First Impressions of Port Berathon
Episode 3
After another day and a half of quick riding, the two companions arrived at Port Berathon. Although not an extremely large city, Port Berathon still held about 2,000 inhabitants. Located on a hill overlooking the river Durwell, the fortified city had three entrances. Two entrances east and west, and once entrance south leading to the docks.
Upon entering through the north gates Roland turned to Natiadar and said, “I would invite you to my house in Port Berathon, but I’m afraid you would find it a little to ragged. I live in lower Port Berathon, on the south end and quite frankly, with what we picked up from these bandits you can easily afford almost any room in town.”
With Roland’s advice, the Elf quickly found a comfortable room at the Rust Monster Inn in the Mercantile Quarters. The peculiar establishment had gained some fame in having a large pit in the common room in which a Rust Monster dwelled. Any problematic customer usually had his weapons and armor thrown into the pit for the rust monster to treat on. Of course the said customer was always given the alternative to be lowered in the pit to fend off the rust monster in order to save his equipment. It was almost a given that one person should end up in the pit every night. The Inn was coincidentally build right next to a smithy that sold weapons and armor for modest prices, and the Temple of Osha wasn’t far up the street, which provided ample healing to the foolhardy who decided to venture into the pit.
Natiadar welcomed a bath after over a week of being on the road. He was glad to have picked a room with balcony, knowing that he could easily stand outside at night and gaze upon the wonders of the sky.
Roland bid the Elf farewell for the time being and told him he would be back at the inn sometime on the morrow.
After a sleepless night Natiadar went down for an early breakfast. He noticed very few people were up and running this early in the morning, however the innkeeper, Edren, was up and about his usual business. Natiadar did notice that the usual strong hands that worked here in the evenings weren’t around this early either. He had a light breakfast and set out to explore a little bit of the mercantile quarters. As the sun rose storefronts started to open and carts came riding into town, preparing to set shop at the marketplace. Natiadar witnessed the waking of a city and marveled. Elves don’t really have this kind of cycle. Their city never sleeps. There is always some activity, however calm it may be. But this was plain different! It was as if the sun brought life into this sea of buildings, and as if humans required sun to move around.
After stopping at a bakery and purchasing a few warm sweet cakes, the Elf walked uphill to the temple. He looked at the face of the white building. A large colonnade formed a nicely shaded porch, which lead to the front doors. These bronze doors were plain, yet radiated strength. Upon the lintel one could clearly see the golden trident, which represented the symbol of Osha, the god of all waters shallow and deep, salty and clear, calm and tempestuous, the protector of all seafaring beings, and healer of the wounded ones. Port Berathon being a seaport had an affinity for the God of the Ocean, even though legend speaks of his true worshipers being the fabled Merfolks that no one has seen for centuries.
Farther up the hill he noticed the entrance to Castle Berathon. By this time, the castle gates were opened and many people were already streaming in and out going about the affairs of the court. He chose to return to the Inn, just in case Roland would happen to come and meet him. He did have a letter to deliver after all and he didn’t know if Roland wanted to take part in the event.
Upon arriving at the Rust Monster he noticed a small gathering of people in front of the inn watching a man dressed in brightly colored clothes juggling with long knifes. Roland was also there watching, or so it seemed.
After relieving a few people from their pouches Roland walked up to Natiadar with a smile. Pointing at the juggler he said, “A friend of mine, and a fine juggler mind you. Probably the best in the city! He’s been in court a couple times to perform.”
Natiadar looked at him with a stern eye, “And these other people that you relieved of their pouches… friends also?”
As Roland pushed the elf up the street he interjected, “Now, I know exactly what you are going to say, but think about it. It’s not theft! Think of it more in terms of redistributing the wealth. These people here don’t even realize how good they have it. Maybe I should have taken you to the south quarters for the night. You would have gained a better appreciation of the meaning of the word ‘poor’.”
“So this is how you justify your dodgy enterprise.”
“Well, yes! And a fine excuse it is in my opinion!”
They reached the temple of Osha just in time to see two Acolytes pull the doors open. A beggar sat at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance. His appearance was rugged, and he seemed to be missing a few fingers from his left hand.
“Alms for the poor!” was all he said and repeated as he held a small wooden plate up with his dirty hands.
Roland threw one of the pouches in the plate smiling; “Don’t go spend it all on wine! Get some food and maybe a better coat. I heard the winter this year will be ferocious!”
“Oh thank you kindly you sir! A blessing from Osha upon you and your family!”
“See!” said Roland turning towards Natiadar, “I told you it’s just redistribution of wealth, but you wouldn’t believe me!”
