Krystelle
On Moonless Nights
A tale of centuries old is the Silvery Maiden's story. It is a tale of love's loss and the torment suffered thereafter. Most of all, it is the tale of Krystelle Tei'Sarad, the Ghostly Maiden.
Finelyn Ba'Dor was Lord of the mountain top citadel that was Krystelle's
birthplace. Airu, the unconquerable city in the clouds. It was there that
Krystelle grew, living life in the lap of luxury.
Spoiled she was not, though her beauty caused many to try and coddle her
as a princess, half-elven though she was. Silken white hair, eyes of sable,
a body as graceful as the weeping willow, the only thing to surpass her
beauty was her mind. Perhaps that was why she was drawn only to one man,
out of all her many suitors.
Aphraym, a Knightly man of half-elven blood, was where her heart returned
again and again. Beneath his blustery manners and harsh tongue she could
see his aching, depthless soul reaching towards her own. There her heart
swayed her, and there it would remain, in life and death, her soul had
chosen its match.
Their day to be wedded quickly approached as Airu's sky warmed with springs
new life. Joyous were the families of the pair, spreading merriment to
most of the city in the sky. Oblivious, were the people, of the raging
storm already rolling towards their cheerful haven, bearing the name Dauphesia
like a curse from Tor'lemach.
The Kingdom was well forgotten in the mists of past horrors, but they had
remembered and remembered well. The onslaught across the country side tore
villages and destroyed many a family as the thunder of Dauphesia reached
its fingers closer to the citidel of mists. The call to arms was commenced
as south the men of Airu went, to rid the lands of the disease of Dauphesia's
peoples.
By water they left, Aphraym with them, leaving Krystelle to weep in silence
to the unforgiving river. Far south they met with the enemy, spending months
in the battle for supremacy in the lands until, finally, they were cleansed
of all Dauphesian armies.
Joyous was the return of the citadel's men, a parade and honoring for all
the victorious soldiers. But that day brought no happiness for Krystelle,
for Aphraym did not return. No, that day was one of torment for the silver
lady, for no one could tell her what had become of her love. Lost it was,
with Aphraym, in the scorching depths of the southern lands.
Upon the pier she stood, days turning into weeks. A spell surrounded her
in a mist, rooting her to the spot. Southwards she stared, taking in no
food, no sleep, until the day the gods took her to her final bed.
A year passes sleepily in the citidel, Krystelle a year sleeping in her
deathly chamber. Upon a night of utter blackness, as the moon did not rise
to light the sky, there upon the pier, an otherworldly vision was beheld.
Silvery in the twilight darkness, the maiden stood upon the air, staring
southwards in silence, tears streaking down her milky face. Waiting for
her love to return, she stands still and silent, her very appearance breaking
any heart that is not of stone.
Years pass and the maiden still returns, though her name has been forgotten
through the centuries. Weeping for her lost love, her spirit traps itself
in this world, keeping her from the next, forever gazing southwards in
hopes her love will come back...