Lords of the Realm: Prologue
The Realm of Gendrenor during the Fourth Age of Man. Humanity has finally begun to claim the overworld from the mystical denizens of the Realm. Yet it is still an age of wars and wizardry, of men and monsters, where the impossible is made possible and dreams transform reality.
Welcome to my newest Sim story, LotR. A Sim story that is based on a fantasy role-playing game created by my husband and I. Thank you kindly for joining me.
And so it begins. . .
They waited in the dark hours of the night.
Wicked creatures. Beings with hearts filled with vicious cruelty, and minds besotted with selfish greed. For many days and nights they hid themselves within the bleak shadows. The residents within the Crimson Tower were completely unaware that these vicious predators had already claimed them as their prey.
They watched, and waited for the perfect time to strike.
It was now or never.
The wizard had been summoned from the Crimson Tower by the Council on a matter they claimed was of the utmost importance. Not being able to deny them the wizard had no choice but to leave his apprentice, Burmorir, to watch over the 'Beacon' in his absence.
The time had finally come.
Things were never easy.
He was already getting an headache from the long lines of spells he was put to memorize. When he had been chosen as Valdrik the Red's new apprentice he had thought it was because of his skill in the art. Only it turned out that he was not as skilled as he boasted to the local women. The advance techniques the young adult demostrated in feats of showsmanship were simply
child's play in the old man's eyes. Immediately the new apprentice was put to study the ins and outs of dusty tomes or as the Crimson wizard kindly put it, 'Re-learn the basics'. Now why could not the magick business be as simple as counting to one, two, and four? Or was it three, Burmorir thought in growing frustration. Biting his lip as he peered at the pages, he reached up and began scratching his head. He should have known better. Being an accomplished magick wielder was nothing compared to the experience and wisdom that came with timeless age.
He really should have become a peddler.
Such a profession would have made his father(a famous peddler) proud. Burmorir let out a heavy sigh. Best to not think about what could have been for there was nothing left but to think of the here and now.
Little did the apprentice realize that the future was not set in his favor.
Burmorir felt a trickle of fear go up his spine. He was being watched.
Suddenly heavy hands slammed down upon his shoulders. The frightened apprentice was lifted up and off the wooden chair he had sat upon. He cried out in fear.
"Where is the Beacon," a male demanded. "Tell us now!"
"I-I do not know what you speak of," Burmorir stammered. His hand clutched his chest almost as if trying to still the rapid-fire beating of his heart.
The second male's eyes bore into the quivering mass of jelly. "He asked you a question," the male muttered, trying to control his rising temper. "Torture will be necessary if you choose to continue with your stupidity. Would you like to be strapped to a table while my cohort works upon your flesh with his blade? He has ways to make you talk. Now answer his question and be quick about it."
Panic seized Burmorir's mind. "I c-can take you to the Beacon."
Both men smiled wickedly.
He took them up flights of winding stairs that wrapped around a single pillar of stunning white light that led directly to
the balcony of the Crimson Tower. Burmorir closed his eyes as he whispered an incantation of revealing. The two men beside the apprentice held their breath as the world seemed to shift and change around them. A sound alike thunder struck the air as a veil of thin light revealed a hidden passage before their eyes. Burmorir was rudely pushed forward into the passageway.
Noting that no harm came to the apprentice the two males stepped through the narrow corrider whereupon the walked into a spacious room lit with a dreamy white aura that glistened alike pure diamonds.
Red velvet fabric draped the walls around them. Candles and candlebras flickered lightly casting a golden sheen in the secret room. A single door with thick bolts of gold stood in the center. The Beacon was no where in sight.
"Where is the Beacon," the male in thief's garb demanded again of Burmorir.
Distressed, Burmorir closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears. "Please no! I cannot! I have already committed a foul wrong. I will not---gUrK"
The male clad in black seized the apprentice from behind. The tip of a sharp blade was pressed against Burmorir's throat. "He will not ask you again nor will I accept this rebellious attitude. It is a simple question. NOW ANSWER IT!"
