"Mahtan...how long have you known?"
These words echoed in the Northern Elves' brain as he stared blankly into the puddle at his feet, his ice cold eyes unblinking in the dying rain. A small wind was rolling past, causing his silver hair to accompany it as far as it's length would allow. A bloodied war axe hung loosely at his side, his fair hands grasping the hilt until the knuckles were bone white. The blue of the puddle soon starting to darken as droplets of blood from the axe began tainting it's water, almost as if the very light were being eaten away. To his left, a large forest containing many old trees; trees that were older than Mahtan himself. At his right, the crumpled bodies of a dozen bandits, pools of blood beginning to form underneath their lifeless corpses. It's not like he had wanted his blade to devour their life force....Or did he? Either way, Mahtan considered it an act of self defense, and wouldn't let the act weigh on his conscience for very long. He could feel that dark passenger beginning to tug at the far reaches of his psyche, almost as if it was a child pulling on it's mothers dress and asking to play. So innocent, so gentle. The road on which Mahtan was standing contained another living being, another Elf. This one from the Northern Reach as well, as one could see from her attire and hair color. What seemed like many ages ago she had asked Mahtan a question relating to something that was long forgotten. Something that he no longer wanted to remember, but this issue was indeed present at this point in time, and it's holder was demanding an answer. Once more the fair voice broke the silence, it's gray eyes slowly making their way down to the Dwarven Axe in Mahtan's hand. Below the eyes a pair of thin lips, the color of Blood Roses, a pink tongue protruding through the gap and slowly running over their surface as it admired the quickly drying blood.
"Mahtan...my friend. How long have you known?"
This time, it was Mahtan's own cracked voice that came in return. His eyes lifted from the blood droplets dissipating in the puddle, and arrived at the Ranger's cold face.
"I knew about your presence from the moment I left Veiron. Only...There is something different about you, Arya. You are not the person I once knew. There is something I can see consuming your inner self. This is not the being sung from it's mother's womb in the cold lands of the Reach. You...You are something else, beast. Name yourself."
Arya seemed like a dog, the way she cocked her head to the side, her dead eyes staring into the very depths of Mahtan's soul. If Arya was indeed alive and inside the shell of a body standing before him, she had no control over herself. It's not like it was very hard to figure out, either. Elves have a certain bond, a certain purity about them that can only be sensed by other Non-Human beings. It's almost as if they're all related in some horrid way. Mahtan slowly took a long step forward, his emerald tinted eyes shining ever so slightly in the light. There was something off about them now, something dark. The veins were a darker color than they were a second ago, and the being inside Arya quickly realized that it could no longer hide. Arya's voice raised in pitch and adopted a sarcastic tone, her slim figure moving in such a way that looked almost fluid-like in nature.
"Mahtan...Prince of Ice...Heir to the Crown of the Reach. It's suuuch an honor to meet someone of your stature. Oh, wait." Arya stopped to giggle mid-sentence, a hand put across her lips in a childish and mocking manner; "I had almost forgotten, your highness, you were thrown from the Reach, weren't you? Oh...that must have been such a hard day for you. Seeing your friend butchered...butchering the Rangers sent to keep an eye on your movements. I wonder what it was like for you without your dark passenger at that point in time. Little Mahtan all alone in the world of Man, blood on his hands within the first day he stepped foot inside it's borders. Your Parents would be so disappointed..."
Once more, Arya cut off her drawn out sentence with a giggle, only this time it evolved into a frightening laugh. Mahtan sheathed his war axe and drew his Elven blade, the whiteness of the song-forged steel matching his skin color.
"Well, nameless Demon, I supposed we should get on with this. I grow tired of listening to you speak. As for Arya, I do not care for her life, as I'm sure you've consumed her being by now. What's left of her is a dead shell that you're using as a suit to get into the walls of Man. What happened with Veiron, were you not able to hold it for very long?"
As he spoke, Mahtan slowly trudged forward, his iron plated leather boots causing deep prints to follow. When he was within attacking distance of Arya's possessor, he raised his weapon and placed it at her lips. His heart pounded deep inside his chest as he stared into the lifeless eyes of his old love, it's rhythm seeming to drown out all other noise. Mahtan's green eyes stared blankly into Arya's, and the corners of his mouth twitched violently as the blackness tainted his iris', but not fully. It was at this point that he put all of his strength into a thrust, and his vision faded.