Dawn In Shadow (fantasy)

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Ok, this is a story I've been working on. Please give plenty of critism, I need it. I will post more if anyone is interested.

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Thero walked among the beautiful trees of the Forest of Lathel. He wore the soft green and brown clothing worn by many of the wood elves. In his right hand he carried a short hunting bow of black horn. Slowly, he drew an arrow from his quiver. Not the slightest of sound was made as the arrow slid smoothly from the quiver. Thero hung the arrow loosely on the bowstring as he listened hard for the sound of footfalls among the long grass, but heard only the gentle breeze passing through the trees.

He knew he was near Lathel’s border, and that he should be wary. Few dared pass the borders of Lathel, but caution was better than surprise, Thero decided.

Dawn would be up soon, and then he would return home, home to a beautiful wife and a tiny crawling child that his life evolved around. Such a beautiful child he thought. They had named him Barien, the old Elvish word for wind. And it suited him, as the child could crawl as fast as Thero could walk. But for now, the stars were still shining in the sky.

Thero remembered how he had woken in the night after a dream, a dream that he could no longer remember, even during the short moments of awakening, and that thought irked him. His thoughts were on that dream, as if it meant some importance, but not even a glimpse of it remained in his memory.

He could remember fighting the Great War millennia’s ago, between the Elves and the Dwarves, and the decisive Elven victory at the field of Anstria. He could remember the vengeance of the Dwarves centuries later when they invaded to repay the loss at Anstia. He could remember when the gods themselves came down and destroyed the Elven capital of Haspal. He could remember the time when humans had first crawled from the ocean on their bellies. He could remember when humans developed arms and legs and were able to walk like the other races. He could remember when the dwarves taught the humans metal craft and war. And yet he could not remember a dream that had occurred mere hours ago.

He had slipped silently from the sheets in the early hours because of that dream, and kissed his wife, Maesa, softly on the forehead, before slipping on his clothes and cloak and lifting his bow and quiver from the rack. He’d then moved to the cot in the corner and softly, delicately ran his hand over the cheek of Barien. Thero imagined Barien growing up into a fine and noble elf, that people would look up to. He’d smiled and went for the door.

That smile of pure happiness and love returned across his face once more. He always found joy at thinking of his loved ones, but now the dream was overriding those thoughts. He tried to push the dream deep down, as if hoping they would vanish into the soil below, but to no avail.

His mind was still warring when he heard a rustle from the left, in towards the heart of the forest, and it was close. A single thought flew into his mind that pushed the others out. How could something have slipped past his guard and actually becoming so near without him knowing? His caution had never slipped up before, why now? He dropped to one knee and swiftly nocked the arrow to the string while he aimed his bow in the direction of the rustle. He took a deep breath in, and waited for the approach.

Thero did not like the hunting bow. He preferred the larger longbow. But an advantage of the hunting bow was you could kneel, and for that, Thero was grateful, as he was now as low as the long grass and anyone inside the grass would have less chance on seeing him. The arrow upon the bowstring was also of hunting style, broader that the war style, but at this range, it would not matter. It would still easily kill.

Thero saw the shape of the figure approaching, and drew back the string to his cheek. He was not used to this as when you use a longbow, you pull all the way back to the ear, but Thero still drew back expertly. He studied the figure. An elf he thought, but then, occasionally the odd Maliun would venture into the wood, either of which he would not like to hurt. But word was out that the orcs of the North were growing bolder, and were venturing into the Maliun countryside from their caves and holes.

Thero decided the figure was too slender for an orc. Definitely human or elf, he thought. He heard the sound of a weapon or tool of some kind scraping against its sheath, as it was a drawn.

If it was human, and the object was an axe, Thero would not have thought twice as loosing his arrow into the man’s flesh.

A law had been passed that no man would cross the border of Lathel. If they were found to be peaceful, they would be led to the borders by the whispering trees. These folk would run from the border in fear or wonder. Some were scared that avenging elf spirits were to kill them for passing the border. Others thought the spirits were teaching them how to live, but all they heard was “leave”. But the spirits were merely the Way watchers, turning their own musical voices into the soft sound of which wind spoke.

But if the human were carrying a weapon, they would die immediately. If the weapon were an axe, the most hated weapon of the wood elves, they would be scared to the soul by the hissing voices of the Way Watchers as they turned their voices into the dark hissing of the Spirit Wraiths, leading them in a headlong run away from the borders, before they finally fell from an arrow in the throat.

The Maliuns were a descent folk though, and only once did a Maliun attempt to fell a single tree of Lathel, the man had grown insane due to the hissing. It was days before he was given the mercy of an arrow in the chest. Since then the Maliuns were friendly to the elves, sometimes helping the Waywatchers to drive off any bands of orcs, or worse. Thero thought of them as very noble.

Thero had always admired the Maliuns; in fact he liked most of the human races, but the Maliuns more than others. They never seemed to hold a grudge against any of the many invaders who tried to conquer over them.

There were so many invaders though, thought Thero. He was depressed that the ground that the great nations were built upon was conquered with blood. Malia, above all, had witnessed the most blood. For Malia stood in the centre of the continent of Tasarem. Surrounded by another four nations.

The High Elves of Nulifa dwelled in the west, the earliest race to be created and live upon the world of Halla. The human civilisation and language was based upon the elves, making them seem superior, but their numbers dwindle year after year, and in the next millenia or the one after they would fade from the world. It would seem strange though, as the Elves had been born to live forever. The humans had believed that it was the final retribution of their gods. Yet Thero knew different. The elves were in fact flocking to the forest, abandoning the gods they now deemed as cruel, and no longer divine.

To the north lay the Rajenn lands, a mountainous and hard region, ruled by the many nomad tribes Chieftains. The human and Orc tribes constantly warred with each other and were no great threat to any of the civilized nations, except for the Holten tribe. The Holten tribe was larger than any other, nearly half the population of all the other tribes put together. Their Chief, the orc Bokrak, took the title of Battle King several years previous, when he attempted to invade Malia. He came close to conquering the land, but was held back by a final force of Maliuns at the capital, led by the Maliun king Rale.

To the east lie Carlena, the richest land in all of Halla, ruled by an already broken council, because it has no king. The king was assassinated earlier that year, with only a young boy aged nine as his sole heir, and he and his protectors had fled to avoid the inevitable assassination attempt. Civil war was threatening to break out among the cities as each ruler left the council to raise armies, to fight for the throne. Mercenaries were already flocking to the many cities to offer their services to the highest bidder.

Theros mind jerked back to the present as he heard the crack of a twig. The creature approaching Thero was very close now. It was hidden among the long grass, and any moment now the creature would emerge.

The lean figure of Athron, walked carelessly from the long grass, the light breeze blowing his silvery blonde hair gently away from the sharp features of his face. In his hand was a light dagger. He was flipping it around his fingers with great skill. Thero lowered the bow, and returned the arrow to the quiver. “Hello Thero” Athron said suprised, “I had not realised you were here.” His voice became inquisitive “How is it that you are this far from the city?” Thero was about to answer, but a noise stopped him. It came from the right, out toward the borders. It was a high screeching noise, coming in short bursts. “What is that?” said Athron.

“A human, perhaps,” said Thero, “A child.” Without another word Thero took off in the direction of the wail.

“Thero!” called Athron, “Leave it.” but Thero kept running. Athron sighed, and followed.

The noise was getting louder. The source would be in sight in around thirty strides. Thero slowed to a walk and then dropped into a squat. Gently, he drew the arrow from the quiver again and nocked it. Athron came running by. Thero just managed to grab him and haul him to the ground before he passed out of reach.

As Athron fell to the ground, Thero placed his hand firmly across his mouth to stop him from grunting. Instead a massive rush of air ushered from his nose, causing the nostrils to flair as the air forced its way past. Thero placed a finger to his lips to indicate silence. Athron calmed himself and nodded. Thero pulled his hand away, allowing Athron to roll silently to his stomach and come up, onto his knees.