“Yes, yes, for all I know this poor looking sod is just a friend of yours, and you had this planned from the beginning.”
“Now that’s a great idea! I could have gotten some of that money back that way. Thanks for giving me such imaginative ideas.”
Natiada shrugged hopelessly “humans…”
Upon showing the seal on the letter they were ushered into an anteroom. A skinny looking priest dressed in plain brown robes entered the room and greeted them, “Greeting! May the waters of Osha carry to your proper destination! I am Brother Jethro, I hear you are on an errand from Castle Faldwell? How is old father Tully?”
Natiadar stepped up to the priest, “He is well and I’m sure would have come here himself to deliver this letter, but his gifts are needed at the castle. He bid us to hand this over to a priest here in Port Berathon.”
After unsealing and reading the contents of the letter the priest looked concerned, “This does not bode well. Father Tully is quite able and his faith is strong enough. If this was poison, Father Tully should have been able to cure it. But there is devilry of some kind at work at Faldwell Castle. I will have to inform Father Guelden about this. He may have something to say about this…”
Roland interrupted, “By the way we were told that another messenger had been sent to you a couple weeks ago. Am I to assume he never reached you, seeing as you seem concerned about this and are probably going to send someone back to deal with the problem?”
Brother Jethro gave a grave look at the rogue, “I will bring the matter to my superior and we shall decide then what must be done. I thank you for your service and pray that you may be blessed by Osha in return. I bid you farewell.”
As the priest exited the room, Roland looked like he was about to explode, “What! So this is how we get treated after risking our lives to deliver a stupid message! This is why I hate doing honest business. People just never seem to be satisfied!”
Natiadar interjected, “He seemed pleasant enough to me, straight to the point, doesn’t waste time. My guess is the church will be swift in dealing with this problem. Humans are always swift in everything they do anyway.”
Roland stormed out of the room followed by the Elf.
“Well this is not the end of the story for me. I have to return over there and find a little more, or else I may end up in trouble.”
“In trouble with who?”
“Oh nothing… I just can’t stand an unsolved mystery. I must return there and find out more about this disease. We wouldn’t want it to spread would we?”
“We have no proof that it will spread. But seeing as you have intrigued me with this story, I will accompany you for the time being.”
“Oh you are too kind! OK, so you saved my life, but that doesn’t give you bragging rights. Just keep that in mind alright?”
They stayed together at the Rust Monster for the night after buying the necessary supplies for the trip back to Castle Faldwell.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 2
The Trip to Port Berathon
Episode 2
As they prepared to leave the castle a young acolyte by the name of Edren, came running up to the two carrying a small bundle.
“Father Tully said to give you this. He said it may prove useful on your trip to Port Berathon.”
They checked the bundle and found two vials bundled up, each labeled with the words, “For healing purposes.”
They saddled up and prepared for the ride south.
“Stay on your guard Elf, we may not have an easy ride home, even though it may only be two days.”
After riding all night, the two of them stopped off the road and found a nice small wooded area to provide a little cover from the chilling evening wind. Natiadar looked at Roland who was yawning.
“Why don’t you go to sleep, while I stand watch? The trees are spread out enough that I can see the stars. It’s beautiful night out and I wouldn’t miss the stargazing for anything. I will wake you up when the time comes.”
Roland did not object feeling still very worn out from his recent recovery. He took his saddle to use as a pillow and was fast asleep within a few minutes. All that could be heard then was the crackling of the fire, and the heavy breathing coming from the horses.
Roland woke up to the gentle touch of the elf.
“We are being watched”, whispered Natiadar, “They arrived a few minutes ago and have made a circle around us. Get your rapier out fast.”
Roland could see a shimmering shield behind the Elf as he spoke. And as if an answer to his statement three arrows came flying out of the woods and struck the shield with full force.
Roland pulled the rapier and the buckler from under the saddle and jumped to his feet and got into a defensive position.
The bandits moved in.
Roland quickly assessed the situation and counted eight opponents, most of them armed with axes and wearing an assortment of leather armors, and one of them armed with a long sword and wearing a more elaborate studded leather armor like his.
Four moved in on Natiadar while the leader and another three moved in on Roland. Immediately the elf’s staff and right hand went up and a shower of dust covered three of his incoming opponents. Two of them fell into a deep sleep immediately and the other two moved in. One of the two remaining bandits managed to bypass the elf’s shield and struck him on the side with his axe. As the axe came close to the Elve’s body it seemed to loose it’s speed a little, and the damage dealt seemed like very little compared to what it could have done.
Roland maintained his defensive stance while the other bandits approached. He easily dodged the first two incoming attacks, and parried the third, but the leader of the bandits got under his guard and gave him a taste of his blade.
