Perpetual nomads, they wandered from the edge of the world in the North to the edge of the world in the South, leaving behind them ruins that only tell us how advanced their culture was. A great deal of information on these ruins has not been gathered, but the little that has been discovered has astounded anthropologists worldwide for centuries.
The Legends say that the leader of the Sindar carried a cursed rune - a True Rune, no doubt - upon his forehead. However, any information as to what rune and who the leader was has been lost in the Sands of Time.
As stealthily they entered the world, they left without any further traces. Some say they never truly existed; others say they're still out there somewhere, waiting for the end of the world. Whatever answer is correct, it is undeniable that we will never completely unlock the secrets of this enigmatic culture.
--Excerpt from Secrets of the Sindar
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Long ago, it was said that whatever a Sindar sought, a Sindar found. Whatever a Sindar wanted, a Sindar got. Thus, expressions like 'relentless as a Sindar' were adpated into the main language of the world. However, when the Phantom Culture died out, the sayings suffered the same fate, drifting away as easily as they were brought in.
But Black Knight Pesmerga was determined to prove that the meanings of the sayings had not faded with age - mainly because he certainly hadn't faded with age, either. 700 or more years, and the assassin still continued his relentless pursuit of his quarry. Only the end of time would be enough to break his determination and quell the passion to kill his prey. Only the death of his target would allow him to truly rest. Since he knew neither event was in the near future, he spent much of his time thinking - a luxury he would have to do without when his game was within range of his sword.
Thinking was a dangerous thing to do when one was on the brink of insanity. The man - nay, the shadow - knew this simple truth. Yet he was compelled to think, regardless of his mental condition. And he often thought of such mind-twisting ideas; ideas that would send a normal human running willingly into a straightjacket. I was amazing he wasn't completely mad. It was just that paradoxes were ever so intriguing...
But paradoxes weren't what was on his mind that night. No, it was something ab it deeper...He might have even gone so far to say a sense of duty to destiny. It was illogical to him, but the feeling that something was calling him was almost palpable. It hung in the air like a noxious odor; noxious to him, at least. He didn't very much like the concept of destiny.
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"I still don't know what this guy really is, but apparently no one in the castle has ever seen him either eating or sleeping."
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The Cave of Wind was never a very comfortable place to lodge, though Pesmerga was rarely concerned with comfort. The winds traveling through the twisting tunnels of the caves created a high-pitched whistling; so high-pitched, in fact, that it often made the Black Knight grit his teeth in sheer annoyance. He could ignore everything else in the world except that goddamn noise...
More amiable than the winds that created the eerie whistling, a friendly breeze played with his raven-hued hair, sending it in whirls in the air before letting it fall back down on his equally black armor. He had temporarily discarded his goldenrod cloak, leaving it in a heap of well-made cloth by the emty pedastal of the Star Dragon Sword. Rarely was he ever actually cold; he wore it out of habit more than anything else.
He stared forward, out of the cave, his head tilted up somewhat. It was at least an hour after his arrival before he noticed that this particular section of the cave noticeably lacked a back wall. It was now five hours past that particular revelation, but he still couldn't bring himself to care. A cave sans a wall is better to rest in than the open plains, where he was exposed to the elements and the local...wildlife.
Carefully, he slid his helmet off, and set it down on the cold rock floor. It wasn't much use to him unless he was in battle, and even then it was mainly for intimidation. His sword wasn't going to serve much purpose either, since he knew no monster or demon in the caves would dare approach him. Onyx-colored eyes drifted to the night sky outside, and he silently strode over to the choice spot to gaze at the stars. It was maybe a foot or so away from the abrupt end of the rock ledge, and should he tumble, it was a long way down...but it made no difference to him. He had more than enough power to soften his fall, should he be clumsy enough to lose his footing. But he didn't suspect that he would, of course.
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"He moves pretty damned quiet for a guy with all that armor, I tell ya. It's a little spooky."
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His eyes scanned the stars above him, each of them nearly identical sparkles scattered over a blanket of black velvet. He recognized three or four at most of the constellations that hung above him, if that many. The fact that he was centuries old and never bothered to learn more than a few out of the hundreds of patters - and the most noticeable ones at that - almost brought a smirk to his pale lips. Almost.
Finally, his gaze fell upon the Teni Star - his star. It had been his star last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. The years in which the star had represented him stretched back almost endlessly, to the point where he couldn't really remember much of anything, except living in a Sindar city somewhere on the globe. Somewhere cold. Harmonia, he guessed, though it probably wasn't called Harmonia when he lived there.
He studied the positions and colors of the rest of the Stars of Destiny, and quickly concluded that the war and the latest Gathering were about six months from drawing to a close. He did not have much longer to track his prey before the other Shadow slipped through his fingers yet again.
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"I'm still not sure what kind of creature he is. Some people say he's just a shadow from another existence."
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Pesmerga tore his eyes away from the nighttime sky and turned to face the empty pedestal. He didn't like being wrong, but he'd thought that the Star Dragon Sword was actually here....But, legends were legends. He should've known better tahn to trust one. Yuber probably wasn't even interested in destroying the Star Dragon Sword, anyway, despite the fact that it contained - or was itself - a True Rune.
He'd just have to find another True Rune to follow until his prey set his eyes on destroying it. Then, Pesmerga would kill him, Eightfold Rune or no. It was such a deceivingly simple plan - in fact, it was one that he'd been following for several centuries. Despite the many, many failures, Pesmerga still held out for that one chance. And one chance was all he needed, because he didn't intend to miss again.
Voice in the distant tunnels of the cave snapped the black haired Sindar out of his self-induced reverie, and he looked to the sky again. Several stars had bundled closer to his own within such a short period of time, and he hand't noticed it. He knew now that the leader of the Gathering was drawing closer to his location, but another glance at the stars told him that not all 108 Stars of Destiny decorated the sky. When 10 more stars came up over the horizon and became visible...then he would join the war. But until that time came, he would try to stay as detatched as possible.
A slight growl of indignation bubbled up in his throat as he hefted his helmet off of the ground and back onto his head. Making sure it was secure, he roached for his cloak, and bundled it up in his arms.
With an empty chuckle, he melted into the shadows, and all was still.