Thero slowly edged his way forward.

As he brushed aside the waist high grass, he found the source of the noise. A small child lay wrapped in swaddling. Thero inspected the surrounding area before he stood. He walked over to the child and lifted him into his arms. Athron came from behind him, and saw at the child in Thero’s arms “Just leave it, Thero.” He said, “You do not need such a burden.”

“I shall take him home.” Said Thero, more to himself than to Athron,

“You can’t!” exclaimed Athron, “No-one will accept it.”

“Perhaps” whispered Thero,

“This is a mistake. Besides what will Maesa think?” Said Athron. His voice was deadly serious,

“I will teach him our ways.” Said Thero, ignoring the comment on his wife. He turned his head to Athron “He will grow up, an elf.” Said Thero. His voice told Athron that he would not go back on his decision.

Athron tried hard to come up with an excuse “The dwarves did this sort of thing before. You are imitating the mistakes of the dwarves.” His voice was as cold as the statue like face. Thero realised that Athron’s ancestry would show for many generations to come. The race of Elves would never forgive the Dwarves, and the Dwarves would never forgive the elves. Thero mourned such a tragedy. It was a mistake that could never be forgiven, on both parties.

“Perhaps I am, but I doubt that the dwarves made a mistake. Anyway it’s my decision.”

“But it will ruin your life! Just leave it!” replied Athron,

“I cannot leave it. I would never forfeit any life.” His voice turned to a whisper. “Even at the price of my own.”

Thero walked past Athron before he could utter a comment, back toward the heart of Lathel. Behind him the sun showed its first flecks of light. Thero turned to face it. Above the rising dome, a solitary star still shone in the morning light. “Morningstar,” whispered Thero. He looked at the child in his arms. It had stopped crying and was asleep. “I name you Morningstar.”

[ March 21, 2003, 11:36: Message edited by: Taluntain ]

 

I like it - it's interesting.

 

A good introduction, I already have an image of what the troubles of that world cold hold, and am wondering what will be the role of Morningstar.

 

great story this world u made sounds intuiging (or however u spell it)

 

Thanks for your replies, I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the next part.

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Morningstar leapt lightly onto a rock. His sharp features did not betray his feelings; only an emotionless, unnatural stillness covered his face. Inside, he would usually be depressed but today he was uplifted, as something he had been longing for would come today. He pretended to brush the long blonde hair from his piercing blue eyes, as he tried to cover the smile emerging on the solemn face.

Since the first day he was brought from the borders, Morningstar was hated. This was shown when Morningstar first remembered walking out into the city. Morningstar had held Thero’s hand as they walked, but as he looked around he noticed everyone was looking at them, and their faces were not friendly. Morningstar had cried with fear and Thero had had to carry him home.

Now, after fifteen years, he had learned to hide his fear and sadness, and the faces around him became less cruel as it appeared they were having no effect to the young human, and they began to accept him. But Morningstar knew they all thought of him as below them, as if he were not worthy of their presence. And there were even some who still persisted to make Morningstar feel that he was an outsider.

A human, it seemed, who was living the same way and accepting the same oaths did not seem to be the same as an elf who was doing the same.

Only three of the people around him were truly friendly to him, Thero, his adopted father, Mira, a young elf of beauty Morningstar could not describe and Belitan, his dearest and only friend.

Morningstar adored Thero; he thought he was one of the only elves that were like the old elven hero’s he read about in the books. He looked up to Thero in every way he could, and if he had a problem, he would always think, “What would Thero do?” Morningstar also found that if he needed him, Thero would always be there when he needed him. But sometimes he would see sadness in the ancient elf’s face, and when he noticed Morningstar his face became one of loathing and he’d order him to get out of his sight. Morningstar never knew why, and the only answer he could come up with was that Thero sometimes thought of him like the other elves.

Mira was as old as Morningstar, and Morningstar thought she was beauty beyond compare. Her golden hair almost purposely blew with the wind, like she was the god of beauty herself. When Morningstar was around her, he felt something he could not, and never would be able to describe.

Sometimes he thought he loved her, but he wasn’t sure, as he had never known love, except from Thero, but that love was different. Morningstar was far too scared to tell her his feelings, and anyway, she was an elf, and he was a human. He knew he was an outsider, and that locked him between love and despair. To Morningstar’s great relief, Mira befriended him. This caused the feeling only to flower, to a state of near obsession. The only other person who knew of his feelings was Belitan.

Belitan was a year older than Morningstar, and looked it, as he was several inches taller. Elves lived forever, but they grew like humans until they were fully-grown, then they remained in that shape for eternity. Belitan had dark hair, handsome features and an easy smile; and many of the young female elves would flock to him to try and win his favour. If he noticed they flirted with him, he did not show it. Morningstar was afraid Mira was also infatuated with him, like so many others. Belitan assured him she didn’t, but he still had a creeping feeling when he saw them together. He was also one of the finest bowmen Morningstar had known. Belitan claimed it was due to his ‘lucky charm’, a black headband, intricately patterned with white, that he always wore around his head to hold back his hair.

Morningstar sighed and dropped to the soft moss of the forest floor. He was preparing to return to the city, and then home. In Morningstar’s opinion the city was simply magnificent. The craftsmanship was completely beyond human standards, perhaps even beyond dwarven standards. It was built in and among the trees, woven into shapes past imagination, like it had been there since nature created the forest. Every building was made of something like a white crystal, shaped into dome like structures. White wood, carved into vine shapes were then delicately woven onto the crystals, creating patterns of great beauty made completely out of love and care.

Morningstar strolled slowly through the streets. He felt his heart lift as he passed through the high archways and gazed upon the patterns. The city was in complete peace. A breeze blew gently through strange woodwind like instruments designed by the elves, causing exquisite liquid notes and beautiful song to float upwards beyond the trees giant reach.

Ahead he saw the tree upon which the temple was intertwined with. It was by far the tallest structure, taller even than the Palace tree, and by far the most beautiful of all the buildings. From the foot of the tree to the top, awe inspiring statues protruded from the many branches. All showed the Dirini battling in their ceremonial armour against creatures completely foreign and obviously enchanted.

The Dirini were temple warriors, and the royal guards of the King and Queen of the wood. When they fought, they danced a dangerous dance of death among their enemies cutting and biting their flesh with dual Elven long-swords. Their deadly dance was as beautiful as everything else that was elvish, and so Morningstar had loved it immediately as he saw them train.

At the age of eight Morningstar had dreamed long about becoming a Dirini. At the temple he had told one of the clerics teaching them that he would like to know more about the Dirini, and told him how he dreamed of becoming one. The Elves nearby sneered, and the cleric merely smiled and turned away.

When Morningstar left for home that day, he decided to take a walk through the forest to clear the thoughts of the days ridicule. But it seemed it was not over for that day. As he had walked he had been cornered by four elves. Morningstar knew them all, and he would have run, if it weren’t for their leader. His name was Barien, and he was one of the fastest of the elves that were not fully grown. He was several years older than Morningstar and much stronger. For reasons unknown to Morningstar, Barien had hated Morningstar since the day they met.

The four elves taunted him about his ambitions, telling him how useless he was. When Morningstar had read books on the elves, he would never have thought they would degrade themselves to bullies. But here they were, the most divine and wise race, bullying a small child for a fault that was not his own.

Morningstar had tried to ignore the insults, as he did every day, but that day was different; he had had enough. After years of torment, he had felt that then was the time to strike back. He straightened up and gritted his teeth. The elves had seen his act of defiance and stepped closer, smiles on their faces as they attempted to enrage him further.

