(ooc note: Hey guys, thanks for letting me play in Bardfest. Shoulda won, but hey what can ya do heh it was fun. Here's Nehors reaction to it all...and how he's...grown...because of it :) )

Nehor stopped as he pulled himself over the ledge, breathing heavily. The climb to the top of this particular cliff had been taxing. He had never been what anyone would call fit, as his research and work had occupied a far more important place in his life than mere physical well being as long as he could remember. His Mother had always said he had a sharp mind...for his kind. He frowned slightly at the memory as he straightened himself up, dusting off the dust and deritus that had accumulated on his robes during the climb.

Readjusting the straps on his pack, he looked about. The grass grew thick up here, despite the height and boulders scattered all about. The wind tore and whistled, tugging at his robes and sending his shoulder-length, amber colored hair whipping about his face. With no fear, trepidation...or really anything one could call an emotion... Nehor took a step to look down o'er the edge. Waves crashed against the sheer cliff face, the water foamy around the jagged rocks as the earth and sea waged their eternal war.

He nodded once. This place was adequate for what he intended.

The wind momentarily died down, the breeze drifting to a brief stillness. It was a this point he paused, hesitating...but only for a moment. The wind roared back, another gust sending the stinging salty spray of the ocean into his eyes. Sneering and brushing at his wild hair, trying to smooth his outfit into some semblence of calm, Nehor unhooks his climbing pack and sets it before him. From it, he pulls a folder containing sheafs and sheafs of paper....each filled with scribblings, musical notation, dialogue, etc. The wind threatened to take it from his grasp, but he held firm. Silently, eyes dark and somber, he carefully goes through each sheet. His fingertips follows the score, his lips mouth the dialogue...and as his finger reaches the final note on the final page, his eyes close and he lets out a soft breath.

The world revolves, and back in the Landing...miles away...the business of the day comes to an end. The sun sets o'er Darkstone bay and all around the world men and woman, elf and halfling go on with their lives. But here, in this moment for Nehor...time is still. Everything...stops. After what might be moments or might be years, he looks up from the papers and toward the horizon. The wind screams...as does he. Using a strength most would not believe he possessed...he rips and tears, crushing, crumpling, and destroying the work he had dedicated his entire being to.

As each sheet is destroyed, not in any semblence of order but in a frenzy of tearing and rage, the wind picks up the scattered pieces and they waft into the sky. Some fall in the cracks of the stones that lay all about. Some are taken up into the heavens and disappear from view. But most...most are claimed by the waves. From his raw throat is torn a great sob as he falls to his knees...exhausted. His piece...his magnum opus...now scraps and dust. Looking down, o'er the cliff at the scraps and the folders as they sink slowly into the depths.

On a knife's edge he teeters. He considers following his work into the dark, cold waters.

The wind...sighs. His ears perk up. A word...a name...whispered from a great distance. Slowly, as if under a heavy burden, Nehor stands. He retrieves his pack, and he climbs back down.

In the end, it is said, it might have been better for all involved had he followed his work...and his sanity...and tumbled down, down, down the mountain.