Dawn In Shadow (fantasy)

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very cool. are you gonna complete black sun?

 

I'm afraid that story died, but I do intend to go back to it and finish it, though that will probably be after this is finished.

 

cool cant wait for next part of story (posting this to make it possible for you to post next part)

 

Sorry I was so long again with this post, but I had some real trouble with it. Anyway I hope you enjoy it, and please give plenty of critism, thanks a lot.

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Morningstar attempted to imitate the lithe form of Thero as he weaved in and out of the elves in the crowd. Morningstar partially succeeded, occasionally bumping into people, or standing on their toes. Finally he managed to part himself from the crowd, moving into a jog as he saw Thero rapidly pacing towards his home. Morningstar came up along side him within moments. “What are we doing?” he asked,

“What am I doing, I believe you mean.” He said, still marching for his home “I am collecting my bow and reporting to the temple”

“Well I’ll come with you,” Morningstar said. Thero suddenly stopped and turned to him, the anger so unused to him was present on the usually cool face,

“Has your little thug mind muddled your senses? You’re not allowed in the temple, and now I can see why. You let your anger get the best of you. When Barien pushed you down, you should have just walked away, but you took the jest to seriously and made to hurt him.” Thero sighed, his anger fading away “The temple is a place of peace, a place of harmony with nature.” Morningstar’s face now contorted with anger,

“And what about humans.” He said through clenched teeth “Are they not part nature as well?”

“I know Morningstar,” Thero said quietly, “but it is the nature of elves. We wrote scriptures on language, trade and building, creating civilisation. The Humans took these and learned from them. The elves unwillingly instructed the Humans, but we look on it with secret pride, but in our long lives, we have let that pride grow to arrogance in our apparent superiority. By Asiant, you’ve read about the fall Haspal?” Morningstar nodded,

“When the gods came down and…”

“The gods didn’t come down Morningstar.” Thero interrupted “An earthquake destroyed Haspal,” Morningstar’s eyes widened slightly in suprise “but our arrogance could not let us admit it to the other races.” Continued Thero, ignoring Morningstar’s shocked face “We will teach the humans, but we will never let them become equals.” Morningstar’s head dropped as the truth hit home, and he trudged back to Thero’s home, falling behind Thero. Morningstar realised that it had hit home long ago, but he had never allowed himself to admit it, and in doing so now, he thought himself to be useless. A meaningless scrap of the game called time.

Once home Thero set about filling his quiver. “At least let me try.” Said Morningstar,

“Try what?” asked Thero,

“To sign with the Militia.” Morningstar persisted.

“Morningstar,” Thero said, looking up “Listen to me. You can’t go near the temple, it’s forbidden.”

“I don’t care,” said Morningstar. The words were blunt, and simple yet they took Thero aback, “I will go, with or with out yours, or the Council’s permission.” Thero just stared at the young man. His face was set, the jaw clenched, and the eyes, those piercing blue eyes seemed to burn with barely contained passion.

“Fine,” said Thero. This time it was Morningstar’s turn to be surprised. “But if you do, Athron will no longer train you with the sword.” Morningstar sat stock still. This was almost blackmail. Morningstar sank back and took a deep breath, the light in his eye dimming, and taking an almost sunken look. Thero returned his eyes to the quiver and slid more shafts into the leather casing before strapping it to his back. “I will be back by the end of the week, hopefully.” Thero said, “Athron said he would be here at dawn. I expect you to be up and waiting for him.” With that he left the room.

As soon as the door closed Morningstar felt the need to tear the house apart and leapt from his chair. Yet he took another calming breath and paced back and forth, before making for the door. As he stepped outside he could see Thero had already reached the bottom of the steps, and was on his way to the temple. Morningstar followed him down, but then ran off in the direction of the trees, breathing deeply, and counting each breath.

He ran for what seemed hours, not allowing his mind to wander from the counting of his breaths. By the time he stopped, it was dusk. Carefully he stretched his calves and thighs before strolling back to the city. On his way there, he met with the troupe of militia making there way to the border. To Morningstar’s surprise, there were no elves under the adult age. Morningstar pondered on this as he walked through the streets, and here, he noticed there were no young elves present either. Morningstar had no idea where they were, and so walked up to the first elf he saw, with the question itching on his tongue. She was tall and beautiful, like nearly all the elves. As she noticed his approach she scowled, but this did not hold him back. When he was within a metre he asked, “Where is everyone? I mean, I saw the elves of the militia leave, but I can’t find anyone else my age anywhere.”

“Have a look in the temple, and see what you find.” Morningstar watched as the mocking grin formed across her face, knowing he would not be allowed to look into the temple. It quite denounced the beauty of her.

“I’ll do that,” he said, and then added, “By the way, you’ve got something in your teeth.” He chuckled as he watched the grin turn upside down into a grimace. Swiftly he departed her presence. His little acts of cheek would often cause violence with the female elves, a reason yet to find logic with him.

Morningstar strolled in the temples direction, in the hope of finding where everyone was. He knew he couldn’t even clamber up the temple walls at the base of the tree to see if anyone was near. But then he knew there was no need to clamber up, as there were a good number of houses that had a fine view into the temple courtyard.

Swiftly he climbed the steps of a nearby tree. By halfway he could peer out at the temple. Inside the courtyard hundreds of young elves were training with blade and bow, preparing for what seemed like invasion. Morningstar longed to train among them, but knowing it to be forbidden he descended the steps. Sudden fatigue from his run took over him and he headed for Thero’s home, and a soft bed.


His sleep was dreamless, and he felt refreshed as he woke. It was just before dawn, he still had time to make it to the waterfalls on time if he ran. Scooping up an apple from the kitchen, he lightly hopped down the steps, and set off at a brisk jog. He picked up the pace as the sun’s gleaming top appeared on the horizon. By now he was used to the direction, but his limbs felt weak from his excessive running the day before. Nevertheless he arrived on time, finding Athron holding two wooden blades. Athron’s hand flashed up and he flung one of the swords to Morningstar’s left. Morningstar’s left hand snapped up and swiftly caught the sword by the hilt. Athron nodded with appreciation. “You apparently have a descent ambidexterity, that will help in the days to come.”


For several months Athron trained Morningstar in swordsmanship. He swiftly picked up the slash and parry basics, sparring frequently with Athron in between the constant routines he had learned. The routines themselves were strange in Morningstar’s mind. They were strange because he was learning to dance, long dances – often taking a whole hour to complete - full of spins and twists and having to balance perfectly on the toes of a single foot. He got into the habit of stretching each morning and running for several miles, in order to loosen up his muscles before going through the practices Athron had forced him to hone. Morningstar did not truly mind the continuity of the training, but he realised that it was taking up his life. He would train from dawn to dusk, with only a few hours sleep each night. At first at had been weary, and his body was racked with pain and fatigue, but eventually it got used to the hardship, and managed to endure.