Barien had picked up a stick from the ground and placed it under Morningstar’s chin “I should not have to touch your foul human skin”, he’d said as he jerked the stick upwards forcing the head up as well. This evoked more jeering from the three other elves. Barien had pushed harder causing Morningstar to fall back against the tree. He had felt his head connect with the bark and tears of pain formed in his eyes. He had time to blink them away before Barien’s stick hammered into his stomach, forcing the wind from his lungs. He’d gasped for air and tears flowed freely from his eyes. The other Elves had now picked up clubs, and he imagined them clobbering his defenceless body. He had attempted to stand up straight again, and fresh pain had lanced through his body. Barien stood over him, his club raised ready to strike a blow. Morningstar had seen the muscle flexing under the loose tunic, and realised with sick horror that the blow would kill him.

In desperation his right fist had hammered upwards and connected solidly into Barien’s chin, Barien had stumbled. As he tried to regain balanced Morningstar’s left fist had crashed full on into his face and he fell to dew covered ground. Morningstar had turned to the other three expecting another fight, only to find that a single elf now stood where there were previously three. In the distance Morningstar had seen the two others fleeing from the city. The last moved around Morningstar carefully, his eyes never leaving Morningstars. He’d helped Barien up, and the two stumbled back to the city. To the end of that day Morningstar felt joy. Joy that he was now free of all oppressors. But that joy was short lived, as a messenger had arrived at Thero’s home, telling them of a trial that was to be held.

Within a few days of the incident, the trial was held. Thero could do little in the defence of Morningstar, as Morningstar had hit the elf. It was likely the slaves from the kingdom of Arania, assaulting their masters. Many wished to see Morningstar dead others were for exile. But the king decided that Morningstar should not be able to train or bear arms until he was of age.

Morningstar was beyond relief. The punishment seemed to be minor, but within a month he found it to be far crueller than exile, as the King had been smarter than it seemed. He had recognised Morningstar as a warrior, and as he watched the elves around him train with wooden swords he longed to be battling beside and with them.

Now, the day had come. He was fifteen and he had come of age. Today his training with the sword would begin.

He half jogged back up the tree to Thero’s home and walked inside. Sitting at the table were two elves. The first was Thero, he was wearing a fine tunic of blue and a smile. Morningstar found that smile rare, and he realised today was going to be very good day. The second elf was even cheerier than Thero; he was tall, not quite as tall as Thero, but close. He had silvery blonde hair and sharp features. He stood up as Morningstar entered. “Come join us, Morningstar,” said Thero, Morningstar did so, “This is Athron. I’ve convinced him to train you with the sword. I’m slightly regretting it. Athron is too much of an oaf to teach any one how to use a blade.” A smile twinkled along Athron’s lips. “Best to get started early, it will be a long day.”

[ February 01, 2003, 13:18: Message edited by: Morningstar ]

 

Great story. hurry up with the next install meant.

 

Thanks again for your replies. Heres the next part

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Morningstar half jogged back up the tree to Thero’s home and walked inside. Sitting at the table were two elves. The first was Thero, he was wearing a fine tunic of blue and a smile. Morningstar found that smile rare, and he realised today was going to be very good day. The second elf was even cheerier than Thero; he was tall, not quite as tall as Thero, but close. He had silvery blonde hair and sharp features. He stood up as Morningstar entered. “Come join us, Morningstar,” said Thero, Morningstar did so, “This is Athron. I’ve convinced him to train you with the sword. I’m slightly regretting it. Athron is too much of an oaf to teach any one how to use a blade.” A smile twinkled along Athron’s lips. “Best to get started early, it will be a long day.”

Morningstar was more eager than Athron, so they started immediately. Morningstar scooped up his dagger belt and slung it around his waist. “You won’t need that.” Said Athron. They left the dome and travelled down the stairs. Athron started a conversation about a young she-elf he had met some years ago “-and then she took me to some trees near the border where no-one would see us, and then” he hesitate “hmm, you seem a bit young for this.”

“Oh, go on. You can’t just not leave a story.” Said Morningstar. Athron sighed and said,

“Alright then. Well we were at those trees…you are sure you’re not too young?” Morningstar gave him a sardonic look. “Fine. Well we were at those trees, and she gave me something really special. One of those things you only give to someone you love. It was a special moment, I shall never forget it,” he stopped. Morningstar looked up, expecting him to go on.

“Well, what was it?” asked Morningstar eagerly. Athron looked at him as if for the first time, and said

“A flower.” Morningstar’s face turned turned cynical and he turned away as Athron broke out into laughter. Morningstar couldn’t help but give a slight chuckle.

They reached the bottom of the tree and moved out toward the forest. “Aren’t we staying in the city?” asked Morningstar,

“No. Far too crowded, you need complete peace.” Replied Athron.

Morningstar let him lead on far from the city, into the dense beauty of the trees. He led him a way Morningstar had never travelled. He tried to look for landmarks so he would be able to find the place or the way back again if he needed to, but found none. Eventually he just gave up and walked silently by Athron, listening to the birds. By the time they stopped, Morningstar’s legs were aching.

But when he saw the sight in front of him he knew it was worth it. For a moment, he thought he had strayed into a dream. He was in a clearing, with a narrow river flowing smoothly over rocks like silk. The water fell gently down several waterfalls to a large pool that broke off at several branches, moving elegantly into other parts of the forest.

“What’s wrong?” asked Athron, “Too hard for you? Or is it this scene” asked Athron.

“Both, I think” said Morningstar in awe

“By Asiant your weak.” Said Athron, “You must run here everyday and back.” Morningstar looked up in astonishment.

“You’re not serious!” he said. Athron merely stared at him and said,

“For that you can start now.” Morningstar’s mouth opened in protest, but Athron spoke first, his voice calm, but authoritive “Now.”

“What way?” Morningstar said as he gazed back the way they came.

“You’ll find it. Don’t worry, use your instinct.” Morningstar swore softly and got to his feet. He would have preferred a map rather than instinct.

He started at a steady pace back to where he thought the city was. After less than a mile he felt sick, after a second mile he was. He retched by a tree and tried to catch his breath, he considered running back to Athron and lie to him that he had completed the task, but he pushed the consideration away. If he were going to this he would do it properly.

The run was torture on his legs, and he was sure he was lost, before he saw the temple tree loom before him. He ran to the first building and made his way back to Athron. By the time he reached him, however he collapsed. Athron leant over him and poured water on his face and dripped some in his mouth. “Up” he ordered.

Painfully Morningstar did so. Athron had moved next to a tree and was pulling at a branch. It remained steady and hardly bent as he pulled his feet from the ground. Morningstar hobbled over.

Athron sighed at Morningstar’s slow progress, “Quickly, your not a Maliun Nanny. Pull your chin above this branch twenty times.” Morningstar didn’t argue, he gripped the branch and pulled himself up, and down. The first four were easy. The next six were painful. The last ten were pure torture, each worse than the next. When he completed the pull-ups he dropped to the ground. He was tempted to drop down on his back next to Athron, but instead he remained standing, trying to act hardier than he was. Athron smiled and stood up. “Go to the pool and strip down. Have a swim and cool off, then we’ll decide what to do tomorrow.” Morningstar nodded; too weak for words, then turned off to the edge of the pool. He stripped off and sank gratefully into the cool water, and sank his head under. When he rose again he saw Athron walking back to the city.

The water was cool and crisp. It was just what Morningstar needed after building up a sweat from running. Morningstar had been surprised when he saw Athron walking away. He had expected training with a blade, but he had seen not hide, nor hair of any type of sword. He kicked off from the side and allowed himself to float. He closed his eyes and became deep in thought about his days training. Why on earth was he running back and forth when he was supposed to be holding the leather bound hilt of a sword.

His mind wandered on to all the beasts around him. The deer’s, the bees, and anything he heard meandering around the forest floor. His mind flashed back to the present as he heard the barest of whispers. His eyes flashed open and he let his body move into a vertical position. Before his feet had even felt the rock the water was flowing upon, he was casting his eyes around the surrounding area. The source of the whisper was nowhere in sight, but Morningstar sensed that he was still not alone.