"Illumnatilaseh sha FRATASH," Burmorir cried out.
The temperature immediately dropped to below freezing and bit at the faces of Burmorir and the other men. Their bodies from top to bottom nearly felt numb from the icy-winds that stirred to life within the chamber. It was at that moment when the chamber lit up like a hundred flashes of bright light. The occupants in the room cried out as they averted and shielded their eyes. The winds quickly died down and as the occupants eyesight slowly adjusted to the bright light; the Beacon of Dreams was revealed.
Jarek, the thief, immediately sprung forward. His eyes glittered with malice as his hands wrapped around the Beacon. "At last, at long last we have it! The legendary Beacon of Dreams is ours!" He then produced a brown sack that was used to place the Beacon within the leathery folds.
The thief whirled around to face his cohort and Burmorir. A wicked grin lifted the corners of his mouth. "He's worthless. Kill him."
======================
*+*VIOLENCE WARNING*+*
======================.
In the space of an indrawn breath, Burmorir's expression changed from frightened to utter loathing.
Gideon, a former street urchin(now a common hired thug), stepped forward to slam his blade up to the hilt in Burmorir's abdomen. . .
======================
*+*END OF VIOLENCE*+*
======================
The moment he had returned he had felt something had gone terribly wrong.
Valdrik the Red's suspicions were confirmed as the study was left in shambles. Mounds of books that had been stacked neatly in piles before were now carelessly dishelved. The chair where his apprentice often sat upon was violently tossed across the room and the wooden desk was upturned onto its side. Piles of parchement were scattered across the wooden floor. A frown crossed the wizard's features. Trouble was afoot.
The Crimson wizard flew up the flight of stairs that led to the balcony of the Tower. His pulse quicked at the sight of the secret passage openly revealed. As he rushed forward into the chamber that housed the Beacon of Dreams he came to a dead halt.
"By Gendron," the wizard softly proclaimed. His often clumsy ---yet knowledge eager--- apprentice for the past seven years lay motionless upon the floor.
Burmorir was dead.
Valdrik sadly looked past Burmorir to the center altar. The very blood within him froze as his face lost all trace of ichor.
The Beacon of Dreams was gone.
How could this have come to pass, Valdrik wondered. In his absence, not only was his apprentice needlessly slain but the Beacon of Dreams had been stolen. Who had done such a thing and what was their reason for this blatant madness?
He would need help.
As Valdrik turned to head out the chamber a loud crackle shattered the ominious silence. The door with bolts of gold began to unlock one by one. A burst of white light shimmered into existance before it extinguished into nothingness.
The red wizard took a step forward but then --
-- an intense darkness quickly enshrouded the chamber. The door had begun to open slightly, a mere inch mind you. It was more than enough. Valdrik's eyes opened wide with shock. A concentric wave of ruby red sizzled out in all directions. It swept across the chamber in a slow arc, like a pale rainbow in constant motion: harmless, but beautiful. His expression was utterly neutral even as lightning seared the air in its crackling descent, white and writhing. It turned aside mere feet in front of the old man and crawled harmlessly away, as if it had struck something unseen. The darkness within ROARED in anger. Valdrik looked to the door calmly as he cast a spell of his own. The wind howled and the ground shook as the red wizard breathed a word of command. Wave after wave of magic missiles hissed forth, twisting and turning in the air to slam one after the other into the opening portal. Then a great hand of pure light loomed into the air before the opening door and swept into it with stunning speed. The clap of their meeting was THUNDEROUS. Valdrik frowned in concentration but a smile was playing about a corner of his mouth. The air crackled and there was a flash of light before the last magic missile struck with awesome force showering the chamber with a spray of dust and debris. The dust swirl was everywhere but amidst the tumbled rock stood Valdrik calmly, facing the door. For now, it seemed, the portal had been closed.