Morningstar moved fluidly through his dance in front of the criticizing eyes of Athron. He completed it, with three spins moving in a sidelong circle direction before landing perfectly on the balls of his feet. He remained in position, attempting to subdue the ragged panting breaths emanating from his throat. No matter how often he practiced, the dances would tire him to a state of exhaustion. Indeed the dance had lasted nearly one and a half hours, but Morningstar had watch Athron through gazing eyes as he completed it even faster and without even a drop of sweat.

After several moments his breath became deeper, and his lungs began to relax, but the fatigue throughout his limbs was unbearable. He merely wished to drop to the grass and sleep. As these thoughts pushed into his mind, he noticed a slight smile edge onto Athron’s face. “You have done well. Indeed, you have excelled. It took me nearly three years to learn that dance, and you have mastered it in a matter of months.” Morningstar’s eyes flicked to the blue skinned elf standing further back amongst the green of the trees. He had come to Morningstar on the second day on training, apparently wishing to monitor his progress. Morningstar had found it strange, in fact he still pondered to why the elf watched him.

At this moment, the blue elf’s face was lit up by a smile; he seemed extremely satisfied, like a man who’s dog has just learnt a new trick. Morningstar turned his attention back to Athron. “Thank you. Though, if I may, I’d like to rest.”

“Yes I’m sure you would,” said Athron, his lips turning to a full on grin, “But I have something I’d like you to try.” He turned, and picked up a wooden sword from the grass, “Repeat the piece before the last spins.” He said, flipping the sword over to Morningstar, the youth caught it nimbly and spun it in his hand. Morningstar leapt, sword in hand. The sword slashed through the air, moving from left to right, stabbing forwards and back, as Morningstar repeated the hand movements. Morningstar smiled as he realised he was learning with the sword. The weeks of dancing did not seem so pointless now. He came down, and span down low to his knee before lunging his body forward, both hands behind him, face and chest out front. At the last moment his chest drew back and the sword came forward, in a massive slashing motion that spun Morningstar through the air. He came down lightly and came up on one foot. Balancing easily, he propelled himself back, the sword coming up nearly vertically in front of his face. Morningstar’s sword arm came down, as the dance required, but the flat of the blade hit against his knee and the blade span from his grip. To Morningstar’s surprise, it twirled to his other hand, as it moved through its path. The move was so shocking, that Morningstar stumbled, and was forced to step sideways, completely destroying the dance. Athron laughed, “Makes sense now, does it not?”

“Yes” Morningstar gasped. Without another word, Athron turned and walked away into the forest. The blue elf followed, leaving Morningstar alone gaping wide eyed at the wooden sword in his hand, and the amazing swordplay, he had just attempted. His weariness suddenly forgotten, Morningstar began the dance again, revelling in the fluid movements and slight whistles the sword made as it flickered from one hand to the next.


Nammisa walked alongside Athron, smiling. “You altered the Viper Dance,” he said “I have watched the Dirini practicing those snapping movements.”

“When Morningstar was young,” Athron said, still grinning, “he wanted to be a Dirini. When he found his body was less agile, the dream was given up, perhaps even abandoned. Thero told me about it, and since that day - against my own conscience - I studied the Dirini, and altered their dances to better fit a human. It actually improved my own swordsmanship in some respects; it may even surprise a Dirini. I am glad now that I decided to help him.”

“You were right in your claims.” Said Nammisa “The half elf is certainly unique.”

“Then you agree that he is a half elf?” inquired Athron,

“Yes. I’m afraid to say your alterations haven’t succeeded in the way of training a human. Some of the movements would have been near impossible, even to the eastern Samurai.”

“At least it worked with Morningstar” said Athron, “but he still has a long way to go. Those dances you saw were rather slow”

“Come now,” argued Nammisa, “A human could not contest the skill…”

“A human could have stabbed him before he had completed his first spin. He has the skill, all he must do now is increase the speed.”

“Easier said than done,” Nammisa remarked,

“True,” agreed Athron.


Morningstar completed the dance for the second time. He was now bathed in sweat, and could no longer contest with the force gravity. His fatigue struck body flopped down, thudding as it connected with the forest floor. Wearily, he pushed himself to his elbows and scratched at the stubble forming on his chin. Unlike the elves, facial hair had appeared on Morningstar’s handsome features. Thero had shown him how to cut it away with a razor sharp knife. It had been an effort, for Thero had never had the need to shave.

Thero would have expected him home by now, Morningstar realised as he thought of the elf, and of the nicking of the skin as they had attempted to shave Morningstar’s stubble. Thero had returned from the borders merely a week ago. Not a single orc or Human barbarian had set foot in the forest. Apparently a mercenary leader named Dante, who had managed to gather to him many peasants to fight back and without the help of any military trained soldiers, eradicated them. The organisation of the peasant force had overwhelmed the pure ferocity of the north men.

With a final push of effort Morningstar got to his feet. He felt unsteady, and nauseous. Leaning against a tree he breathed deeply, allowing the damp forest air to fill his lungs while he stretched his muscles. In doing so he relieved the cramp that was swamping his legs and arms. Finally, with his breath caught back, Morningstar scooped up the wooden sword and strolled back to Lathel city.

The walk was strenuous, but Morningstar refused the look of weariness to etch over his face. He felt the rising of blisters and cursed. Soon he would start limping, and what a fool he would look.

As ever, the temple tree was the first thing Morningstar caught sight of as he neared the city. No blisters had risen, and for that he was glad. Approaching the steps to Thero’s home, his feet shuffled below him, and he could no longer keep the face of fatigue from him. Each step was an effort, and he cursed Thero silently for living so high up. As he reached the door, he pushed it open with nearly all his body weight, almost falling to the ground in the progress. He steadied himself and stumbled to the sofa. Sloping down, he instantly fell asleep. Thero found him there, and with surmising strength for so lithe an elf, slid his arms under him and carried him to his bed. How strange, he thought, how these youths sleep all the time.

 

Interesting and good.

 

really good. im pondering over a question, why the hell cant i write as good as all you lot? i practise and practise and i just cant write a good story

 

Glad to see you're enjoying it C'Jacob!

@Dalveen, post a bit of your work on the boards, I'm sure some people will reply and tell you what to work on. Go for it, and good luck.