Slowly, he moved backwards to the nearest of the pool’s edges. As soon as he felt his back press against soft moss and rock, he spun and pushed himself out of the water with incredible speed. He made a dash for his clothes, and more importantly, his knife.

Before he reached it however, a figure dropped from the tree in front of him. The figure held a bow in its hand. The bow was nocked and the string was drawn to the figure’s ear. He was clothed in thigh high boots and silver chain mail that had not clinked when he’d dropped. A long, sweeping cloak was flowing loosely from his shoulders. His face was nearly completely covered. His cheeks and forehead were lost under a silver helm. It was a rounded helm, which slid back into curve, which pointed at the crown of his head. A green cloth concealed his mouth and nose. All that was present was his eyes. The eyes were a deep brown and did not move nor blink. They just stared at Morningstar, as if they were boring into his skull and reading his mind. Morningstar hid his fear and glared defiantly back at what he assumed was his enemy. He prepared himself to shoulder barge the stranger, but a slight rustle behind him stopped him in his tracks. There was another assailent behind him!

The bowman ahead of him still held the bow at Morningstar’s chest, but his eyes were directed behind him. Morningstar realised the figure ahead was an elf, and guessed he was waiting from orders from the other elf behind Morningstar. His assumption was confirmed as the elf behind him spoke. “It is not a good day to wander past Lathel’s borders, child.” The voice was not as dark as Morningstar would have thought. In fact it seemed devoid of all emotion.

Slowly, Morningstar turned to see the other elf. He was clothed in the exact same clothes as his fellow, except for his helm. It was ornamented with a single jewel, tear like in shape. Morningstar’s eyes were drawn to it. He recognised the gem, but could not place where he had seen it. Suddenly Morningstar realised what the gem was, and in realising so, he knew what the elves were. Way watchers. The gem was presented to those who had proved they were wothy to title of ‘Dilith’rania’, translated into common as shadow within shadow “Plead your case.” Ordered the elf. Morningstar did so,

“I am a citizen of the city Lathel, and I am interested as to why I have been interrupted by you.” The elf smiled.

“You have a strong will and courage, but it will not save you from an arrow.” He flicked a glance at his companion “However, I have heard of a human living in the city. There is no one on this side of Halla foolish enough to tell such a lie, and so I believe you. I will leave you in peace.” He turned and began to walk away. Before he had taken two steps however, he turned back. “Ah yes. I noticed you have an excellent sense of hearing for a human.” He chuckled “In fact it was excellent for an elf. You heard my footsteps, and no creature in this forest has heard them in centuries. We could do with another with fine senses.”

“Another what?” asked Morningstar, as the elf began walking again.

“Another Way Watcher.” The elf called back, just as he disappeared into the green and brown of the trees.

 

very good story but why did you out the end of your last post at the start of this one?

 

Sorry, that was an accident

 

no prob (im posting this so u can post ur next part of the story)

 

I like this! Quite interesting, even if it is another frolicking story (okay, except for that last part) about elves.

 

Glad you're enjoying the story C'jakob and don't worry, we'll be leaving the elves soon enough. I may be some time with the next post as I've got tons of homework, so sorry. Hope you enjoy this next part.

***********************

Athron marched back to the city, his mind in deep concentration. There’s something about that human, he thought, but what is it? He was nothing special. His body was lean but strong. His grace was definitely finer than any other human he’d seen, but this boy had grown up among elves, of course he would have learned to be more elegant. What was it Thero had said about him? His grasp of philosophy surpassed the average human standard. That meant little in itself; many of the greatest philosophers were human.

Athron just didn’t understand. Was it possible to understand? His mind raced with guesses and theories, none of which seemed to shed any light on the matter.

As he neared the city he gazed up at the highest statue on the temple, a single Dirini in even more resplendent armour than any of the others. He was holding a bow in one hand and an upraised sword in the other. Athron whispered a prayer to his god, Asiant.

“God of trees and the beasts.
Lord of the dirt and the grass,
Creator of the rivers and oceans
Guide me now in my quest for knowledge.
Help me understand the child of Banna.”

He dipped his head and closed his eyes. With his right hand he brought up the first two fingers like the point of a gun and touched it to his forehead, before drawing it down to touch the centre of his chest. His eyes opened and he looked to the statue with the look of expectance. All that came to him was the history of Asiant.

Asiant had been the first of the High elves to leave Nulifa and journey to the forest. He became the first king of the wood, and had ruled wisely, always listening to the advice of those around him. It was said he journeyed to all the forests in the land, meditating under the largest trees in all. When the elves reached these forests they sensed great power in the tree Asiant meditated under. Later they found the magic was flowing from the tree, touching every other tree in the forest.

As the population of the forests grew, cities much like Lathel’s were built. The elves lived in peace and serenity in the forests, but somehow the old Elven gods found them there. The gods sent down great curses upon the forests and the elves that dwelt there. One by one, the woods were burned and destroyed, until only Lathel stood. The surviving elves fled there, and the gods followed them.

Lathel was now the last of the wood elves dwellings and it was in despair, for Lathel was the smallest forest, and its temple tree was merely a metre higher than the others. They knew they could not hold out against the might of the gods, so they hid. They cowered into the numerous caves among the forests. The gods were victorious; all that was left was to kill Asiant.

Asiant had stayed at the temple tree and continued to pray to nature, the only elf that stood unworried by the gods. In their cruelness the Elven gods had eliminated him. They sent down their largest and most powerful angel to destroy the surviving wood elves and to kill Asiant. Asiant’s body was to be returned to the Heavens to be sent deep to the very heart of the underworld, where constant torture would rack his body for eternity. The angel flew straight for the temple tree to for the great prize, the death of Asiant, but Asiant would not be humbled. He had stood to the last battling the angel with magic and blade until finally they both fell, both consumed by Asiant’s power. Asiant had summoned roots of the temple tree to rise up, and wrap their thick arms around the angel, but to keep the angel from flying to escape, Asiant had to hold him down causing the roots to drag him down also. The Angels cries were heard, echoing throughout the forest and into the caves until the sun moved beyond the horizon, and the elves slowly returned to their homes.

Where Asiant fell, the temple tree grew. Higher and higher it climbed, high enough to embrace the clouds. The majority of elves believed Asiant’s spirit had bound with nature, that he had become one with it. Other elves, the old Elven god’s priests believed the angel had sent Asiant to the underworld and was attempting to return to the Heavens.

The other forests that Lathel touched grew again, mostly thanks to the planting of the humans, but no magic longer flowed through them. Some of the forests were not even re-grown. All that was left was a desolate wasteland, filled with ash and dead wood. It was said orcs now dwelt in the former forests, occasionally dashing out and raiding the nearby villages.

Athron returned home, his mind buzzing. As he opened the door, he absent-mindedly he placed the tips of his left hand to a globe hanging from the roof. The globe began hum mildly, and then filled with light, several other globes around the room poured more light into the darkness. Within moments the room was glowing with a soft, relaxing light.

Athron took the few steps to an elegantly carved chair, with a soft, rich embroidery silk pillow. He sank gratefully into it and tried to focus his mind on Morningstar. He sat for several minutes thinking of the young human. Nothing that he had not already thought of sprang to mind. He was tall, lean and handsome with eyes of impossible blue. He walked with a cat like grace, indicating to balance and good footwork. He had natural speed, fast for a human. His body was evenly muscled, made more for speed than power. He was stronger than most of the elves, due to being human. His features were sharp, much like Athron’s own. His hair was also the same silvery blonde as Athron’s, but that was common among elves. To sum up, he was strong, fast, and light on his feet. After several more years training he would be a well-rounded warrior, with skills usually found in humans and several more equalling that of elves. Equalling an elf. Was that possible? The answer he had been searching for sprung at him immediately. Of course, the boy was half elf! He was a half-breed, part human, and part elf with qualities from both races.