Natiadar, seeing his companion in trouble, spun around and repeated the same sleep pattern in the direction of the group around Roland. All but the leader dropped under the effect of the pattern leaving Roland to fend off a single opponent.
The two bandits on the Elf redoubled their efforts, maneuvering into a flanking position. Unfortunately Natiadar was faster and dodged one attack and sent the shield to deflect the other.
Roland, suddenly surer of himself, moved to the offensive. He brought his rapier in much faster than the bandit could parry it and poked right through the bandit’s left arm.
Natiadar changed tactics and grabbed his staff firmly with both hands, swung hard at one of his opponents who was hit hard on the chest after failing his parry. The other bandit helplessly attempted to hit the tall elf but was just too slow.
Roland pressed on, feinted left and attacked high to the right catching the bandit leader in the shoulder who screamed in pain and attempted to break combat. Roland was too quick and with a quick thrust, parry, counterattack, finished him off.
In the mean time Natiadar spread out his hand and a single energy bolt flew out of hit fingertips and struck the already dazed bandit in the head, knocking him unconscious. The last bandit, seeing his leader toppled attempted to run, but Natiadar swept across with his staff and caught him in the temple sending him to the ground.
The elf turned toward Roland, “Are you ok?”
“I’m alright, what about you?”
“I’ve had better days, but the wound will heal. Here let us tie these five up and wake them up. I have a few questions I would like to ask.”
As the captive bandits came to consciousness Roland set down in front of them with his rapier out ready to interrogate.
“No, not this way Roland. I have quicker way to obtain information.”
Natiadar started an almost soothing incantation, but one of the bandits, seeing this, froze in fear.
“Please sir, don’t let him do anything to me! I’ll tell you anything you want jut don’t let the Elf turn me into something unnatural! I beg you please!”
Roland chuckled, “Much better! So tell me what is your name?”
“My name is Eric, I’m just a nobody, yes Eric the nobody.”
“Why did you attack us, Eric the Nobody?”
The bandit looked nervously at the other bandits, and Natiadar chose this moment to come closer and bring one of his hands level with the bandits. With a single word his hand started glowing red, then erupted in flames, and the elf motioned a little closer with the flaming hand. The bandits’ eye widened with fear and the same bandit spoke up.
“Please oh please don’t kill us! We were just told what to do. It was Droglen here who told us what to do!” as he pointed to the remains of the dead leader, “He told that if we attacked you we would be well compensated. He offered us gold. Check in my pocket if you don’t believe me?”
The flames on the elf’s hand dissipated and he motioned with the same hands towards the pocket. The pocket opened up and the pouch inside floated to his hand though thin air. He checked the pouches content and showed it to Roland.
“He’s not lying about the gold.”
Roland turned back to the bandits, “So what do you know of this Droglen? Where does he come from?”
“We live southeast of Castle Faldwell, in the hills. He came to us a day ago and offered us some gold. He said we had to go with him and attack two people, a Human and an Elf. We didn’t know he wanted us to attack a wizard. We would have told him to stuff it if we had known. Please don’t kill us we’ll do anything you want.”
Roland looked back at Natiadar and winked, “We shall let you live on one condition: that you return to Castle Faldwell, stay there, and gather as much information about the Orc raids in this area as you can. We will return soon and find you and you better have something good to tell us, or we will make sure you are handed to the proper authorities. Oh and if you think you can gimp out on us, believe me our Elven friend here has ways of finding you wherever you go. And if you do gimp out there is no knowing what he will do to all of you….” He let that thought trail off for effect.
After releasing them and examining the gold they kept, Roland noticed that the gold did have the stamp of Gildor on it. He also looked more carefully at the deceased Droglen and noticed that he looked like an actual soldier who had done a poor job of disguising himself as a bandit. If indeed he was a soldier, whom then was HE working for?
Episode 2
As they prepared to leave the castle a young acolyte by the name of Edren, came running up to the two carrying a small bundle.
“Father Tully said to give you this. He said it may prove useful on your trip to Port Berathon.”
They checked the bundle and found two vials bundled up, each labeled with the words, “For healing purposes.”
They saddled up and prepared for the ride south.
“Stay on your guard Elf, we may not have an easy ride home, even though it may only be two days.”
After riding all night, the two of them stopped off the road and found a nice small wooded area to provide a little cover from the chilling evening wind. Natiadar looked at Roland who was yawning.
“Why don’t you go to sleep, while I stand watch? The trees are spread out enough that I can see the stars. It’s beautiful night out and I wouldn’t miss the stargazing for anything. I will wake you up when the time comes.”