Sorry this ones a bit short, but I might not be working on this for a little while (Damned homework) so I thought I'd better give you what I've been working on so far. Thanks.

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Morningstar awoke to the sound of bird song, humming in his ear. Light flooded through the half open window heating Morningstar’s tanned skin, despite the loosely drawn curtains. Slowly, he flicked his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. The action was involuntary and not due to tiredness, but due to the constant strain on his limbs thanks mainly to the training that had made him wearisome, and today, he wasn’t even sure if he could put up with any more training. Still, he stood and stretched working the muscles to prevent them becoming pulled. Once every muscle had been stretched to its limit, Morningstar shook his hands, legs and arms vigorously. To any onlooker, he would have looked like a fool, but it was necessary to loosen his muscles after stretching so they would move more fluidly. Finally, he wiggled his fingers and toes as he wandered to the window and flung open the curtain. Light poured into his eyes and he flinched. The light took him aback until he looked up at the sun. It was at its full height and he realised it was midday.

Like quicksilver he darted for the door, scooping up clothes from the bottom of the bed as he did so. Darting for the front door, his hand barely touched the handle when he heard the calm voice of Thero. “You have no training today,” he said. The elf was laying spread out on the sofa, his arm hooked around a book. His eyes had not moved from the page as Morningstar had rushed past him “Athron say’s you deserve a rest.” Morningstar let out a deep breath as a sign of relief at the news, and he thanked Asiant for it. “There is still some bread left in the kitchen,” Thero said, still staring at the book “help yourself,”

Morningstar strolled to the kitchen, finding a half eaten loaf lying on the table. He sliced four large chunks and spread two with butter. Turning, he found the strange magical blue fire, flickering away silently. Above it suspended a kettle by a long metal rod. Lifting its lid, he was immediately met with the fresh smell of cut grass. Peering inside he found some ripped up leaves boiling within a murky liquid. He replaced the lid with a grimace. Why Thero made such foul looking concoctions was a mystery to him. He toasted the last two slices of bread beneath the kettle as he drew on his clothes, a tunic of sky blue and trousers of a light grey. The bread began to burn softly on the blue flame and Morningstar swiftly swept the pieces into his hand. His hands jumped as he felt the heat of the toast. For a moment he juggled with the pieces before laying them on the other two pieces of bread.

He let them cool for a moment before lifting them and returning to the main room, munching happily. He flicked his gaze over to Thero. He didn’t even glance as Morningstar opened the door, “I need to run.” He said in explanation. Thero muttered a reply and Morningstar left, running a finger up his chin as melted better oozed from the sandwiched toast.


Inside Thero skimmed more lines from the book. Nammisa’s findings had been accurate, and Thero had no doubt that he was right. There were things about Morningstar that were definitely elvish. There was no other way to describe it, Morningstar was a unique being and this find was incredible. Not only that, but fundable. Thero thanked his god that Nammisa’s heart was in the right place. To him it was merely a quest for knowledge, he would take to heart Thero’s request to keep it secret. If it were to leak out, Morningstar’s life would be forfeit. To have a human in the woods was bad enough, but an elf with the taint of human blood would seem appalling. Damn the Temple! It was the only thought to remain in Thero’s mind. These ‘Priests’ of nature and harmony were contradicting themselves. They were so out of place, so corrupt in their arrogant superiority.

In truth, the elves were little different from humans. They shared the same thoughts, the same feelings. They even shared the same taints. They both feared what was different. Is that what they were, afraid of Morningstar? Thero chuckled slightly to himself.

Suddenly another thought sprung to his mind. Not a thought, but a question, one he had not even thought to ask when he had found Morningstar all those years ago. Who are his parents? The question was more urgent now. He was not just some unwanted child, abandoned at the edge of a forest. He had elvish blood. One of his parents was an elf. Nulifa was hundreds of miles away. Meaning one of Morningstar’s parents could be living within the forest. Thero brushed this thought away though. Many elves left the forest at the adult age, to either adventure or join one of the four colleges of magic.

Apparently, through great study and increasingly hard work, one could actually cast magic. The blue elves had this talent naturally, and were most certainly the most powerful, but humans in particular have a passion for learning, and in magic, some found they had a slight talent. This talent would grow with careful study. Some would read lore until their hair was white and their beards were long just to glimpse at the edges of such a wondrous subject. Unfortunately the humans short life span would not allow them to exploit their talents quite as much as an elf could, but there were some, evil beings drawing life from others to feed and expand their own who could live for millennia on end perfecting their talent. For them though, their talents could only range to killing, as to learn any other would take too much time, time that was needed to take lives for their own.

For some strange reason, all elves, except the blue skinned, had trouble expanding their magical talent. True, after perhaps two centuries they could equal a human’s power, but only a human had been learning for a mere decade.

Thero turned his mind from the outside world back to the forest. Gently he placed the book down on the table by the sofa and pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing his long bow and quiver, he stepped outside.

The cooling breeze was gentle on his skin, and felt refreshing after the musty heat of his home. Descending the steps, he turned in the direction of the archery range. Since the orc threat, Thero had found himself inclined to go to the range often. Perhaps it was the sense of being ‘out of practice’. He walked down the street, nodding to the elegant elves that passed him.

The range was large, but in the main rather empty with only a few other elves at practice. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he lined himself up with one of the butts and changed his stance, shifting until he was side on. He was right handed, so he held the bow in his left while he nocked an arrow. He straightened himself, positioning the weight of his body on the balls of his feet, making sure it was distributed evenly on each before raising the bow.

The sight was simple; a long thin piece of metal onto which was attached a small round ball. It resembled a pin more than anything else. Thero had prepared the sight earlier so that it was the exact length of his chin to his eye from the top of the handle. Thero placed three fingers on the string, one above the arrow, two below. Slowly he drew back. He did not stop as the string touched his ear; he merely relaxed his fingers releasing the arrow long and far through the air to punch through the straw packed butt two hundred metres away, while subconsciously letting his hand continue back as if he was still drawing the bowstring. Thero smiled in his mind as he drew another, knowing that the other archers would have stopped to watch him by now. He repeated the process over and over until his quiver was empty.

For a few moments he waited, standing watching the other archers empty their quivers at the one hundred metres distant targets. Finally a shrill whistle echoed through the woods and the elves went to collect their arrows.

Thero felt relaxed as he drew his from the butt, his mind distant, focused simply on perfecting his already amazing archery skills. Quickly he flicked his gaze around behind him to see if the other archers had finished drawing their arrows. But as he did so, his eye caught sight of the butt next to him. Several arrows lay jutting from it. His surprise dimmed however; as he saw the slim figure of Belitan approach it. The elf was grinning, obviously happy at the position of his shafts. “Good morning Belitan,” said Thero, the contagious smile of Belitan conquering his own stern lips. “I see they’ve moved your distance up.”