He was not sure what to do with the information or if something as dramatic as this had occurred before. He sprang from his seat with the full intention of finding out, and headed to the door. He looked down the spiralling stairway that was linked with the tree. No sound above the soft crinkling of feet on leaves reached his ears. Swiftly he worked his way through circling staircase and onto the soft earth. With surprising haste, he sped to the temple. He caused so much disruption around the passing elves, that some believed he was Morningstar and jeered. He met these people with a silent glare, and they sheepishly returned to their business, with a quiet apology. Athron ignored their words and continued on his path. He wondered why he had never defended the boy before. Could it be he was starting to like him, where he had first spurned him? Athron had been reluctant at first when Thero had requested him to teach Morningstar in the sword, and he had pretended to be friendly to the boy as they walked through the forest. But as he spent more time with him, Athron began to genuinely like him, and was glad that Thero had introduced the two.

As Athron saw the statues of the temple his pace increased. As he stepped onto the stairway of the temple, however he halted suddenly. Red faced he took several steps back and flicked a glance at the statue of Asiant, and dropped down to his knees. Kissing the damp earth, he whispered an apology to nature for forgetting the sacred sign that all wood elves made when they prepared to enter a Holy place. He returned to his feet and returned to the stairs.

He counted the floors he passed. One. Two. Three. At four he stopped, and passed through white silk that served as a doorway. Before him lay fountains of books, all perfectly placed in order in elaborate bookshelves of silvery Ilithar.

As Athron passed each of the shelves, he rubbed his hands delicately across the Ilithar, and thought of its wonder. Ilithar was a substance created by the elves. Elves hated the foul practise humans and dwarves took of slicing the earth and tearing out the metals within to serve as weapons and armour. The only way the elves could defend their frail forms from the deemed cruel tools, was to create their own. To prevent hurting the earth, they magically formed their own metal, Ilithar. Ilithar was amazingly strong and durable, but also light and comfortable. Alas there are few pieces of the precious metal, and no more can be made, as the mages who knew of its making perished when the war with the gods. The elves now had to do with the weaker Balsna, a metal made in an attempt to recreate the Ilithar. Balsna was strong, but only as strong as the human steel. Yet here, in the temple of Lathel, lay many pieces of the fabulous material.

A metal bookcase would seem out of the ordinary, but here, it seemed it belonged. Each of the shelves was covered in tiny patterns and Ilithar leaves.

As Athron searched however, he realised he had no idea where to look. He scanned the spine on each of the books, trying to spot anything of use. Eventually his mind wandered onto how the books were in such perfect condition. He knew some of the books were millennia old, yet they still looked like they were produced that morning. His mind jumped back to the matter at hand as he spotted a book named “Elvish Ancestry”. With infinite care he slid the book from the shelf. He slid his hand along the hard cover to the edge. Gently he flipped it over. He frowned as he realised the book was full of extremely large family trees. He slid the book back among the many others and continued his search.

Nammisa watched the elf as he removed a book from the shelf, flipped over several pages before returning it. He did the same again with three other books. He was suddenly curious of the elf. He certainly didn’t seem like he was the type for reading, and he seemed unsure of what he was searching for. Nammisa watched closely as Athron placed another book back on the shelf. When Athron moved to the next shelf the cleric slid to where Athron was once standing. The book he had looked at was called “Noteworthy Elves”. So, Nammisa concluded, perhaps he is interested in Elven Hero’s. Nammisa felt the hair on his blue grey skin rise. That happened to be his specialised subject.

The cleric straightened his jet-black hair and approached Athron with a smile, which would hopefully show his eagerness to help. Nammisa knew that t wouldn’t; he’d known for a long time that he wasn’t used to smiling, and so they showed more of an upside down grimace. Instead he changed his face back to his usual blank, serious look. Athron turned as he heard the scraping of the robe along the floor. Nammisa flashed a uncomfortable smile, “Good afternoon, master…?”

“Athron” the other elf supplied.

“Is there any way I can help you in your search?” his voice was deep, and melodic. Athron hesitated before answering.

“Well,” he hesitated again. “I was trying to find out if there has ever been a half elf.” Nammisa hefted an eyebrow.

“What about Numari. He was sliced in half by a dwarf in-“ Athron cut him short

“No, no.” he said with a slight smile “Not so literal. I mean half elven. A cross breed between human and elf.” Nammisa delved deep into his memory bank. Within moments he had an answer.

“Delithia.” He said with a calm and natural look. “Asiant’s descendant. Few elves know of him. You will find no information in this library. His life has been completed blotted out-“ he stopped abruptly as realisation struck him. His heart thumped with fear suddenly as he felt the cold hand of death wrap around his throat. To speak of the half elf Delithia meant certain death. He struggled for an explanation, as his hands twirled in the making of a spell. Athron grabbed the fingers.

“Relax, priest. I’m not here to condemn you. Tell me more of Delithia.” Nammisa slumped helplessly into the nearest chair, his face in a look of defeat; he knew - but did not sense - the man was lying and he also knew death was upon him. Athron moved to the chair opposite and gently pulled it out. The elf sat with a soft smile. “Nammisa, calm down.” Nammisa pushed his hands together, but could not stop the shaking with desperation and anger, anger at his self for being so stupid. What was worse was that he felt fear. He was not one to know fear, but he felt it as he imagined his brother elves drawing soul from him, and depositing it upon bare rock. He just stared at Athron in blankly. Athron sighed, and became very impatient. “Look Nammisa. All I want is to find out a little about half elves. Nothing more. I’m not here to hurt or capture you. All it will be is a secret among us two.” Nammisa stared Athron dead in the eye for several moments.

“Why?” His voice was calm and quiet, but Athron noticed his knuckles were white from gripping each other.

“Its just an interest that I have.” Athron said “Alright. I see you are in no state to talk to me now. Come to my house in two hours. Bring any information you have on Delithia and half elves in general. Do you understand?” Nammisa nodded once. “Very good. Please understand that I mean you no harm. Two hours, remember.” Athron stood up and walked to the exit. Before he left he stopped and turned. “Oh, and change your robes before you come.”

As soon as Athron had walked through the silk sheets, Nammisa stood. What was this elf playing at? Why would he ask about an elf that’s name had been wiped clean from all records, and the barest whisper of him meant certain death to the speaker?

Nammisa walked silently from the library and headed down the flights of chairs to his chambers, contemplating why he was a priest here. He answered to the men who’s ascendants had denied their god’s own great grandson to even exist in the minds of elves. They were cruel and power hungry. Nammisa longed to throw them down, and raise an elf true to the forest, someone who loved it more than their own soul. But what should I do now? Wondered Nammisa, Tell his mentors of the elf that had just left. No, by doing that would secure Nammisa’s own demise. Besides the man was a kindred spirit, he also seemed interested in finding out history that was currently denied. No, that was not so, otherwise why would he ask a cleric about it. Surely he would know he would die if he revealed his inquisitiveness on the subject. Then what was he looking for? Nammisa was intrigued to find out. That was why he withdrew a small book from the air in front of him. The book was no bigger than the size of Nammisa’s head. Where the books in the library seemed pristine, this was badly damaged. The spine from the book had completely fallen off, the covers barely held on by thin thread. Several of the pages were hanging from the book at odd angles and several tears were apparent in each. The paper was crispy and dry. Nammisa held it gently, to prevent the pages from cracking and literally turning to dust. Quickly, delicately he slipped the book into his robe, and made for the door.

Athron sat back into his favourite seat, and sank into the pillow. It was soft and comforting and Athron drank greedily at the feeling. He closed his eyes and relaxed, but he couldn’t. The edge of excitement was upon him and he couldn’t just sit still. Athron stood and paced back and forth, flipping his small dagger around his fingers and impatiently waiting for the priest. He constantly muttered, “Where is he?”. Taking a deep breath he calmed himself down and strolled lightly into the kitchen. He scooped up two glasses that twinkled in the light like crystal. He placed them on a small table by his chair and returned to the kitchen for a bottle of fine elven wine. Lastly, he pushed another chair alongside his own.