Roland did not object feeling still very worn out from his recent recovery. He took his saddle to use as a pillow and was fast asleep within a few minutes. All that could be heard then was the crackling of the fire, and the heavy breathing coming from the horses.
Roland woke up to the gentle touch of the elf.
“We are being watched”, whispered Natiadar, “They arrived a few minutes ago and have made a circle around us. Get your rapier out fast.”
Roland could see a shimmering shield behind the Elf as he spoke. And as if an answer to his statement three arrows came flying out of the woods and struck the shield with full force.
Roland pulled the rapier and the buckler from under the saddle and jumped to his feet and got into a defensive position.
The bandits moved in.
Roland quickly assessed the situation and counted eight opponents, most of them armed with axes and wearing an assortment of leather armors, and one of them armed with a long sword and wearing a more elaborate studded leather armor like his.
Four moved in on Natiadar while the leader and another three moved in on Roland. Immediately the elf’s staff and right hand went up and a shower of dust covered three of his incoming opponents. Two of them fell into a deep sleep immediately and the other two moved in. One of the two remaining bandits managed to bypass the elf’s shield and struck him on the side with his axe. As the axe came close to the Elve’s body it seemed to loose it’s speed a little, and the damage dealt seemed like very little compared to what it could have done.
Roland maintained his defensive stance while the other bandits approached. He easily dodged the first two incoming attacks, and parried the third, but the leader of the bandits got under his guard and gave him a taste of his blade.
Natiadar, seeing his companion in trouble, spun around and repeated the same sleep pattern in the direction of the group around Roland. All but the leader dropped under the effect of the pattern leaving Roland to fend off a single opponent.
The two bandits on the Elf redoubled their efforts, maneuvering into a flanking position. Unfortunately Natiadar was faster and dodged one attack and sent the shield to deflect the other.
Roland, suddenly surer of himself, moved to the offensive. He brought his rapier in much faster than the bandit could parry it and poked right through the bandit’s left arm.
Natiadar changed tactics and grabbed his staff firmly with both hands, swung hard at one of his opponents who was hit hard on the chest after failing his parry. The other bandit helplessly attempted to hit the tall elf but was just too slow.
Roland pressed on, feinted left and attacked high to the right catching the bandit leader in the shoulder who screamed in pain and attempted to break combat. Roland was too quick and with a quick thrust, parry, counterattack, finished him off.
In the mean time Natiadar spread out his hand and a single energy bolt flew out of hit fingertips and struck the already dazed bandit in the head, knocking him unconscious. The last bandit, seeing his leader toppled attempted to run, but Natiadar swept across with his staff and caught him in the temple sending him to the ground.
The elf turned toward Roland, “Are you ok?”
“I’m alright, what about you?”
“I’ve had better days, but the wound will heal. Here let us tie these five up and wake them up. I have a few questions I would like to ask.”
As the captive bandits came to consciousness Roland set down in front of them with his rapier out ready to interrogate.
“No, not this way Roland. I have quicker way to obtain information.”
Natiadar started an almost soothing incantation, but one of the bandits, seeing this, froze in fear.
“Please sir, don’t let him do anything to me! I’ll tell you anything you want jut don’t let the Elf turn me into something unnatural! I beg you please!”
Roland chuckled, “Much better! So tell me what is your name?”
“My name is Eric, I’m just a nobody, yes Eric the nobody.”
“Why did you attack us, Eric the Nobody?”
The bandit looked nervously at the other bandits, and Natiadar chose this moment to come closer and bring one of his hands level with the bandits. With a single word his hand started glowing red, then erupted in flames, and the elf motioned a little closer with the flaming hand. The bandits’ eye widened with fear and the same bandit spoke up.
“Please oh please don’t kill us! We were just told what to do. It was Droglen here who told us what to do!” as he pointed to the remains of the dead leader, “He told that if we attacked you we would be well compensated. He offered us gold. Check in my pocket if you don’t believe me?”
The flames on the elf’s hand dissipated and he motioned with the same hands towards the pocket. The pocket opened up and the pouch inside floated to his hand though thin air. He checked the pouches content and showed it to Roland.
“He’s not lying about the gold.”
Roland turned back to the bandits, “So what do you know of this Droglen? Where does he come from?”
“We live southeast of Castle Faldwell, in the hills. He came to us a day ago and offered us some gold. He said we had to go with him and attack two people, a Human and an Elf. We didn’t know he wanted us to attack a wizard. We would have told him to stuff it if we had known. Please don’t kill us we’ll do anything you want.”