“Yes. It gives it a bit more of a challenge,” Cocky bastard thought Thero as Belitan tugged the arrows from the butt. “I see you missed the rag,” he said, pointing with the flight of an arrow. Thero turned, giving a slight glance at the arrow Belitan had indicated at. It lay just high of the white rag they used as a target.

“Targeting arrow,” said Thero calmly, knowing Belitan was ready to rub it in.

“Hmm” was his only reply. Together they walked back down the range.

As they neared the shooting line, Belitan said “How about a friendly wager? One of speed” The elf’s grin seemed to widen.

“Not today.” Said Thero, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh c’mon,” encouraged Belitan, “I’ll even give you a head start.” Thero could tell the young elf was mocking him, indeed, who couldn’t.

“All right then.” Thero said, “You need to learn some humility” Belitan flashed his teeth and readied himself on the starting line. Thero waved over another elf and did likewise.

“What is it?” inquired the elf. He was young, a couple of years under Belitan.

“Belitan here and I have decided on a quick competition. Would you mind judging?”

“Not at all,” said the elf, smiling. He decided he would enjoy watching these two “Do you mind if a couple of my friends watch,” he said, already calling them over. Belitan chuckled as the younger elves gathered round.

“Ready?” he asked. His smile was actually beginning to irritate Thero now. Thero nodded, pushing twenty or so arrows into the ground. “Thirty seconds sound alright.”

“The official time eh? You aren’t trying to see if you can beat me in the annual festivals are you?” Belitan smiled again, and turned his eyes on the butt. His smile dispersed as he did so, his mind focused purely on the rag that stood as a target. Thero nodded to the judging elf and turned, awaiting the signal.

“Loose” he shouted. Before the word had even been finished an arrow from each of them had been drawn from the dirt. By the time the word was finished the arrows had left the bowstring. The two stood, staring at the soaring arrows. The youths behind them frowned, wondering why they weren’t drawing any more arrows. As soon as the points thunked home however, more arrows left the strings in rapid succession. The first arrow had been a targeting arrow. One used as a sort of test to judge the distance and wind. The two archers had waited until it ran home before adjusting their aim and loosing more. The thirty seconds seemed faster than it was as the judging elf shouted out for them stop.

Belitan turned back to Thero, his smile reappearing. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing down the range. Thero tilted his head and walked. Belitan followed, ever smiling.

The archers stood back as the judge counted the arrows. The shadows casting from the shafts made it difficult for Thero and Belitan to count. And so the two waited tensely. The judge turned. “Twelve for Belitan. Fifteen for Thero.”

“Lucky, lucky” said Belitan his smile still masking his face. He obviously hadn’t learned his lesson in humility, “Best out of three?” Thero’s laughter boomed out. It was a strange sound, coming from a man who rarely made such noises.

“Perhaps another day,” he said, still chuckling as he approached the butt.

 

really good. i like your storys as their a bit diffrent from every ones elses as they write mainly about their charcaters fighting in battles and such. yours is less violent

 

Dalveen - you couldn't be more right!

*cough*

Shura

*cough*

 

lol, i agree with that. but shura is allowed to as he is god at writing

 

Sorry it took me so long to post this, but I had some other stuff to do. Thanks again for your replies. @ Dalveen and C'Jacob, I'm actually getting a bit sick of these pansy elves and I want to write a bit more action, unfortuneately a may be a few posts yet, but soon...

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Morningstar scrambled quickly up a tall grey sentinel, the shadow of night falling like a veil over his lithe figure. He had spent the day running and swimming, finally daring to travel to the edge of the forest, merely to gaze out over its borders. Below and beyond him, three orcs warily passed through the tree line. Each was armed with heavy weapons of worn iron. Rust was apparent on their misshaped breastplates and creaked eerily as they moved, cracking through the peaceful silence of the forest.

They walked on, each step bringing them ever closer to Morningstar. Morningstar had never seen an orc before, but the descriptions he had read were horribly true. Just less than seven foot high, with skin ranging from jade green to a dirty brown. Lower teeth jutting out from their lips like tusks, and muscles taught and strong. They were no more than fifteen metres from Morningstar’s tree when they finally sank down to the forest floor.

They seemed ill at ease, yet in the covering of the forest, Morningstar could feel their relief. Finally, one spoke, in rough common “Grab some firewood, Gothrak,” His voice was deep and gruff, like feet over wet gravel “It’ll keep the beasts at bay.” One orc stood, his colossal body stretching out his corded muscles. He muttered a reply and walked a few steps, gathering fallen dry wood. The other two were setting about making a circle of rocks. They worked quickly and efficiently, strangely organised for a barbarian people in Morningstar’s eyes.

Once the circle was completed the two stood, and helped the orc, Gothrak to gather wood. “Burac, light it.” his voice was authoritative. This one was obviously the leader. One of the orcs knelt by the fire and began scraping flint together; causing sparks to jump to the dry grasses. Eventually, after several long moments of sparking, the grasses lit, and gave off a thick, cloudy smoke. The orcs began throwing on pieces of wood no bigger than a man’s finger, building them up to thicker limbs, as the blaze grew stronger.

They sat in silence watching the fire dance upon itself. It was strangely mesmerizing, even to Morningstar sitting silently in the tree, afraid to move for the fear of the orcs hearing. After much hesitation Morningstar finally shifted, placing his foot lower down the tree.

He decided that it was his duty to warn the elves of Lathel; if there were three orcs, there may be more. As he thought of the elves, he realised that the Way Watchers should be here, lying silently in the boughs of the trees, their bows slung and arrows nocked, picking out their targets. Yet not a single whisper came from the branches around him, not even the quiet scraping of cloth. Morningstar pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated on his original plan; warn the city of Lathel.

Quicker now, he wrapped his hands around branches and lowered himself, and in sick dread, he remembered how high he had had to jump to reach the lowest of the branches. To get down, he would have to jump, and he knew the orcs would hear his landing. In despair, he drew his dagger, and held it tightly between his teeth, prepared to fight them rather than wait until they left.

Yet as he reached the lower branches, fear over came him, the fear of death. His limbs froze, locking him to the bark of the tree. He would not dare move, let alone leap to the ground. He just crouched there, shivering and wide-eyed, gazing at the prone backs of the orcs as they began to cook meat over the fire.