*****
It was a warm mid-afternoon. Every day it was the same routine. Rise, wash, clean, prep, prepare, and cook. Rinse and repeat. As long as coin flowed the monotonous activity did not quite matter to be honest. The Bloody Floods Inn was a good place, everyone said. Faces both new and old walked the old boards for a brief respite from their adventures or to bend an ear or three with the local gossip. The travelers, with their unusual clothing, and differing voices, often brought with them idle chatter, faint smells, and excitement of far lands and daring deeds. Local folk would come to the taproom to smoke long pipes or drink the good ale and listen to the gossip from the travelers. However, soon -- in just a day to be exact -- the festival of Dreams would begin!
"Which means more work", Cerric grumbled aloud(not for the first time that day either). "They will come from who knows where, with tales of this, that, and where they are bound on what business. All the colour and excitement of a world I gladly pass up to see!" Even so, the owner of the Bloody Floods Inn was a strange fellow with a penchant for extravagant colours. The large nose set center upon his unjovial face was the more prominent of his features most likely a hint of his gnome-ish relations. A fact that he dearly loved to literally hammer upon a stranger's skull should they mention he was akin more to a dwarf than gnome folk.
"Cerric, are ye complaining again? There is always work to be done," a high-pitched voice offered. "The festival brings it twofold but with it; thrice the bags of coin."
"Aye," he reluctantly agreed. "that much is true." Cerric turned to his wife, Geneva, "but I did not remember asking your opinion!"
"OH," Geneva huffed indignantly. "I see how you can be! Well now if that is going to be--"
A voice quickly cut into the conversation. "If you two are done chittering and chattering amongst yourselves like rabid monkeys bent on concocting an ear massacre; I would like a flagon of Tisksun any day now."
Both Cerric and Geneva turned toward the source of the voice. The front bar was completely empty.
"Did you hear something just now?"
Geneva simply shook her head as she stared dumbfounded at the empty space.
"Blind, big AND stupid the both of you are," the voice(now very much disgruntled) said in fast frustration.
"The stress of the festival has finally claimed my good senses, Geneva. I am hearing things."
"Nay, I hear it as well. Could it be a ghost? Old Maude splutters here and there about the living dead walking the earth."
Cerric nodded his head positively at the notion. "The old woman could be correct."
"The both of you will join the land of the dead right quick if I am not given service this very instant. A nice pair you both make, a duo of lovey-dovey, bat-brained, idiots. Look again! I am sitting right in front of your eyes."
Both Cerric and Geneva gawked at the sight before their eyes. A half-human sat upon one of the barstools. Now they have seen quite an oddity before and dealt with the matter rather nicely but nothing quite like this one. The individual had a crop of wild flame red hair that seemed to match his quick tongue.
Before they could utter a word the pint-sized being fired off a quick and dandy, "Hi!"
Cerric spluttered. The gall of this child coming to his tavern and demanded a drink fit for warriors. "What kind of prank are you trying to pull? Get back to your parents lest I take you over my knee for a sound thrashing."
"Are you scatter-brained? Haven't you seen my kind before in these parts? I am not a child!"
At this time Geneva had rounded the bend to take a good look at the person sitting in the barstool. She looked the small male over with a keen eye before shouting out, "Cerric! Look here, a real furfoot! A furfoot has come to our tavern!"
"By the lands, I never thought the day would come when a halfling would enter this fine establishment. Be off with you now. We do not serve the likes of your kind."
The red-haired fellow's jaw dropped. Now his kind had many names in the distant lands; furfoot, hobbit, and even hair foots. But to be called, 'halfling'? Well now, that was an blatant derogatory insult.
One that Meshida Hitotsume did not take lightly.
"What was that," he growled dangerously before leaping out of his chair and right over the bar. "I'M TWICE THE MAN YOU ARE!" And unfortunately for Cerric -- the hobbit was more than happy to prove it. >_<
The sounds of a mighty rough and buff scuffle could be heard from outside the tavern walls. Sounds of, "Take that you long-legged twig" and "Ow! OW, MY ANKLES" alerted Gumbroth to the apparent mayhem that his little friend must have been causing. "Meshida may be small but he is quite a handful," Gumbroth sighed heavily. They made quite a pair those two, Gumbroth and Meshida; a quarter hill giant and a hairfoot. They were both good friends that worked in the stellar career of showmanship and spectacular deeds; a circus!