Roland looked back at Natiadar and winked, “We shall let you live on one condition: that you return to Castle Faldwell, stay there, and gather as much information about the Orc raids in this area as you can. We will return soon and find you and you better have something good to tell us, or we will make sure you are handed to the proper authorities. Oh and if you think you can gimp out on us, believe me our Elven friend here has ways of finding you wherever you go. And if you do gimp out there is no knowing what he will do to all of you….” He let that thought trail off for effect.
After releasing them and examining the gold they kept, Roland noticed that the gold did have the stamp of Gildor on it. He also looked more carefully at the deceased Droglen and noticed that he looked like an actual soldier who had done a poor job of disguising himself as a bandit. If indeed he was a soldier, whom then was HE working for?
Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 1 (revisited)
It's obvious to me that the embedded feature of Scribd.com is nice, but not quite ideal for simply reading a blog entry. So I've decided to simply post the story itself on the pages directly.
Here is the first installment:
Chance Encounter
Episode 1
It had been three days since he had left the comfort of the Elven forest. The summer was waning and the fall colors were starting to show. The rugged terrain of Gildor seemed such a stark contrast to the shaded glades of Mithlannar during this fine morning. Natiadar was only beginning to get used to the environment. He had finally found a trail that he thought would lead him closer to Port Berathon, which he had decided would be his first destination. As he reached a bend on the trail he heard a scuffle further down the path. He couldn’t see what it was because and outcrop of rocks was blocking his view. He didn’t want to risk climbing the rock to get a better view, so decided to simply advance with precaution. As he reached the end of the bend on the path he noticed a single young human, wielding a rapier and a buckler facing four disgusting looking Orcs.
One of the Orcs was already dead pierced through the heart, but the human seemed wounded at the side. He was facing too many foes, as it seemed.
Before he could lift his rapier to parry, one of the Orcs brought his large battle-axe down in one big swing, catching the human square on the chest. The human went down with a scream of pain.
Quickly Natiadar brought his staff up and used his right hand to make a gesture. As an incantation left his lips, what seemed like a shower of glittering powder erupted from his right hand and landed on the Orcs. The effect was almost immediate. The three Orcs wavered for an instant and dropped like sacs of potatoes. Natiadar quickly drew his dagger and with a look of disgust approached the Orcs and proceeded to slit their throats.
He suddenly remembered the poor human who had fallen prey to these monsters and turned around to see if there was any life left in him. He checked for a pulse and found one, a very weak one mind you. He quickly drew out a small paste from a canister he kept in his bag, and applied the ointment on the wound. After dressing the wound, he realized that although this poor soul may not be dead yet, he would surely die if he wasn’t brought immediately to a healer or a priest.
Port Berathon, he knew was still, three days away and he knew he couldn’t drag the human for three days. He scanned the area for any more foes and proceeded to look for some branches large enough to create some sort of stretcher on which he could lay the dying man.
An hour later, Natiadar was pulling the man down the trail in the hopes of finding a house of some sort. His muscles were begging for mercy and he knew he could not last another hour at this rate. Remembering a pattern that he had studied in his book he stopped to think about it. He knew he hadn’t attempted it before, which would make it that much more difficult to attempt, but he didn’t have any alternative. The risks were minimal, and the benefits would most definitely outweigh them.
He concentrated on the pattern and formed a circle with his arms. As he concentrated on destroying reality around him and attempting to reshape the chaos into his own pattern his mind strained with the difficulty of the task. With a final shred of determination he ordered the chaos into a nice round disk that floated a foot above the ground. With a gesture of his hand he forced the disk to lower and then rolled the human onto the disk. The disk slowly regained altitude as he ordered it, and finally set it’s self behind the elf like an obedient pet.
Forty five minutes passed as the two strangers traveled down the path. To Natiadar’s great relief a farmhouse appeared in the distance. He settled into a little jog as the disk followed him from a safe distance, but before reaching the farm he stopped to cover his face, not knowing if the farmers would likely welcome an Elf.
After slowly sneaking through a grown corn field he reached the courtyard. He was greeted with a similar seen he had seem earlier. Eight Orcs were in the process of attacking the poor farmers who had barricaded themselves inside the farm.
Natiadar lowered the disk and let it rest in the field hidden from view and quickly created a shield pattern with a wave of his hands. A large shimmering forcefield appeared in front of him. He approached the group slowly hoping to surprise them. He stopped within 30 feet of them hiding behind a cart.
Taking a deep breath he drew from his energy and started the same incantation he had done an hour earlier. His staff raised and his right palm shot upward, the cloud of glittering dust erupted again from his opened hand and landed on three Orcs. Two of them dropped instantly, but the third shrugged of the effects.