When he stood he found himself surprisingly out of breath, the chair must have been heavier than he thought. His mouth was dry and so he returned to the kitchen for a goblet of water. Tilting his head back, he let the cool, soothing liquid trickle down his throat. Before he had finished however, there came the soft sound of knocking at the door. Athron carelessly attempted to place the goblet on the table, but it fell onto its side. Athron allowed it to roll and went for the door. Swiftly, he pulled it back.

Standing in the doorway was a blue skinned elf. His hair was jet black, and hung over his face like it was a hood. Athron stepped back to let the figure pass through. Before he had even closed the door Athron said “Take a seat, my friend.”

“Thank you,” said Nammisa, sitting down at the chair Athron waved to. Athron sensed the priest’s comfort as he spread himself along it’s high back. Athron sat down next to him.

“Will you have some wine?” inquired Athron. Nammisa shook his head

“I’m afraid I must decline. It is out of the temples interest. But please, don’t let it hold you back.” It most certainly did not hold Athron back as he proceeded to pour a very full glass of wine.

“Forgive me for getting straight to the point,” said Athron, “but do you have what I asked for?”

“I certainly do,” said Nammisa, producing a battered green book from his robes. Nammisa held it out to Athron with the palms of his hands, like he was presenting a crown to a king. “Be very careful with it, it has seen many years of misfortune.” Athron slid his hands under the book, and carried it gently to his lap. Slowly he turned the first page, wincing as he heard the dry crackle. It the page was blank, but for one word; Delithia. Athron turned it over again to reveal the contents. Delicately, he stroked his hand down the page, reading each title as his hand uncovered it.

Introduction
Word From Author
Important Moments
Past Deeds
Ancestry-Family Tree
Timeline

It was a small book for a biography, but Athron guessed this was due to the extreme lack of information on Delithia. Athron turned to the Ancestry section.

Athron had seen the Asiant family tree, but this one seemed different. Indeed it was, as he noticed Delithia’s name written beneath Asiant’s grandsons. Underneath which read: half elven. Athron looked up at Nammisa. The priest had risen and was proceeding to wander around the room, admiring the various objects Athron had collected.

He stopped at each piece and shifted his body all the way round. His eyes shone with glee as he examined every part. A wide smile passed across his face, his blue skinned cheeks almost completely reached his ears. Athron was more than a little frightened that elf’s face would rip in two.

Athron pulled his eyes away and concentrated on the book. With infinite care, he turned the pages to Important Moments. The first page proved nothing special; merely explaining the date of his birth and his place of birth. Strangely, the page also described Delithia’s eyes. Apparently, at birth they were of an impossible blue. Athron began thinking of Morningstar’s eyes. They also were of a spectacular blue, twinkling with colour as the light caught them.

Athron turned the page once more. Here it told of his experience while studying in the temple. Athron was beginning to think the book pointless. All it told of was the lessons each elf learned as he grew to twelve Maliun years. As he skimmed the words however, something significant caught his eye. As he read it he grew even more surprised. It told of Delithia’s magical power. This was strange, in fact unheard of, for a white skinned elf to have any talent for magic; that was only possible for the rare blue elves that resided in the temple. Yet here in this book, was evidence that proved different.

Athron tucked the memory into his vast mind, for something to look into later. Currently, he turned the page and found more information on his teenage years and his development of magic. It seemed he was nothing special as a wizard; in fact, there was nothing that special about him. He seemed to be just another young elf being brought up in the forest. Again the thought of pointlessness came to his mind. Athron placed the book down and stood up. Nammisa turned as he heard Athron move. He noticed a slight irritation was present on his face. “Disappointed, my friend?” he said,

“Just a little,” replied Athron, “You see, I have encountered someone I believe to be a half elf.” Nammisa’s face lit up with interest.

“You’re sure of this?” he said eagerly,

“I’m not truly sure, that was why I was at the temple library. But if the boy is not, he is something definitely special.” Nammisa nodded in agreement.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to study the child.” He said

“Of course,” said Athron, “but it is not truly my choice. Come to the waterfalls tomorrow at dawn, you may ask Morningstar then.”

 

I rather like it

 

very good im liking the story

 

Thanks a lot again for your posts. Sorry I was a bit slow on doig this post, but I hope you enjoy it

*********************

Morningstar hastily pulled on his clothes, tugging them hard as they relentlessly dragged on his wet body. Whipping on his dagger belt, he flung the soaking hair from his eyes and jogged off home. The way back was pleasant as he felt the cool breeze blow across him, and the now ever present dream of the way watchers. It was his new ambition in life: to train hard, and work hard to finally become one of them.

As his forest home loomed before him he picked up the pace. The run was exhilarating, as the endorphins were released in his body. A grin crept across his face. That grin grew to a smile, which finally evolved into laughter. He sprinted through the streets, laughing with pure joy. Several elves turned to see Morningstar laugh and run before turning back shaking their heads and muttering “Humans, pah.”

Morningstar arrived at the base of Thero’s tree, and there he quelled his laughter, but his mouth couldn’t be relaxed from the massive crescent moon shape that had overrun his face. He jogged lightly up the steps and brushed aside the door. Thero was sitting reading a book. He looked up as Morningstar entered. He saw the grin across Morningstar’s face and smiled also. Morningstar was surprised at it, this was the first time he’d seen Thero smile twice in a day “You should smile more often” Thero said, and “It suits you.” Morningstar collapsed into the chair opposite Thero, obviously intent on telling his story.

He told him of his Athron putting him through the running and the pull-ups, and of the Way watchers, and finally of his dash through the streets, laughing insanely with his head held high. At the last Thero chuckled “What a fool you must have looked, my dear boy.”

“I know,” said Morningstar, “but I don’t care. If Barien had jeered at me for it, I would still have kept laughing and running.” Thero’s face darkened, and he stood.

“I have some things to do. I may be gone for some time, help yourself to the fruit in the kitchen,” with that he walked stiffly out the door. Morningstar sighed, and sank deeper into the chair. He held his glum face in his hands. The joy that had been present had dramatically shifted into one of guilt and sadness.

He shifted from his seat and shuffled remorsefully into the kitchen. A large bowl of fruit sat at the centre of a round table. Morningstar dipped his hand inside and produced a large green red apple. He heard the crunch as he bit into it, but never really tasted the bitter sweetness of its flesh. He returned into the main room, running his hair through his silvery blonde hair. He had the need to be outside; the house was only depressing him more.

Morningstar pushed open the door and took a long breath before leaving. He descended the stairs slowly, trying to draw the smile back to his face. It had seemed so out of place on his statue like face, and yet he loved it. The smile took up its mantle as he saw Mira passing. The elf was walking with her friends, talking and smiling. What a beautiful smile, thought Morningstar. She noticed Morningstar coming down the stairs and waved. Morningstar waved back ignoring the scowls he received from her friends. And then she moved off; off into the rest of the forest city. And that was it. That was just less then the most he had ever received from her. But even so, he relished it. It was the next closest thing he had to a friend than Belitan.

Even as he thought of Belitan, the elf had turned the corner. Morningstar shouted out to him. Belitan looked up, his sharp eyes examining the area before they rested on Morningstar’s lithe form. He waved and jogged to the foot of the tree. Morningstar flicked what was left of his apple to the forest floor and rushed down to greet his friend. “Hey,” Morningstar said, his smile beaming across his lips “I haven’t seen you in an age!”

“Good Asiant! What happened to your face” was all Belitan said, “I could have sworn it was cracking!” The two laughed together, and walked off.

“So where have you been?” asked Morningstar,

“Bah, they’ve been keeping me at the temple. The say I need ‘Extra studying for such a fine mind’, but I’ll tell you, this fine mind might have gone insane if it had stayed in there a minute longer.” A grin crept along his face, “It’s lucky the temple has large windows,” he winked.