SFX: KRACK! POW! WHACK! GROWL! WHIMPER T_T
"Meshie," Gumbroth sighed again as he approached the tangled mass of arms and legs. He reached into the clouds of gray smoke and latched onto two collars. Without so much of a grunt the two brawlers were put to opposite sides alike bickering children with Gumbroth standing firm(with a big frown on his face) in the middle.
A scant five minutes passed before Meshida and Gumbroth were both served a flagon of Tisksun and a flask of ale. The happy hobbit beamed with happiness.
The quarter-giant raised an eyebrow at Meshida.
"What," Meshida asked innocently. "He started the whole thing."
*****
The stars were clear and cold outside, but Valdrik saw them not. He stared into the distance before a podium carved of wood that stood rigid in the lower room of his tower.
"Open the Path. Jehanna, Goddess of Light. Open the Path that I may seek thy counsel." The light within the room magnified, brightened to a brillant, painful intensity. The red wizard gazed straight at the path of light. Utter quiet settled upon the Crimson Tower. But the light slowly ebbed away and the room returned to its normal state.
"Well done, great one." The voice was sweet, with a crystalline chime. The scent of flowers and fresh grass drifted through the air, and the night was filled with the smells of deep summer. A golden figure moved before Valdrik's eyes. A woman, glowing like a miniature sun, light streaming around her head. She was beautiful, with a slim figure, and delicate pale skin.
She moved with floating steps but her aura was full of grace and power. Her eyes were old, filled with the flowing red light of the sun rising.
Valdrik politely inclined his head as his hands touched his lips then to his heart in the flood of radiance that was the Goddess Elf. "I greet you, Valdrik the Red, ninth and final appointed Guardian of the Beacon, of and by Gendron of Vengare. I bring grave news."
"No need," said Jehanna. "I know of what trouble lays in the land of Men. I also know of the request that you ask of me." She regarded Valdrik with eyes full of sadness. "Fate can be cruel."
"Yes indeed," the wizard whispered, his head lowered, and one could see the thousands of years of his life creep upon him, until he looked old and bent. "No, none may escape the Vile Darkness, the brink of destruction. Not the quiet light of the Moon that is your daughter, nor any creature, not even Man, can be shielded from the suffering that may come to pass should the Beacon not be returned."
As if reading his thoughts, Jehanna placed a hand on Valdrik's shoulder, and it carried the weight of urgency and of faith, and he turned slowly to look into the great Lady's eyes and drew strength from them.
"I have called out to her. She now hears with her mind's eye and knows of the task set before her hands. Child, you must now heed your Master's words but know that I cannot choose for you. And I cannot help unless asked. May your
journey be blessed." Suddenly there was a flare of moonlight, a flash of molten gold in its center. The light grew and a mist rose from the chamber as its warmth met the chill air. The fragrant wind blew warm, then cold, and the scent of summer flowers faded. The mist spiraled, diffused, and Jehanna was gone with the light which brought her.
Valdrik nodded gravely. He then spoke to the elf maiden. "My dear girl, I had wished that we would have time to reacquaint ourselves, but I fear that shall have to wait until after the Beacon is recovered."
"Master, what would you have me do," the lady elf asked.
The red wizard's voice slipped through her mind. "East of the sun, west of the night to Mount Chargaor. In the towne of Tayrn you will find help. Walk on and the help will come in small waves. Guard thyself for you well know that appearances can be deceiving. May the wind be at your back."
And so it was that the elf maiden left the sacred vale of Anise, ere the moon had slipped much lower than when she came to the gates. Her mount charged into the falling darkness, as if the whips of the Vile Darkness cracked at her heels. Soaring, she plunged headlong into the deep blue night. . .