Instantly alarmed by the sounds of the Elven voice the six remaining Orcs turned to face their opponent. Natiadar settled into a fighting stance with his staff held horizontally. As the six Orcs approached he kept his back to the cart knowing that his force field would protect his front and sides.
The Orcs moved in but the Elf was quicker, with a thundering crack the staff connected with the skull of the first Orc who dropped unconscious.
The other five hesitated a little at the face of this 6 foot 5 opponent, but then trusted their numbers and attacked. They all attacked together but Natiadar was used to fighting many opponents. He ducked and weaved and would have dodged all five attacks, but one came straight at him. Before it could connect, it struck the force field sending the Orc back in a defensive position.
Natiadar methodically lifted his staff and brought it down on another Orc. The staff connected, but the Orcs armor took the brunt of the damage. The Orcs moved in again hoping to get past that retched shield the elf had put up. Again the elf dodged, and what he could not dodge, the shield deflected.
Natiadar brought his staff back on the Orc he had wounded and caught him in the face. The Orc when down with a thud. The four remaining Orcs tried one more time to take their opponent down, but failed. By that time they were down to three, and decided that precaution would be wiser, and proceeded to run away.
Natiadar un-shouldered his short bow and knocked an arrow, and shot at the three fleeing Orcs. Only two Orcs would be returning to their clan this day…
As Natiadar examined the downed Orcs and made sure they were dead, a medium sized man stepped out of the farm, not sure what to expect. The shimmering shield winked out of existence as Natiadar reversed the pattern, not wanting to freak the peasant out.
“Who are you?” asked the man.
“My name is Natiadar Baequirae, I hail from the west and am traveling to Port Berathon.”
As his cloak had fallen off his head, the peasant could clearly see his Elven features. Natiadar was a taller than most humans, topping 6 feet and 5 inches, and his thin black hair which came down to his mid back had a few neatly woven tresses attached to the back of his head to keep them off his clean hairless face. His deep blue eyes looked somewhat sunken after the amount of effort he had exerted that day, but they did not betray the strength that lay behind them. His shoulders were broad and strong and his gray Elven embroidered tunic seemed like it would have taken ages to weave.
“An Elf! Then you are no foe I presume…”
“That is correct! I am a friend, and will not harm you or your family. I have a man with me who is grievously wounded. He needs medical attention as soon as possible. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me take him to the closest place where we can find some help.”
“Oh sure! Our Lord Isen Faldwell lives only a couple miles away from here. Father Tully, our priest, I’m sure will offer any assistance that is needed. Let me get old Kala out of the stables and we can put your friend on the cart. It’s only a half hour drive from here to Castle Faldwell.”
Natiadar’s mind wondered for a bit and he thought to himself, “These Orcs must be bold indeed to raid a farm that is that close to the Castle. I wonder what motivated them to do such a foolish thing.”
The Elf turned towards the peasant, “Tell me…”
“Jolan, sorry I did forget to introduce myself. Jolan Haggart!”
“Yes… so tell me Jolan, how do you explain Orcs raiding Lord Isen’s land this close to his stronghold?”
“Well you see, ever since Lord Isen fell ill his presence hasn’t been felt as much, and the militia hasn’t worked as consistently as they used to. My guess is that the Orcs somehow found out about this and decided to take advantage of the situation.”
“I see… interesting all this, very interesting. I have yet to reach Port Berathon and it seems that I have already fallen into some curious sort of intrigue. A sick Lord, a lax militia, and some Orc raids on farms close to the castle… interesting…” he let his voice trail into the wind.
It wasn’t yet nightfall before the little group reached Castle Faldwell. They were let in after only a few minor questions, which Jolan decided to answer. Jolan led the cart to the abbey and quickly ran inside to fetch Father Tully.
A few hours later Natiadar was let inside a small bedroom. The room was modestly filled, with just a bunk bed a nightstand and a chair. Lying on the bed was the human, looking much better than he had earlier. The aging priest known as Father Tully was still examining the wounded man.
As the elf entered, father Tully turned towards him.
“Your friend here is lucky he survived! You did a good job in dressing his wound and made it just in time! He is still very weak and I don’t suggest you badger him for too long.”
Natiadar nodded, “Thank you priest. I will not tarry.”
The priest left the room and the Elf sat on the chair next to the bed. He sat for a little while looking at the man. He was young and slender. His studded leather armor had been removed and hung on the wall with his rapier and buckler. A pair of nicely crafted navy velvet gloves rested atop the nightstand. He looked like he would probably be twenty, with short brown hair and clean-shaven. Although quite thin, he was definitely the wiry kind, and having lived through such an injury was proof enough that he had extraordinary resilience.
The man opened his green eyes slightly and looked up to his rescuer, “Who are you? Where am…”
“Rest for now, all answers will come in due time.”