“You snuck out the temple!” exclaimed Morningstar, “You’ll be for it.” Belitan chuckled,

“Yes, but only later. Just now I’m out in the fresh air with my friend. So tell me, what have you been up to while I was held hostage?” Morningstar’s smile grew even larger, threatening to tear his face apart as he relayed his story again. “Really? You actually got a compliment from a Way Watcher?”

“I did. And what’s more, I want to join their order.” Belitan sighed and sat down at the base of a tree. He motioned to Morningstar to do so also. He did, and Belitan said, “Look, Morningstar, to join the Way Watcher’s order, you have to train and take your oaths at the temple.” Morningstar’s smile disappeared as the truth-hit home.

Since a young age Morningstar was never allowed to enter the temple. He had even taken his forest vows at Thero’s home. “So I can never become a Way watcher.” Said Morningstar simply. Another of his dreams had been blown away.

“I’m not saying that Morningstar - ” started Belitan, but Morningstar cut him off,

“Don’t worry about it, I should have expected as much.” Morningstar made to get up, but Belitan’s firm hand was placed on his shoulder,

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, “all we have to do is find a way to get them to let you study at the temple, the rest of it is downhill,” A flicker of light emerged in Morningstar’s mind, but it guttered almost immediately. It would be impossible for him to study there, no matter how much he pleads, and he said so. “Don’t be so negative,” he slapped him on the shoulder “We’ll find a way. In the mean time, teach me what Athron taught you today.” Morningstar grinned and stood,

“Of course.”

It was an hour later, and Belitan was coated in sweat. “I thought he was teaching you to use a sword,” he said through his panting.

“He is, but that’s not what he taught me today,” said Morningstar. He smirked, and pointed at a tree, “And after the run he told me to do fifty pull ups after the run on that tree, now it’s your turn,”

“I swear I’ll get you back for this.” Belitan said as he reluctantly made for the tree, he hoisted himself up and down, but by the time he reached thirty, he collapsed in a heap. Morningstar’s laughter peeled out, and he dropped down next to Belitan.

“What’s so damn funny, if I couldn’t do fifty, I doubt you could have!” Morningstar continued to laugh for several more moments, and when he finally stopped there were tears in his eyes, “Well, come on.” Said Belitan

“What?” asked Morningstar, as he wiped the salty droplets from his eyes and cheeks

“How did you do it?” asked Belitan. Morningstar held in his laughter as he said,

“I didn’t have to. I had to run to the city and back only once, not four times, and I only had to do twenty pull ups” His laughter boomed out once more, frightening a small group of birds from a nearby tree and causing Belitan’s face to burn with anger.

“Belitan.” The name was said simply and quietly, yet it held great authority behind it. Morningstar’s laughter was silenced immediately as the new voice reached them. They turned to see a young acolyte in a plain green robe. “You are to return to the temple immediately.” Belitan was frozen to the spot, “That means now.” Belitan leapt to his feet and rushed to the acolyte’s side. The acolyte scowled at Morningstar before departing, “I suggest you make your way home human, before you are caught doing whatever mischief you have gotten yourself tangled up with.” Morningstar merely scowled back and clenched and unclenched his fists. Alone again, he wandered off into the woods.

If there was a bane to all existence, in Morningstar’s eyes it was the temple. It was so corrupt and wrong and was about the only thing about the elves that Morningstar didn’t like. Morningstar kicked a pebble and watched it stopped almost immediately as it landed on the soft, damp moss. He kicked it over and over again, attempting to keep it in a straight line, to no avail. Every time his boot connected with its smooth surface, it veered of to the side. Sinking down, he scooped it up and threw it hard and long over the tops of the trees, listening to every rustle it made as it pushed it’s way past leaves and twigs. With a sigh he watched it go out of view.

Slumping down, he scooped up two more stones and began to juggle. He enjoyed the feat and it offered him a moment of respite from the boredom that was overtaking him. But soon this also bored him, and so he began his short trek home.

When he arrived, he was surprised to find a large crowd had filled the market place. The usually tranquil scene was filled with the noise of loud voices and the shuffling of feet. Elves pushed past Morningstar, and one even pushed him to the ground as he passed, to be followed by several others trampling over him. “Ow!” said Morningstar over the jumble of voices, a slight scowl on his face “That does hurt you know.”

“We know,” said Barien as he turned and grinned. Morningstar’s scowl came into the baring of teeth as he pushed himself to his feet and lurched at Barien. His fist came up and he prepared himself to hurl it forwards. His weight was transferred to his leading leg, and his hips twirled slightly. A strong hand caught Morningstar’s bicep and pushed the arm down. Through much resistance, Morningstar was half pushed half carried away through the crowd, his eyes never leaving Barien’s. As soon as he was out of sight though, he pulled his glare up to the figure that held him. His face softened as he recognised Thero’s cool, composed features. The hand released him.

“What were you thinking boy?” said Thero, his anger seething through his sharp whisper, “Do you want your warrior privileges taken away for another five years? Another ten years!” his words passed through Morningstar like air,

“He walked over me!” said Morningstar, his anger still hanging over him.

“That’s not what I asked.” Said Thero, “I said what were you thinking.” It surprised Morningstar that the question was not rhetorical, and no answers flew into his mind. He sighed and admitted defeat, finishing lamely with,

“I didn’t think.”

“Exactly,” said Thero, “We’ll finish this conversation later. Right now I want to hear what this priest has to say.” Morningstar’s thoughts turned back to the crowd and a fountain of questions flowed into his mind, but knowing Thero knew just as little as he did, he kept his mouth firmly shut. Through the gaps of bodies, and over the heads of the smaller elves – who were very lacking indeed – Morningstar saw a tall, handsome blue skinned elf mount a set stairs to a small podium. As he reached the top, his eyes scanned right across the crowd looking as if he knew the thoughts of every man, woman and child who awaited his words. Hush swiftly passed over the crowds. When the elf spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep and loud, for one so slim and lithe.

“Elves of Lathel” he said, “Word reached our king this morning from Way watcher riders of a number of orcs penetrating deep into Malia’s lands, attacking small villages and Hamlets. The Malian king Rale is still with only a small force, though rising rapidly, will not be within a fit state to deal with the threat for several months. However, he has sent his still remaining mercenaries to attempt to at least slow the force. While the orcs roam unchecked, Lathel is at risk, and the King strongly presses that any elf willing to help the Way watchers at the border report to the militia at the Temple as soon as possible. Thank you, that is all” Without another word, he descended down the stairs. The moment his feet left the podium, a great roar came up from the crowd. People were shouting questions at the back of the already distant priest and screeching their voices over each other, in attempt to make sense of the situation.

 

This is a good story i enjoy reading it. You are a skilled writer.

 

Good Story. Although there is one typo in it, "he ran his hair through his silvery blonde hair", doesnt quite make sense.

[ February 22, 2003, 12:33: Message edited by: Dalveen ]

 

Pretty good, a bit predictable but on the whole its good

 

Thanks again for your replies. I'll try to keep that in mind Aikanaro, thanks. Heres the next post...

***************

“Come here sweetie.” The gruff voiced soldier grabbed roughly at the girl’s already muck covered dress with a grubby hand, “I’ve got a treat for ya,” with one swift tug he tore the lower piece of her dress from her.

“Hurry up with it Yuril, we’re waiting for her you know.” Shouted another soldier some distance away, sitting anxiously by a smouldering house.

“Shut up ya little turd. Ya can have the ***** when I’m finished her, until then keep yer trap shut!” the soldier moaned and turned his attention back to the house. He hurled a bucket of water over a small flame and awaited another from the long line of people leading to a nearby river.

They had been hired by King Rale to help put to stop the marauding orcs and barbaric humans. This small village was being attacked when the mercenary company arrived. The battle had been swift, and retribution upon the orcs had been cleanly done. “Get off me!” screeched the young woman as Yuril mounted her.