*´¨ )
¸.·´¸·´¨) ¸.·*¨)
(¸.·´ (¸.* To be continued in Lords of the Realm: Chapter One
Thank you for reading my story. I hope that you will join me for the first chapter. ^_^
Welcome to my newest Sim story, LotR. A Sim story that is based on a fantasy role-playing game created by my husband and I. Thank you kindly for joining me.
And so it begins. . .
They waited in the dark hours of the night.
Wicked creatures. Beings with hearts filled with vicious cruelty, and minds besotted with selfish greed. For many days and nights they hid themselves within the bleak shadows. The residents within the Crimson Tower were completely unaware that these vicious predators had already claimed them as their prey.
They watched, and waited for the perfect time to strike.
It was now or never.
The wizard had been summoned from the Crimson Tower by the Council on a matter they claimed was of the utmost importance. Not being able to deny them the wizard had no choice but to leave his apprentice, Burmorir, to watch over the 'Beacon' in his absence.
The time had finally come.
Things were never easy.
He was already getting an headache from the long lines of spells he was put to memorize. When he had been chosen as Valdrik the Red's new apprentice he had thought it was because of his skill in the art. Only it turned out that he was not as skilled as he boasted to the local women. The advance techniques the young adult demostrated in feats of showsmanship were simply
child's play in the old man's eyes. Immediately the new apprentice was put to study the ins and outs of dusty tomes or as the Crimson wizard kindly put it, 'Re-learn the basics'. Now why could not the magick business be as simple as counting to one, two, and four? Or was it three, Burmorir thought in growing frustration. Biting his lip as he peered at the pages, he reached up and began scratching his head. He should have known better. Being an accomplished magick wielder was nothing compared to the experience and wisdom that came with timeless age.
He really should have become a peddler.
Such a profession would have made his father(a famous peddler) proud. Burmorir let out a heavy sigh. Best to not think about what could have been for there was nothing left but to think of the here and now.
Little did the apprentice realize that the future was not set in his favor.
Burmorir felt a trickle of fear go up his spine. He was being watched.
Suddenly heavy hands slammed down upon his shoulders. The frightened apprentice was lifted up and off the wooden chair he had sat upon. He cried out in fear.
"Where is the Beacon," a male demanded. "Tell us now!"
"I-I do not know what you speak of," Burmorir stammered. His hand clutched his chest almost as if trying to still the rapid-fire beating of his heart.
The second male's eyes bore into the quivering mass of jelly. "He asked you a question," the male muttered, trying to control his rising temper. "Torture will be necessary if you choose to continue with your stupidity. Would you like to be strapped to a table while my cohort works upon your flesh with his blade? He has ways to make you talk. Now answer his question and be quick about it."
Panic seized Burmorir's mind. "I c-can take you to the Beacon."
Both men smiled wickedly.
He took them up flights of winding stairs that wrapped around a single pillar of stunning white light that led directly to
the balcony of the Crimson Tower. Burmorir closed his eyes as he whispered an incantation of revealing. The two men beside the apprentice held their breath as the world seemed to shift and change around them. A sound alike thunder struck the air as a veil of thin light revealed a hidden passage before their eyes. Burmorir was rudely pushed forward into the passageway.
Noting that no harm came to the apprentice the two males stepped through the narrow corrider whereupon the walked into a spacious room lit with a dreamy white aura that glistened alike pure diamonds.
Red velvet fabric draped the walls around them. Candles and candlebras flickered lightly casting a golden sheen in the secret room. A single door with thick bolts of gold stood in the center. The Beacon was no where in sight.
"Where is the Beacon," the male in thief's garb demanded again of Burmorir.
Distressed, Burmorir closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears. "Please no! I cannot! I have already committed a foul wrong. I will not---gUrK"
The male clad in black seized the apprentice from behind. The tip of a sharp blade was pressed against Burmorir's throat. "He will not ask you again nor will I accept this rebellious attitude. It is a simple question. NOW ANSWER IT!"
"Illumnatilaseh sha FRATASH," Burmorir cried out.