“My gloves?”
“On the night stand, next to you. Get some rest, we shall talk later.”
Natiadar laid a gentle hand on his chest, and spoke a few words in Elvish.
The man fell back into a deep restful sleep.
With Father Tully’s great healing powers it was only two days before the man was back up and walking.
The previous day Natiadar had had a chance to talk to the human and found out his name was Roland Festus. He hailed from Port Berathon and was indeed only twenty years old, which seemed very little compared to the 156 years Natiadar had been living, but then again Elves don’t see time the same way humans do. He was on an exploration mission in this region for a friend of his when he was waylaid by the small group of Orcs.
Natiadar had also gathered from the priest that Lord Isen was very sick and that Father Tully’s healing abilities seemed powerless against such a disease. He had sent word to Port Berathon two weeks ago, which was only three days south, but had not heard any response from the Temple of Osha. Isen’s oldest son Luther was currently in charge of the Castle, but being only sixteen he was not very apt at making very good decisions and the people considered him somewhat incompetent.
Natiadar had chosen to leave the protection of Mithlannar so that he may educate himself better in the things of the world that are not Elven. He knew that the best way to learn about other places was not by simply pouring over the ton of books he had at home, but to also experience that world first hand.
So he decided to dig deeper into this intriguing situation.
The following day, while eating in the abbey with Roland, Natiadar turned towards his new found friend and asked, “So what exactly do you think is happening here? I mean first a Lord who becomes sick from an unknown incurable disease, and then we have these raids on his land, which are mind you awfully close to his stronghold. What do you make of this?”
“Well, if I were thinking like one of Isen’s enemies, which I don’t know if any exist, I would think that this could be easily implemented by the use of either poison or maybe even a magical disease, and then have an agreement with some Orc tribes to raid and weaken the lord’s land so I can raid it at a later time. But who would make any agreement with Orcs is beyond me! These beings want nothing other than to destroy every living thing that isn’t of their race.”
“You do have a point”, replied Natiadar, “but all this is only presumptions and hypotheses. We need harder evidence. Maybe we can talk to the Lord or his son and find out a little more about this.”
That afternoon they were let into the main hall of the castle where the lord held office during the day. After dealing with a merchant and a case of theft, Natiadar and Roland were introduced to Luther. Luther looked very young and large, his thick brown hair was methodically slicked back to show off a good sized forehead. His gown was deep green and held the crest of his family, a falcon on a branch on a gray background. Next to him stood a very thin robbed individual robed in a long navy velvet dress. His slightly wrinkled face indicated he was getting along in age, but he couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five. He leaned over towards the young lord and whispered something in his ear.
“Ah!” said young Luther, “Cornelius tells me that these are the saviors of our beloved Haggart! I guess I have you to thank for saving his crops and his family. What can I do for you?”
Natiadar looked at Roland who shrugged and stepped up to the dais, “Well lord Luther, we have heard of your father’s disease and have come to offer you assistance in the matter.”
Luther looked a little surprised at first, but then said in a concerned tone, “Yes! This is most distressful… I heard that our good father Tully has sent word to the City to see if any more help can be mustered in that area. Unfortunately we haven’t heard from the messengers in a couple weeks. Maybe you could go to Port Berathon and carry the message yourself?”
Roland nodded and bowed, “We would be delighted to assist you in that matter.”
“Good! Then I will have my scribe write a letter for you to carry to the city. Come back in an hour to pick it up. I shall also provide you with a pair of riding horses to aid you in the matter.”
The two companions left the hall looking at each other.
“I think this is not the end of our little adventure”, said Roland.
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know… It’s just a hunch. I just feel like something is wrong about this whole situation. Something’s not clicking.”
“Well, our assignment should be simple enough.”
“Yes, we shall see about that. Who knows how many more Orcs plague this region…”
Here is the first installment:
Chance Encounter
Episode 1
It had been three days since he had left the comfort of the Elven forest. The summer was waning and the fall colors were starting to show. The rugged terrain of Gildor seemed such a stark contrast to the shaded glades of Mithlannar during this fine morning. Natiadar was only beginning to get used to the environment. He had finally found a trail that he thought would lead him closer to Port Berathon, which he had decided would be his first destination. As he reached a bend on the trail he heard a scuffle further down the path. He couldn’t see what it was because and outcrop of rocks was blocking his view. He didn’t want to risk climbing the rock to get a better view, so decided to simply advance with precaution. As he reached the end of the bend on the path he noticed a single young human, wielding a rapier and a buckler facing four disgusting looking Orcs.