As the orcs began to relax, so did Morningstar. Relief washed over him as feeling came back into his arms and legs. The fear had been terrible, striking Morningstar to the very bone. But now all he felt was a tingling sensation in the back of his skull, the beginnings of anger. His mouth was dry and his hands coated in sweat as he dropped to the ground.

The orcs had lain back onto their elbows, but now they shot up sharply, gazing and listening in the direction of Morningstar. Swiftly they approached, spreading out wide, their axes and hammers tightly wielded in their hands. With a strange excitement Morningstar moved forward, bringing up his dagger and hurling it at the leader. It struck him high in the thigh, it had obviously been intended for his groin. He screamed in rage and pain, as he limped forward, the other orcs charging headlong into the darkness, deadly aware of Morningstar’s location.

Morningstar turned and darted deeper into the trees, the orcs close on his heels, but he knew this forest well, it had been his place and home since he could remember, and he weaved easily between the trees, ducking and turning, dashing constantly in different directions, but always leading them deeper. Suddenly he stopped and dived upwards into a tree. The orcs heard him and moved to its base. It was dark, but they could still see well enough to see Morningstar’s outline. He was scarcely out of their reach. “We’ve got him, Burac!” the orc Gothrak shouted to his friend,

“Shut up and cut the tree down, we’ll taste its flesh tonight,”

“I doubt it,” said Morningstar. Not a tremble appeared in his voice, “You are lost, and practically dead.” His voice dropped “I promise you a cold, nameless grave” The orcs chuckled to themselves as one of them brought up his axe. Before the axe had even finished pulling back, several twangs resounded in the air and seven arrows jutted from his throat and chest.

The other stared disbelievingly at his comrade, as Morningstar leapt feet first from the tree, his boot colliding with the orcs face. They both fell and tumbled, rolling over each other, each grappling at the other. And as they rolled Morngstar saw the axe blade rushing at him, but he could o nothing. It sliced across his brow and darkness enveloped him. The pain was enormous and he screeched with it. The orc revelled in his screams and grasped Morningstar’s thin neck in both hands, and squeezing down into the airways of his throat. Arrows thudded into his back, but he did not let go. His breathing was ragged and dying, yet Morningstar knew for certain that he would die before the orc.

Red faced and bloating as the blood rushed up to his head, Morningstar felt the hilt of the orcs dagger and drew it stabbing him weakly in the chest, piercing the thick skin and puncturing the heart. He twisted it savagely, and the orc died, his body collapsing over Morningstar’s crushing his limp body, but the hands fell loose around Morningstar’s neck, and he sucked in breath while choking noisily. Strong hands grasped at his armpits and his mind went blank from the pain, falling into the peace of unconsciousness.


Morningstar sat up sharply and opened his eyes. But nothing happened; all he saw was darkness. A hand came firmly down and lay on his shoulder “Lie back,” it was the voice of Thero, “calm yourself.” He said. Morningstar heard him twist in his seat, “Nammisa! He’s awake!” next he heard the scattering of feet, the sudden movement unnerved him and he reached up to his eyes. A soft bandage covered them, and he hooked his fingers over the edges to try and wench it free.

“Leave it.” came a voice. It was Namissa’s. He stood by the bedside, gently pulling away Morningstar’s trembling hands.

“I can’t see,” Morningstar said to no one in particular. He was scared out of his wits, “Why can’t I see?” his voice trembled with barely suppressed fear, “tell me why I can’t see?”

“You’re blind Morningstar.” Whispered Thero quietly. His voice emitted his sadness, “The orc’s axe took out your eyes.”

“No!” Shouted Morningstar, “No!”

“Please,” said Nammisa, “be calm. We are going to attempt a spell, it is not dangerous, but it has never been tried. Only when you are calm can we proceed with it, so please, rest yourself.” Morningstar lay back. The darkness surrounding him frightened him to his soul, and his mind could not, and would not part from the thought. “Let us begin.” Said Nammisa “Thero, could you leave us,”

“No,” said Morningstar, “let him stay.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nammisa, “but it could be a danger to him”

“I’ll come back when they finish, Morningstar,” said Thero, “I shall be right outside the door.” Morningstar heard him turn, and heard the soft patter as his padded feet walked resignedly away.

Morningstar sank back into the pillow as chanting began. Amazing colours floated before his minds eye, twisting and changing, creating patterns of great beauty that suddenly dispersed and changed, filling Morningstar with fear and wonder. The chanting went on, bright singing voices carrying themselves about the room rose and fell as the chant instructed. Through out it, Morningstar grew constantly tired and soon his legs felt numb. He grew warm and secures a slight tickling carrying itself through his body. He smiled warmly as the feeling enveloped him. Suddenly, a great searing pain, lanced through his skull, cutting through his sense of tranquillity. He screamed in pain, and as suddenly as it arrived, the pain vanished, taking with it the darkness.

Morningstar could see again. No, he thought, not quite see, sense. He could figure the people around him, all seemed dimmed, all was in black, except for a dim outline of light that passed around the edges of their bodies. Everything he heard was increased, he felt shocked as he heard the flap of each wing of a fly. His hand shot out and grabbed it. Smiling, he let it go. Morningstar stood, shrugging away the bed covers. The priests around him walked away, and Morningstar could feel the joy within them, but also the weariness. “Thank you.” He said to their departing forms. They turned, and smiled. Morningstar smiled back, and they passed out through the door.

As the door still swung, Thero moved inside, expectant and excited. “Well,” he said,

“I can see.” Morningstar said,

“But… the bandage?” he said. Nammisa answered.

“He may not have his eyes, but he can see. I believe he san only see black and white, and even that is dim just now. In time, it will get better and he will see more clearly than he can now.”

“Nammisa,” said Morningstar, “I can hear the voices in the next room.” It was deeply muffled, but he was sure he could make out where each person stood.

“Hmm,” the priest said, thinking, “An unexpected side effect, but not unpleasant I can imagine.” He sighed, “but for now I must leave you, I am very weary from the spell and need my rest. You should as well Morningstar, but do so at home. I’m sure you will be much more comfortable there than here in the temple.” It took a moment for the words to comprehend.

“I’m in the temple?” said Morningstar, his voice barely a whisper. He could sense Nammisa’s grin,

“Acts such as yours can change a heart,” he said turning away. Morningstar felt Thero’s hand take his and haul him to his feet.

“Come on, I need a rest as well. I’ve been sitting at your bedside for most of the night.”

Slowly Thero led Morningstar through the unfamiliar temple. For most of his life, Morningstar had wanted to see inside the temple, but now that he was in it, he could not see. The thought brought a smile to Morningstar’s lips, for reasons unknown. The gods play a strange game, he thought.