The temperature immediately dropped to below freezing and bit at the faces of Burmorir and the other men. Their bodies from top to bottom nearly felt numb from the icy-winds that stirred to life within the chamber. It was at that moment when the chamber lit up like a hundred flashes of bright light. The occupants in the room cried out as they averted and shielded their eyes. The winds quickly died down and as the occupants eyesight slowly adjusted to the bright light; the Beacon of Dreams was revealed.
Jarek, the thief, immediately sprung forward. His eyes glittered with malice as his hands wrapped around the Beacon. "At last, at long last we have it! The legendary Beacon of Dreams is ours!" He then produced a brown sack that was used to place the Beacon within the leathery folds.
The thief whirled around to face his cohort and Burmorir. A wicked grin lifted the corners of his mouth. "He's worthless. Kill him."
======================
*+*VIOLENCE WARNING*+*
======================.
In the space of an indrawn breath, Burmorir's expression changed from frightened to utter loathing.
Gideon, a former street urchin(now a common hired thug), stepped forward to slam his blade up to the hilt in Burmorir's abdomen. . .
======================
*+*END OF VIOLENCE*+*
======================
The moment he had returned he had felt something had gone terribly wrong.
Valdrik the Red's suspicions were confirmed as the study was left in shambles. Mounds of books that had been stacked neatly in piles before were now carelessly dishelved. The chair where his apprentice often sat upon was violently tossed across the room and the wooden desk was upturned onto its side. Piles of parchement were scattered across the wooden floor. A frown crossed the wizard's features. Trouble was afoot.
The Crimson wizard flew up the flight of stairs that led to the balcony of the Tower. His pulse quicked at the sight of the secret passage openly revealed. As he rushed forward into the chamber that housed the Beacon of Dreams he came to a dead halt.
"By Gendron," the wizard softly proclaimed. His often clumsy ---yet knowledge eager--- apprentice for the past seven years lay motionless upon the floor.
Burmorir was dead.
Valdrik sadly looked past Burmorir to the center altar. The very blood within him froze as his face lost all trace of ichor.
The Beacon of Dreams was gone.
How could this have come to pass, Valdrik wondered. In his absence, not only was his apprentice needlessly slain but the Beacon of Dreams had been stolen. Who had done such a thing and what was their reason for this blatant madness?
He would need help.
As Valdrik turned to head out the chamber a loud crackle shattered the ominious silence. The door with bolts of gold began to unlock one by one. A burst of white light shimmered into existance before it extinguished into nothingness.
The red wizard took a step forward but then --
-- an intense darkness quickly enshrouded the chamber. The door had begun to open slightly, a mere inch mind you. It was more than enough. Valdrik's eyes opened wide with shock. A concentric wave of ruby red sizzled out in all directions. It swept across the chamber in a slow arc, like a pale rainbow in constant motion: harmless, but beautiful. His expression was utterly neutral even as lightning seared the air in its crackling descent, white and writhing. It turned aside mere feet in front of the old man and crawled harmlessly away, as if it had struck something unseen. The darkness within ROARED in anger. Valdrik looked to the door calmly as he cast a spell of his own. The wind howled and the ground shook as the red wizard breathed a word of command. Wave after wave of magic missiles hissed forth, twisting and turning in the air to slam one after the other into the opening portal. Then a great hand of pure light loomed into the air before the opening door and swept into it with stunning speed. The clap of their meeting was THUNDEROUS. Valdrik frowned in concentration but a smile was playing about a corner of his mouth. The air crackled and there was a flash of light before the last magic missile struck with awesome force showering the chamber with a spray of dust and debris. The dust swirl was everywhere but amidst the tumbled rock stood Valdrik calmly, facing the door. For now, it seemed, the portal had been closed.
