from her husband's dress shirt, and Ragnair and Charlie sat nearest Johne and Katheniah, watching thei hand game and listening to the shuffle of dirt outside.
All of this peaceful occupation was interrupted when a heavy foot broke through the front door, leaving it to fall and clatter to the wooden floor. Without a word of explanation, fifteen or so soldiers erupted into the room, breaking through the glass windows that had cost the family so much, pushing furniture to the floor. A soldier in the front slid a lean sword through their Mother's chest, cutting through a heart chamber and killing her instantly. Katheniah let out a high-pitched shriek of despair, which was cut off as Charlie snatched her up and sprinted through the soldiers out the door. Several men ran after the fleeing pair. John attempted to fight through the soldiers to his dead mother's body, but was cut off by a quick slice down his face. A second knife was dashed across his neck. In an splatter of crimson, he fell to the floor, red seeping from his dull head. Ragnair stood alarmed. What was happening? A soldier turned towards him and grinned. "Last one standing, hm?" Ragnair wasn't given any time to react, for everything shook into a world of sudden sleep when a sharp pain in his head rang out. Why? Why is this happening?

Bringing himself to consciousness, Ragnair awoke to a morose tone of light and a humid atmosphere. A numb stinging sensation shot up through his left thigh. Glancing down with grey-blue eyes, he saw a dark grey spiked swirl of a tattoo imprinted upon his leg. The areas around the tatto still glowed a sore red, giving the impression that the image had recently been tattooed onto his flesh. Now becoming interested in his surroundings, Ragnair found himself in a small stone-walled room with a dirt floor. A gothic style window was placed 10 feet up from the floor on the wall behind him, thick vertical bars preventing any escape. It was now that Ragnair attempted to move. It was useless. His wrists had been bound behind his back, and his ankels had been tied together with thick rope. Abandoning the idea of attempting to move closer to the sturdy wooden door cross the room, Ragnair sat back, allowing his aching body to relax.

Two men stormed through the door. One of them, Ragnair recognized, was the King, dressed as formally as ever. The second had a taller build than the King...

...he found that his wrist and ankel cuffs lay, rusted off of his body, on the ground. Thin orange rust lines circled around where the cuffs had once held him. These easily rubbed off with saliva and pressure. Glancing up, Ragnair noticed that the bars on the window had also rusted away, providing a larger opening. Vines had creeped in around the edges of the Gothic styled window, sneaking through cracks and curling up once their tips had reached the floor. A sunset of colors glowed through the open window. The raven's visit drew closer.

The raven came, fluttering through the window. It's flight was cut shourt when an arm jerked out, thin fingers closing around it's neck. With a disturbing snap, a spurt of crimson came out from the raven's slick beak, landing in a messy splotch upon the dry dirt ground. Once sure of the bird's death, Ragnair let the stiff body fall to the floor. A twisted grin spread across his face. The bird's gone. The bird's gone and I killed him. That taunting, mocking demon of a creature won't be here anymore. And neither will I.

Djyn

Silnania

Arelith

Salkor

__Auma__

Baudic

RelineSoul

Ketzalcan