The last door was pushed open, and Morningstar felt the cool forest wind caress his skin, and the sound of steel on steel as young elves trained relentlessly. As he stepped out though, the clangour stopped, and he felt their eyes on him. He heard padded feet rush up to him, and strong arms threw themselves around him. The sure sound of Belitan’s voice came next.

“By Asiant, we thought you’d died!” he said, his voice astonished, “We were sure the chanting we heard were part of the last ritual.” His voice dropped, “Your eyes?”

“Gone, my friend” said Morningstar, “But in a way, I can still see.” For once, Belitan had nothing to say. Morningstar heard the rustle of cloth, and then felt hands pulling away the bandage around his eyes. “What are you doing?” said Morningstar; his voice carried the hint of fear. He would have preferred the bandage rather than have people gazed at the putrid, emptiness that was his eye sockets.

“It’s only for a moment,” Belitan said, rewrapping the bandage. Then Morningstar realised it was not the bandage. There was no mistaking the silky softness of Belitan’s headband. “There.” He said, “It looks a sight better now.” A voice called from the training grounds “I have to go, but I’ll speak to you later.” Morningstar heard him jog off in the direction of the voice. The sound of clashing blades resumed, and the eyes peeled away from the blind human.

“Take me home” it said.

 

very good. i was wondering how long it would take you till you made him blind

 

Nice stuff until *coughDaredevilcough*.

Would Morningstar be like a Demon Hunter from Warcraft 3?

Still, good story.

Edit:Whoops! Grammar error.

 

I'd actually decided to make him blind long before seeing that film, Dalveen can vouch for me on that as hes seen the model I've based Morningstar on.

 

yeh i vouch for him. the model is cool by the way

 

Sorry I took so long with this post, I've had exams and relatives over. I'm afraid this post is really quite bad, so please give me plenty of critism on it. Thanks. Unfortunately, I haven't played Warcraft 3, Shura, so I don't know, Sorry.

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

As the Months passed, Morningstar’s vision grew clearer and lighter by the day. The strange thing was, that he could look wider than before, almost a full circle. But all he saw was a stark black and white. The colours of the forest that he so loved were now lost to him. No longer could he tell green from dead grass, and all the bark on the trees was a drear grey. He visited the temple regularly now, praying always for colour, but none were answered. Three years passed and with the colours of the forest gone, until he could no longer stand it, and knew he must leave.

Finally he rose from his knees, gazing at the wooden figure of Asiant at the back of the temple wall for guidance. As always, none came and so he left with a sigh. As he walked out of the temple doors, he was greeted with a breath of warm, forest air. It made him smile, but its sweetness was soon soured by the lack of colour. He walked along, gazing unhappily, at the artistically placed crystal windows, each blinking from sunlight. Each home lay in or around the boughs of trees, all the white of bone. Each was like a small tower, there furthest edge no more than meters from the edge of the bark.

The walk to Thero’s home was quiet. Few people wandered the streets, and fewer still made any noise. Morningstar trudged up the steps, pushing open Thero’s front door mournfully. The inside was as splendid as outside, the walls carved with patterns and designs. Thero sat in an ebony black chair, which looked the same as before Morningstar lost his sight. He was gazing studiously at a book when Morningstar entered, but his eyes flickered from the page to look at Morningstar. He almost smiled. He seemed to smile more easily and readily, now that Morningstar had been accepted into the elven society.

The tales the Way Watchers had told were slightly exaggerated, with Morningstar apparently taking on a band of nine orcs single-handed before the Way Watchers appeared. “Good morning,” he said lightly, laying the book onto his lap. “Once again right on time.” Morningstar might have smiled at that before. He had a rigorous schedule now, which involved him running, fencing and praying. Athron continued to teach him with the blade, teaching him three more dances, but much more in the traditional style. With natural speed and agility, Morningstar proved to be a fast learner, and was soon surpassing the elves learning at the temple.

“I need to talk with you,” He said, perching at a chair opposite. Thero looked at him concernedly. “I want to leave Lathel, and travel to Malia.” Thero seemed unsurprised, but his eyes dropped to Morningstar’s feet.

“Why must you go?” he asked, his voice blurred with emotion, or was it disappointment.

“I feel too old to stay living with you,” said Morngstar bluntly “and I can no longer enjoy the forest the way I used to.”

“And what do you intend to do when you leave?” Thero’s voice seemed suddenly angered “What skills do you have that can be any use in Malia?” the look that flashed over Thero’s face told Morningstar he already knew “You mean to fight.” Bokrak still sat in the Rajenn lands, pestering the kingdoms high houses with their constant raids. King Rale would either wait for invasion, or take the fight to Bokrak.

“It’s something I want to do Thero. Something I need to do. Please.” Thero shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing a hand against his chin. Finally his eyes came up to look at Morningstar’s scarred face, and did not flinch.

“You are ready.” He said bluntly, his voice deep. “Come with me.” He stood and turned, making his way to the stairs and descending the smooth white surface, Morningstar followed him, into Thero’s bedchamber. At the foot of the bed he stopped and stooped down to reach his arms under it. From beneath he drew out a long dark box, and lifted the lid almost delicately. Within lay a fine sword with a dark grey steel blade, and a simple hilt, raven black. Thero lifted it from its case and presented it to Morningstar. “It was my fathers sword,” began Thero, gazing at the slick, oiled blade. “And his father’s before him. It traces back to my ancestors at the time before the fall.” he looked up at Morningstar, “You are my son. I give it to you.” Thero slotted it into its sheath and handed it to Morningstar. He looped the sword over his head so that it hung from the shoulder. All the while Morningstar stood stock still, watching with love as he heard the words echo in his mind You are my son. Morningstar embraced the elf before him, never loving the elf more than he did now.

“I will stay for a week more, father.” He said as he let go of Thero.

“Then we should spend it wisely” said Thero “come, we shall find Athron and let you get used to the edge of that sword.


They found the young elf sipping a fine wine at home, waiting for a certain she-elf. Thero dragged him outside, fine wine and all. To any human but Morningstar the sight would be strange and comical, as the elves were almost godly in their eyes “… But its all been arranged!” Athron complained as they walked through the forest “I can’t just desert her.”

“You would have later today anyway, so stop balking.” Thero said. Athron admitted defeat with a smile

“I would have, wouldn’t I,” he said with a chuckle.

Athron followed lighter after that, chatting amiably with Thero before asking why they needed him. “I need you to test Morningstar’s ability. He will be leaving soon,”

“Leaving!” Athron gasped, “Good Asiant why?”