*****
It was a warm mid-afternoon. Every day it was the same routine. Rise, wash, clean, prep, prepare, and cook. Rinse and repeat. As long as coin flowed the monotonous activity did not quite matter to be honest. The Bloody Floods Inn was a good place, everyone said. Faces both new and old walked the old boards for a brief respite from their adventures or to bend an ear or three with the local gossip. The travelers, with their unusual clothing, and differing voices, often brought with them idle chatter, faint smells, and excitement of far lands and daring deeds. Local folk would come to the taproom to smoke long pipes or drink the good ale and listen to the gossip from the travelers. However, soon -- in just a day to be exact -- the festival of Dreams would begin!
"Which means more work", Cerric grumbled aloud(not for the first time that day either). "They will come from who knows where, with tales of this, that, and where they are bound on what business. All the colour and excitement of a world I gladly pass up to see!" Even so, the owner of the Bloody Floods Inn was a strange fellow with a penchant for extravagant colours. The large nose set center upon his unjovial face was the more prominent of his features most likely a hint of his gnome-ish relations. A fact that he dearly loved to literally hammer upon a stranger's skull should they mention he was akin more to a dwarf than gnome folk.
"Cerric, are ye complaining again? There is always work to be done," a high-pitched voice offered. "The festival brings it twofold but with it; thrice the bags of coin."
"Aye," he reluctantly agreed. "that much is true." Cerric turned to his wife, Geneva, "but I did not remember asking your opinion!"
"OH," Geneva huffed indignantly. "I see how you can be! Well now if that is going to be--"
A voice quickly cut into the conversation. "If you two are done chittering and chattering amongst yourselves like rabid monkeys bent on concocting an ear massacre; I would like a flagon of Tisksun any day now."
Both Cerric and Geneva turned toward the source of the voice. The front bar was completely empty.
"Did you hear something just now?"
Geneva simply shook her head as she stared dumbfounded at the empty space.
"Blind, big AND stupid the both of you are," the voice(now very much disgruntled) said in fast frustration.
"The stress of the festival has finally claimed my good senses, Geneva. I am hearing things."
"Nay, I hear it as well. Could it be a ghost? Old Maude splutters here and there about the living dead walking the earth."
Cerric nodded his head positively at the notion. "The old woman could be correct."
"The both of you will join the land of the dead right quick if I am not given service this very instant. A nice pair you both make, a duo of lovey-dovey, bat-brained, idiots. Look again! I am sitting right in front of your eyes."
Both Cerric and Geneva gawked at the sight before their eyes. A half-human sat upon one of the barstools. Now they have seen quite an oddity before and dealt with the matter rather nicely but nothing quite like this one. The individual had a crop of wild flame red hair that seemed to match his quick tongue.
Before they could utter a word the pint-sized being fired off a quick and dandy, "Hi!"
Cerric spluttered. The gall of this child coming to his tavern and demanded a drink fit for warriors. "What kind of prank are you trying to pull? Get back to your parents lest I take you over my knee for a sound thrashing."
"Are you scatter-brained? Haven't you seen my kind before in these parts? I am not a child!"
At this time Geneva had rounded the bend to take a good look at the person sitting in the barstool. She looked the small male over with a keen eye before shouting out, "Cerric! Look here, a real furfoot! A furfoot has come to our tavern!"
"By the lands, I never thought the day would come when a halfling would enter this fine establishment. Be off with you now. We do not serve the likes of your kind."
The red-haired fellow's jaw dropped. Now his kind had many names in the distant lands; furfoot, hobbit, and even hair foots. But to be called, 'halfling'? Well now, that was an blatant derogatory insult.
One that Meshida Hitotsume did not take lightly.
"What was that," he growled dangerously before leaping out of his chair and right over the bar. "I'M TWICE THE MAN YOU ARE!" And unfortunately for Cerric -- the hobbit was more than happy to prove it. >_<
The sounds of a mighty rough and buff scuffle could be heard from outside the tavern walls. Sounds of, "Take that you long-legged twig" and "Ow! OW, MY ANKLES" alerted Gumbroth to the apparent mayhem that his little friend must have been causing. "Meshida may be small but he is quite a handful," Gumbroth sighed heavily. They made quite a pair those two, Gumbroth and Meshida; a quarter hill giant and a hairfoot. They were both good friends that worked in the stellar career of showmanship and spectacular deeds; a circus!