“Quiet!” Yuril screamed in her face “We saved your precious little sh*t hole, now I’ve come for your gratefulness.” The girl screamed and screamed again, scratching and clawing at Yuril’s face. Yuril grunted as she drew blood. “*****” he shouted as he threw a punch. It landed solidly on the girl’s chin and her head slumped quietly onto the grass. Yuril grinned.

“Get off the girl.” Came a voice from behind Yuril. It was calm and sure, completely out of place on the fiery bloodied background. Yuril turned his head and his grin widened. A man stood alone, a thick, black cloak thrown about his shoulders, fastened loosely by a brooch at his neck. He had dark, tousled hair and handsome features, sporting only a small goatee, like that of an arrowhead, the sign of a Carlene nobleman. The only armour he wore was a dented, iron breastplate. Slowly Yuril stood, not bothering to fasten his britches.

“Best you walk away Dante (OoC: Where did you come from?) or I’ll leave you to the crows.” Swiftly he drew a long blade. Dante drew his own, a large shining Long-sword with a grip that could be used with two hands. The piece was simple, but servable, much like Dante’s breastplate, but Yuril had no doubts on that the blade would be sharp and keen.

“You know I won’t, but I’ll give you the chance to escape the carrion” Yuril’s face gave a distinct flinch. “We have been paid to protect these people, not to rape them.” Yuril spat.

“Then what have I got to rut with, Carlene scum?” Without removing his eyes from Yuril’s. Dantes produced a small object from a pocket. The object caught the light and twinkled as it hit the wet earth. Yuril gazed down at the silver coin.

“Find yourself a whore.” Dante said. As if taking it by an insult, Yuril screamed a battle cry and hurled himself at Dante. Dante swiftly brought his sword to bear and parried the first over-head swipe. Yuril pounded another blow at Dante, but he sidestepped and smashed his booted foot into Yuril’s thigh. The man fell with a grunt. Dante swiftly positioned himself between the girl and Yuril. “You still have the chance to walk away Yuril, our quarrel is still with orcs.”

“That quarrel begins again when you are dead!” spat Yuril as he got unsteadily to his feet, sword in hand. With another head pounding scream, Yuril charged Dante. Steel rang on steel as the blades locked. The two men were face to face as Dante’s forehead crashed into Yuril’s nose and the two were hurled apart. Stunned and disorientated, Yuril swung blindly at Dante with his dulled blade. Dante swiped his blade to meet it but instead of clashing with the sword, Dante’s steel sliced into Yuril’s hand taking off three fingers. Yuril’s sword fell, and he himself fell to his knees. “Please.” Begged Yuril, as Dantes raised his sword in a two handed grip, “I’ll leave her be.”

“You had your chance.” Said Dantes as his sword came down. It was met with the sickening crack of bone as Dante’s sword cut through the spine. Blood sprayed onto Dante’s cloak as the head rolled to the ground.

The girl screeched as the head stopped at her side. Its matted hair was dripping with blood and the eyes had rolled back, showing only the sickly white. The girl grabbed at her own head and eyes, her fingers clenching at her matted brown hair. She lashed out with her feet, kicking away at the head. Dante kneeled by her side and gently, caringly unhitched her hands from her head, speaking to her soothingly like he would to his horse. Sliding his hands under her, he came to his feet. He carried the girl back to through the burning village.

He passed each building with remorse, looking away as he noticed a half burnt doll with a severed hand still clinging onto it. His men had simply come too late. If they had arrived a mere hour before, the village could have been saved. The orcs and barbarians had destroyed every village for miles, with the only resistance being farmers with pitchforks, that is, until Dante. There had been no mercy or compassion for the orcs, just the worms and dirt of death.

Dante’s tent lay around a hundred metres from the town. The camp was only beginning to be set, since the fires were only recently contained. The nearby forest had been the most immediate threat, and Dante had set the men about that the instant the battle was over. Some buildings still blazed though, and nearly half of the company were concentrating on them.

The tent was open and a young man sat within, fanning at the small blaze he had created, upon which sat a pot. The face was one of kindness and of laughter. He rose as he saw Dante and went out to help him. “How is she?” he asked,

“In shock, that b*stard Yurik was on her, I only narrowly made it” said Dante

“I hope you taught him a lesson,” spat the young man, disgust clearly etched on his face

“A lesson he won’t get the chance to remember.” Said Dante, anger brimming on his lips. The young man swore,

“Dante, he was popular among the men, a b*stard he may have been, but he was still popular.” His voice dropped “You know what this could mean, don’t you.” Dante looked up into the man’s eyes, they were wide with worry, but still solid with dedication. Yurik’s death could be the last straw for the men. Dante had marched them for days on end with few rests. Morale was low and discipline was lower.

“I know” said Dante, “but get some soup for the girl Tane, she doesn’t half need it.” Tane rushed back to the fire and began ladling a thick liquid into a wooden bowl. Dante settled the girl onto a set of blankets as Tane placed the bowl to her hands. The girl managed to murmur thanks, before her slight head dipped back into sleep. Dante just managed to catch the bowl as it slipped from her cupped hands. “Someone’s got to eat it,” he said, lifting the bowl to his lips. The moment they touched however, he immediately spurted out the hot liquid, “and that some one will be the dogs!” he said, spilling the soup onto the grass.

“More salt?” asked Tane, already sprinkling the white, clear powder into the pot. While stirring Tane asked, “What will we do now? I mean, we’ve already caught and killed two raiding parties.”

“Connel has had some trouble with a raiding party, more than half his troops were killed in the night some moons ago. I only received the news from a rider today”

“Then I take it we are to go to them.” Said Tane

“Yes. Our orders are to meet with Connel at Murrel Bridge at noon tomorrow,”

“Gods Dante, that’s a days ride away!” Tane exclaimed,

“A day and a half,” Dantes replied cooly, “What does that matter anyway?”

“We marched only half that yesterday, and more horses have been lost today, not to mention men.
“Dante, the men are spent. Desertions will begin in less than a week, judging by the amount your driving them. They need rest, and women, they haven’t even had a chance to go whoring yet, no wonder Yurik was forcing himself on this lass.” The girl stirred at the man’s name. “Let the men rest for a couple of days, we will be the better for it.”

“And what about Connel!” exclaimed Dante, surging to his feet, his voice more than a little raised, “His men are fighting for the king and dying. They need us to reinforce them otherwise the barbarians will hunt them down to the last man!”

“How do you expect to do that with no men!” shouted Tane, echoing Dante’s aggressive tone, “You will attempt to march a fatigued War band of no more than thirty men for more than a day, all for a man and his few followers who will suffer their fate before we even make it to them! That is if you manage to get the men to go. Much more likely that they’ll slit your throat and elect a new leader!” Dante’s face calmed like a sea after a storm, seemingly safe, but ready to erupt again, and he sank back into his seat,

“You’re right Tane,” he admitted resignedly “It is pointless to go, and the men won’t follow me anyway. The problem is, the rider brought the orders from the king himself, along with payment in gold. In accepting the gold, I am under oath to go to assist Connel with, or without the War band.”

“But you can’t.” said Tane, “Alone you will die for sure.”

“The money is in the pouch by the chest.” Dante said, as if not hearing “Leave thirty gold for myself, and distribute two to each man still alive.” Dante looked up at Tane, “I’m leaving you in charge now. Lead well.” With that he stood and made for the tent flap.

“Wait.” Said Tane as Dante reached the flap, “You can’t give me the command…”

“Don’t be modest.” replied Dante, “You are a talented strategist and the men like you. You will be a fine Captain.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tane smiling, “Give the command to Guillaume. I’m coming with you.” With a smile, Dante left the tent. Behind him, Tane grabbed his Chain-mail shirt and followed swiftly, scooping up his crossbow as he went.

 

very good. a bit short though