“For reasons not to be known by you. Now come along. Ass” the last word was barely a breath but Athron heard it all the same.

The waterfalls flowed beautiful as always. Athron drew his sword and tossed Morningstar a similarly blunt tourney blade, their movements virtually identical. Thero sat silent beneath a tree drinking happily from Athron’s wine.

Morningstar and Athron darted together at the same moment, and their blades whirled. Athron pressed the attack, lunging quick as a snake. Morningstar sidestepped and countered with a slash to his opponent’s ribs, but Athron was fast to defend and parried the blow, sending his own blade high in a sweeping motion that came down on Morningstar’s head. Morningstar blocked and spun knocking the back of his shoulder into Athron’s, sending the elf forward. Athron was quick to react to the slash that came at his neck though and the opponents jumped back. Warily they circled each other again. Suddenly it was Morningstar leaping forward. He came in fast, spinning through the air, the sword whirling in his grip. Athron parried each blow and leapt back, but Morningstar pressed his attack, rushing in with a low slash that allowed Athron no respite. Athron blocked effectively, his moves smooth as silk, but for a moment, a trickle of sweat emerged from his temple before it disappeared as Athron dodged to the side. This time Morningstar stood back, seemingly uneffected at all by his flurry.

Athron dived forward with his own spinning attack, but Morningstar had expected it and slashed at Athron’s legs, forcing him to halt his attack to parry Morningstar’s blow. The movement seemed clumsy and put him off balance, leaving him vulnerable. Morningstar took the advantage and lunged, but it was all a feint, as Morningstar found out, when Athron slid past him, leaving Morningstar’s side unprotected. Athron would have had Morningstar there, had his opponent not change his lunge into a dive, and a roll. He came up sword in hand, face to face with Athron, their blades locked. Then it just became a test of strength, but through the years, Morningstar had grown more muscled, and although he was not as tall as Athron, he was stronger. Morningstar struggled to push Athron back a few feet, before roaring and bulling into him. Athron was flung back, and fell into the dirt. A moment later Morningstar’s blade was at his throat, his eyes were wide, teeth clenched. Athron laughed at the tip of the blade, that with the lightest flicker could skewer him, “I do believe you passed the test, but don’t get too cocky, I had drank several glasses of wine before our friend here kindly interrupted me.” Nodding to Thero. He laughed again, “and I do agree that I need another glass. That second attack scared the life out of me!” Morningstar put up his sword, and helped Athron to his feet. The elf brusquely walked up to Thero and snatched the bottle from his hands, upending into his mouth. His neck worked as he gulped down the sweet liquid. Athron wiped his mouth with his sleeve when he was finished, and slumped down on Thero’s tree.

“Come on,” Thero said to Morningstar “He’ll fall asleep in a moment. Oaf.” Morningstar walked alongside the tall elf, silent as they made for Lathel. As they entered the city, Thero did not go home, as Morningstar expected, and in fact went the complete other way. He led him to the cities stable, where all the elven steeds were kept. The horses had been bred well, each one strong and tall. Thero unhitched a light mare and led her over to Morningstar. “This is my third horse. She’s not the fastest of beasts, but she can run for days on end. Take care of her for me.” He handed the reins to Morningstar.

When he was younger, Morningstar had learned to ride, but the forest was not the most useful of places for them, and so they were rarely used. Slowly, he tied the saddle and bridle to the mare, memories echoing in his mind as he tried to remember how. Eventually it was done, and he mounted. He looked down on Thero. “Ride her for a time, I will lay out what you need.” The elf said, which relieved Morningstar. He would have had no idea of what he would need, or what would have been useful for when he left.


The week passed surprisingly quickly as Morningstar, waited excitedly to leave. He visited Belitan rather too much in his bid not to forget him. Thero had packed only two more sets of clothes, and a bag of money that could fit into his saddlebag. The rest he filled with food and water, enough to last a week or so, until he reached the first town or city.

Thero, Athron, Belitan and Nammisa followed him to the edge of the forest to say their goodbyes and then he cantered away into a world unknown to him.

[ May 02, 2003, 18:26: Message edited by: Morningstar ]

 

very good, not much i can criticise apart from its length.

 

So another story that glamorizes combat. Or maybe their weapons were just blunted.

But seriously, it's getting better as it progresses.

(Man, that's the first time I've used that smiley.)

 

You got a talent in writing. But because I read only the first part, I would like to read the others but it will take me some time and it's tiring for the eyes to read on the computer. So, can you send me the whole story via email? PM me to send you my email adress.

[ May 04, 2003, 22:31: Message edited by: Alexander the Great ]

 

Oaz, thanks for pointing that out, I edited it. Alexander, I'll e-mail it to you tonight, hope you enjoy it. Well, heres the next part, I'm a bit tired, and little rushed to get it finished, so there may well be a few mistakes. Hope you enjoy it, Thanks.

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

Morningstar slowed the horse to a walk as four men appeared from a ditch at the side of the track. All were filthy and bearded, wielding rust specked weapons. “We’ll be taking the horse blind boy.” Said the first quietly. His face twitched.

“And the tunic,” added the one to the right. He was thinner than the first, and evidently younger. The third stood silently. The last, holding a strung bow placed an arrow upon the string.

Morningstar remained upon the horse, his face as hard as stone. He did not move or speak, merely watching the four men, only metres away from him. “Get off the horse.” Said the first man again, “Now!” Obediently, Morningstar slid from the saddle, moving to the front of the horse. The leader smiled. It fell as Morningstar drew the long-sword from his back. “So, the blind boy wants to fight, eh. Rak!” the bowman loosed an arrow. Morningstar deflected it on the flat of his blade and leapt at the men. The men took a moment to react; surprised at the ease that Morningstar had deflected the arrow. The first went down, gurgling on his own blood as Morningstar’s sword swept across his throat. The bowman dropped his bow and drew a long dagger. He got behind Morningstar, as the young man parried a viscous slash to his head. The three remaining men came at him at the same time. Morningstar leapt aside, slashing a deep cut along the thigh of the nearest man. He finished him spinning, with a powerful slash to the back of the neck. The nearest man, the one who had wanted the tunic, stepped in to attack, only to be speared by the point of Morningstar’s outstretched blade. The bowman turned and sprinted away.

Swiftly Morningstar swung up onto his mount and gave chase. Within fifty metres he rode him down, the horses hooves crushing his skull. Morningstar left them there, and continued down the road. They would be found later by a caravan, and reported dead at the nearest village – a small place to the east. The caravan group would collect the bounty on their heads for themselves.