SFX: KRACK! POW! WHACK! GROWL! WHIMPER T_T
"Meshie," Gumbroth sighed again as he approached the tangled mass of arms and legs. He reached into the clouds of gray smoke and latched onto two collars. Without so much of a grunt the two brawlers were put to opposite sides alike bickering children with Gumbroth standing firm(with a big frown on his face) in the middle.
A scant five minutes passed before Meshida and Gumbroth were both served a flagon of Tisksun and a flask of ale. The happy hobbit beamed with happiness.
The quarter-giant raised an eyebrow at Meshida.
"What," Meshida asked innocently. "He started the whole thing."
*****
The stars were clear and cold outside, but Valdrik saw them not. He stared into the distance before a podium carved of wood that stood rigid in the lower room of his tower.
"Open the Path. Jehanna, Goddess of Light. Open the Path that I may seek thy counsel." The light within the room magnified, brightened to a brillant, painful intensity. The red wizard gazed straight at the path of light. Utter quiet settled upon the Crimson Tower. But the light slowly ebbed away and the room returned to its normal state.
"Well done, great one." The voice was sweet, with a crystalline chime. The scent of flowers and fresh grass drifted through the air, and the night was filled with the smells of deep summer. A golden figure moved before Valdrik's eyes. A woman, glowing like a miniature sun, light streaming around her head. She was beautiful, with a slim figure, and delicate pale skin.
She moved with floating steps but her aura was full of grace and power. Her eyes were old, filled with the flowing red light of the sun rising.
Valdrik politely inclined his head as his hands touched his lips then to his heart in the flood of radiance that was the Goddess Elf. "I greet you, Valdrik the Red, ninth and final appointed Guardian of the Beacon, of and by Gendron of Vengare. I bring grave news."
"No need," said Jehanna. "I know of what trouble lays in the land of Men. I also know of the request that you ask of me." She regarded Valdrik with eyes full of sadness. "Fate can be cruel."
"Yes indeed," the wizard whispered, his head lowered, and one could see the thousands of years of his life creep upon him, until he looked old and bent. "No, none may escape the Vile Darkness, the brink of destruction. Not the quiet light of the Moon that is your daughter, nor any creature, not even Man, can be shielded from the suffering that may come to pass should the Beacon not be returned."
As if reading his thoughts, Jehanna placed a hand on Valdrik's shoulder, and it carried the weight of urgency and of faith, and he turned slowly to look into the great Lady's eyes and drew strength from them.
"I have called out to her. She now hears with her mind's eye and knows of the task set before her hands. Child, you must now heed your Master's words but know that I cannot choose for you. And I cannot help unless asked. May your
journey be blessed." Suddenly there was a flare of moonlight, a flash of molten gold in its center. The light grew and a mist rose from the chamber as its warmth met the chill air. The fragrant wind blew warm, then cold, and the scent of summer flowers faded. The mist spiraled, diffused, and Jehanna was gone with the light which brought her.
Valdrik nodded gravely. He then spoke to the elf maiden. "My dear girl, I had wished that we would have time to reacquaint ourselves, but I fear that shall have to wait until after the Beacon is recovered."
"Master, what would you have me do," the lady elf asked.
The red wizard's voice slipped through her mind. "East of the sun, west of the night to Mount Chargaor. In the towne of Tayrn you will find help. Walk on and the help will come in small waves. Guard thyself for you well know that appearances can be deceiving. May the wind be at your back."
And so it was that the elf maiden left the sacred vale of Anise, ere the moon had slipped much lower than when she came to the gates. Her mount charged into the falling darkness, as if the whips of the Vile Darkness cracked at her heels. Soaring, she plunged headlong into the deep blue night. . .
*´¨ )
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(¸.·´ (¸.* To be continued in Lords of the Realm: Chapter One
Thank you for reading my story. I hope that you will join me for the first chapter. ^_^
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