Metholae stared at the corpse of his love in terror. He hadn't meant to kill her. He stumbled from his chair, collapsing onto a soft fur rug. He dug into it with his hands as he began hyperventilating. Dosmet took off towards town at his fastest sprint to get the healer, Cayeil followed, leaving two ex-lovers together. Metholae brushed a few stray hairs from Jilae's face. He had caused this. So much pain. He got to his feet. He couldn't bare to be near this place, this life, anymore. He crossed to his room quickly and coldly. He stuffed some clothes unceremonialiously into a leather bag and slung it over his shoulder. As he left he grabbed fruits of various shapes and colours. He swung open the front door, the chilly night air hitting him like a ton of bricks. He turned slowly to glane upon the corpse once more. He cringed. With a sigh he charged off through the house leaving his life behind.
Winter was setting in and Metholae could already feel its harsh effects. He hadn't slept in days, each time he tried to sleep he was filled with images of Jilae and her scream resonated in his mind. He, in his rash thinking, had not brought enough food for more than a week. He tried to collect fruit from the trees, but they were becoming more and more barren. He had passed a wagon- train heading to Valgarn where he used his new name, Foiqae, to little use. He had no money to purchase any meat, a weapon, some armor. He left them empty handed and continued towards Loldar, or rather, south or Loldar, near Trolls, despicable creatures, like him. His stomach growled fiercefully. He continued for another hour before he saw a small deer. He had to kill it to survive. Survival of the fittest and all that. Then again, if that was true he should already be dead, he was not worthy of life. He was a murderer. Instinct took over. Probably some barbarian in his long lost ancestor-age was placed in the exact same position. He was never taught to do this. He was brought up as a gentleman. He sprinted quietly towards the innocent creature of majestic beauty. He pounced at it. The deer twisted its head round just as Metholae landed on its back. Metholae began kicking and striking, tearing and clawing. What had remained of Metholae's noble spirit was crushed in those few seconds. The deer slumped onto the grass, dead. Blood poured onto Metholae's hands, he was disgusted, yet enthralled.
Metholae ate in silence, barely creating a fire on which to cook the deer meat.
For many days Metholae trudged on, slowly becoming weaker. His meat stock had vanished quickly. He was delirious, he was sure he was nearing Loldar, but he hadn't seen any sign of life. The rain had begun, a cold rain that penetrated every layer of clothes he was wearing. He stumbled and fell into fresh mud. He shivered uncontrollably and looked up at the sky. In that second he gave up. He would just lie still and die. It would be a pleasant escape, for the few seconds before his soul went straight to Tarkna. He closed his eyes and sighed. Now the silence would come for Metholae. There would be no service. No weeping family. No flowers. No fine grave. The best he could hope for was that the wolves get to his corpse. He could feel his heartbeat thud in his mind as things slowly got quiet.
'Hello? Hello sir?' A voice said. Metholae was nudged slightly. He was rocking from side to side gently. Like he was in a wagon. He forced his eyes open. It was dark. And he was on a wagon. There was a pale-faced figure standing over him. He looked around and wondered could this be some sort of hell, or journey there. 'Thank the gods you are awake, we feared you had died from starvation.' The figure stated. He was a well spoken man, although, he was barely a man. He looked about twenty by human standards, which he clearly was.
Metholae rubbed his head, in thundered in pain, where was he? How did they find him?
Seemingly telepathic the human states, 'We found you a little off the path to Loldar. What were you doing in such awful weather?'
Metholae trying to articulate words, but nothing came forth from his mouth.
'What is your name, then?' The human asked, before adding, 'I'm Merl.'
Metholae nodded slowly and answered, 'Metho-- I mean, Foiqae. Silly me, Metholae was the name of my cat.' He quickly lied.
'Nice to meet you then, Foiqae. We are headed to Loldar, there is a fine healer there, he should be able to take care of any injuries you may have.'
'Thank you, Merl.'
The wagon journey continued in silence. Merl would occasionally ask questions about 'Foiqae's past. Metholae would quickly spin up a new lie. The one quality, depending on your viewpoint, that Metholae did have was his ability to keep track of all his lies and not mix them up. They arrived in the town of Loldar near sunrise. Metholae was given a small room in the nearby inn. He lay down on the bed and tried to get to sleep.
For the next few weeks he stayed at the inn, Merl was kind enough to pay for his room. But each night he would awake terrified. The image of Jilae would charge towards him with murderous rage. Then it would fade to Cayeil and Jilae together.
One morning Merl sat at the bar talking with the barkeep. 'Have you seen Foiqae this morrow?' He asked, looking at the stairs up to the rooms.
'Not since last night, guy was screaming again. Then there was some thudding and thumping. Then silence.' The barkeep reported.
'Oh... that's odd. Perhaps I will go check on him.' Merl stated before climbing the stairs. He neared 'Foiqae''s room and rapped gently on the door. No answer. There was some mumbling from inside. Merl twisted the door-handle and pushed on the door. It was unlocked, but something was jammed behind it. Merl leaned against it, but it still didn't budge. He took a step back and rammed into the door. It creaked open a little. Merl managed to squeeze through into the room. Metholae's bed was propped up against the door. A small wardrobe had been shoved in front of the window. Metholae sat in the corner shivering. He was mumbling, 'Bad man, I am a bad man, a murderer... a killer. Death. Pain. All follows behind me.'
Metholae was trapped in this state for days before Merl and a few others moved him to a mansion north of Tildruin. The mansion tried to help those who's minds have been damaged or destroyed. Metholae was accepted under the name Foiqae and placed in a pleasant room. Metholae curled up in a ball and rocked quietly. He would occasionally mumble something about Jilae. Many days he would burst out crying. He could never sleep.
Metholae was a once proud elf. He loved his friends and family. He was well respected. And now had had fallen to this: insanity. Or what the healers believed to be insanity. There was no cure. Metholae was trapped within his own mind and his web of lies.
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