Morningstar continued his journey north, coming across a large town after several hours. The horse was surprisingly fit having not even heavy breath, as Morningstar noticed as he left him at the stables. Only the main street was paved, the rest being covered in gravel. It was not unclean, and in fact rather pleasant. The people seemed nice enough, but they glared at Morningstar’s face, and the band that covered the ruins of his eyes. Morningstar chose to ignore that, and he wandered the streets aimlessly seeking shelter. From one building, one of the largest, a huge roar came up. The doors were open, and Morningstar glanced inside. It was filled with men laughing, and drinking, playing at cards and dice.

Morningstar walked in warily. He had spent his life so far alone, and it had made him anxious amongst crowds. Slowly he approached a small table towards the corner, and sat down. A young woman followed after him, bearing a wooden tray in right hand and wearing a white apron, stained from drink. She was very pretty. “What will it be?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” asked Morningstar, obviously convinced.

“What will you have to drink.” She said,

“Oh, sorry,” said Morningstar smiling, “Nothing too strong, I just want to wash the dust from my mouth.” She nodded and walked back to the bar. A fight started at the far end of the room, as two men started slugging punches at each other. Both were drunk, each man swinging fists wildly. A crowd gathered and cheered whenever a punch connected. A burly man pushed his way through the crowd. He was heavy with muscle and fat, but was not very tall. His height though, did not lessen his imposing state. He wore an apron, much like the barmaid that had ordered Morningstar’s drink. In his hand he held a cudgel. In one powerful swing, he cracked off the skull of one of the men. He fell without a sound. The other grinned drunkenly, showing a row of misshapen teeth. Two of these were knocked out as the cudgel swept across the side of his face. He spun to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth and struggled to rise. He managed to turn onto his back before collapsing. He was still smiling.

The apron wearing man lifted one of them by the shirt and britches and hurled him out the door. He repeated the process with the other man and glared at the crowd “No fighting.” He said simply and trudged off back to the bar. The crowd dispersed and returned to their cups. Morningstar leaned back and waited for his drink. Within minutes the barmaid returned, a mug of ale on her tray. She lay the mug down and Morningstar thanked her. “Will there be anything else, sir?” Morningstar smiled and shook his head. The barmaid walked away, leaving Morningstar to his thoughts. Morningstar sipped lightly at the ale, allowing it to trickle down his throat and wet his dry mouth. He glanced at his hands. They still shook. Being forced to kill those men on the road had unnerved him, but he reminded himself that it was necessary. He took a deeper drink and sighed.

A man stumbled to his table and sank into the chair next to him. “A’right?” he said. Morningstar nodded. The man’s voice was slurred from drink. “How’s it gotta dat cloth?” he said pointing at Morningstar’s eyes. He then swept his open hand back and forth in front of the young man’s eyes. Morningstar’s hand snapped forward and grabbed the hand, twisting it. The man squeezed shut his eyes with an attempt not to scream. With a sharp yank, Morningstar slammed the man to the floor. He lay there, gurgling and cursing, and trying in vain to reach his feet.

Morningstar drank again, ignoring the man at his feet. The man’s behaviour had been insulting at the least. Finally he reached his feet “You is gonna get it now.” Morningstar pushed back his chair and stood. He was taller than the man, but thinner. The man’s fist lashed out. Morningstar neatly sidestepped. The man followed, blinking as he did so. He kicked out this time. Morningstar caught the foot and pushed the man away. He fell on his rear with a ‘bump’ and cursed some more. Morningstar gathered his drink and drained it. He had no wish to remain for much longer. Approaching the door he was blocked by two men. They had been sitting with the drunk that approached Morningstar.

“Kindly move aside, sirs.” Said Morningstar politely.

“You hit our friend, cripple.”

“I’m blind you fool.” Said Morningstar, lowering his voice. “Now move aside.” His voice was pure ice. One of the men snarled and drew a dagger from the folds of his tunic. He thrust out, aiming for Morningstar’s throat. Morningstar swayed, and cut the man at the wrist. He savagely twisted the arm down and booted his shins. He fell to his knees. Morningstar let go of his hand and hopped one footed on to his shoulder, using it as a step to hurl a kick at the second mans face. A clear crack echoed across the hall as the man’s nose broke. He fell, and Morningstar turned back to the man on his knees. He hammered a knee into his back and left him falling. Swiftly he dropped a silver coin on the bar as payment for his drink and left.

Twice today he had been almost been killed: Once for a horse, and once for an insult. Life in Malia was certainly more dangerous than the forest.

It was nightfall, but Morningstar hoped he could reach the next town or village within an hour. He saddled his horse, and was about to set off, when a man walked into the stables. He was tall and muscled, walking on the balls of his feet in perfect balance. These traits indicated he was a warrior. “Wait boy,” said the man. Morningstar turned. “You showed talent as a fighter in that tavern. I may have work for you.” Morningstar moved closer warily, watching his hands in case he drew any sort of weapon. “My name is Ryll. Men from the great Houses of Malia are recruiting. I am one such person searching for men of your talent. Perhaps you would like to join house Hraeth. We have the best warriors in the land” he said with a twinkle of a smile “But then, so say the other Houses. The pay his good, living standards are better than most. And you get the added pleasure of being in the House of the ruling King.” He extended his hand. Morningstar waited a moment before answering.

“Tell me of the other houses first, and why they are recruiting.” Said Morningstar. The man chuckled.

“That is a long tale, and one that should be told over a few cups. Come, I know a better place than that rats sewer back there.”


Minutes later they were seated in a smaller, quieter tavern. The place was high class, designed with nobles in mind. With the lack of nobles in the town, the place had degraded to selling cheaper drinks to the less wealthy. “House Hraeth is one of the four Great Houses of Malia. It is also the leading, hence Rale’s title of king. His title, though, may not remain with him for long. His forces are under strength, and with Bokrak’s tribe camped only miles from the border, it is a perfect opportunity for the other Houses leaders to take advantage. Already, there have been two attempts on his life. There must not be a third. If, we can mount enough forces in time, we can suppress the other leaders, time is short however, and the third assassination attempt may already be in motion. We need men like you – I’m sorry, I have not yet asked your name.” Morningstar opened his mouth to tell him, yet the name Morningstar, seemed unorthodox. An answer snapped into his mind.

“Valan’dil” he said, with relief, the old tongue for Last Star.

“Very well, Valan’dil” Ryll said, “We need men like you, to defend the king and retain his honour. What say you?” He offered a hand. Morningstar reached out and gripped him by the wrist. Ryll laughed. “Excellent my friend. Let us celebrate! Barmaid, more ale!”