One of the Orcs was already dead pierced through the heart, but the human seemed wounded at the side. He was facing too many foes, as it seemed.
Before he could lift his rapier to parry, one of the Orcs brought his large battle-axe down in one big swing, catching the human square on the chest. The human went down with a scream of pain.
Quickly Natiadar brought his staff up and used his right hand to make a gesture. As an incantation left his lips, what seemed like a shower of glittering powder erupted from his right hand and landed on the Orcs. The effect was almost immediate. The three Orcs wavered for an instant and dropped like sacs of potatoes. Natiadar quickly drew his dagger and with a look of disgust approached the Orcs and proceeded to slit their throats.
He suddenly remembered the poor human who had fallen prey to these monsters and turned around to see if there was any life left in him. He checked for a pulse and found one, a very weak one mind you. He quickly drew out a small paste from a canister he kept in his bag, and applied the ointment on the wound. After dressing the wound, he realized that although this poor soul may not be dead yet, he would surely die if he wasn’t brought immediately to a healer or a priest.
Port Berathon, he knew was still, three days away and he knew he couldn’t drag the human for three days. He scanned the area for any more foes and proceeded to look for some branches large enough to create some sort of stretcher on which he could lay the dying man.
An hour later, Natiadar was pulling the man down the trail in the hopes of finding a house of some sort. His muscles were begging for mercy and he knew he could not last another hour at this rate. Remembering a pattern that he had studied in his book he stopped to think about it. He knew he hadn’t attempted it before, which would make it that much more difficult to attempt, but he didn’t have any alternative. The risks were minimal, and the benefits would most definitely outweigh them.
He concentrated on the pattern and formed a circle with his arms. As he concentrated on destroying reality around him and attempting to reshape the chaos into his own pattern his mind strained with the difficulty of the task. With a final shred of determination he ordered the chaos into a nice round disk that floated a foot above the ground. With a gesture of his hand he forced the disk to lower and then rolled the human onto the disk. The disk slowly regained altitude as he ordered it, and finally set it’s self behind the elf like an obedient pet.
Forty five minutes passed as the two strangers traveled down the path. To Natiadar’s great relief a farmhouse appeared in the distance. He settled into a little jog as the disk followed him from a safe distance, but before reaching the farm he stopped to cover his face, not knowing if the farmers would likely welcome an Elf.
After slowly sneaking through a grown corn field he reached the courtyard. He was greeted with a similar seen he had seem earlier. Eight Orcs were in the process of attacking the poor farmers who had barricaded themselves inside the farm.
Natiadar lowered the disk and let it rest in the field hidden from view and quickly created a shield pattern with a wave of his hands. A large shimmering forcefield appeared in front of him. He approached the group slowly hoping to surprise them. He stopped within 30 feet of them hiding behind a cart.
Taking a deep breath he drew from his energy and started the same incantation he had done an hour earlier. His staff raised and his right palm shot upward, the cloud of glittering dust erupted again from his opened hand and landed on three Orcs. Two of them dropped instantly, but the third shrugged of the effects.
Instantly alarmed by the sounds of the Elven voice the six remaining Orcs turned to face their opponent. Natiadar settled into a fighting stance with his staff held horizontally. As the six Orcs approached he kept his back to the cart knowing that his force field would protect his front and sides.
The Orcs moved in but the Elf was quicker, with a thundering crack the staff connected with the skull of the first Orc who dropped unconscious.
The other five hesitated a little at the face of this 6 foot 5 opponent, but then trusted their numbers and attacked. They all attacked together but Natiadar was used to fighting many opponents. He ducked and weaved and would have dodged all five attacks, but one came straight at him. Before it could connect, it struck the force field sending the Orc back in a defensive position.
Natiadar methodically lifted his staff and brought it down on another Orc. The staff connected, but the Orcs armor took the brunt of the damage. The Orcs moved in again hoping to get past that retched shield the elf had put up. Again the elf dodged, and what he could not dodge, the shield deflected.
Natiadar brought his staff back on the Orc he had wounded and caught him in the face. The Orc when down with a thud. The four remaining Orcs tried one more time to take their opponent down, but failed. By that time they were down to three, and decided that precaution would be wiser, and proceeded to run away.
Natiadar un-shouldered his short bow and knocked an arrow, and shot at the three fleeing Orcs. Only two Orcs would be returning to their clan this day…
As Natiadar examined the downed Orcs and made sure they were dead, a medium sized man stepped out of the farm, not sure what to expect. The shimmering shield winked out of existence as Natiadar reversed the pattern, not wanting to freak the peasant out.
“Who are you?” asked the man.
“My name is Natiadar Baequirae, I hail from the west and am traveling to Port Berathon.”
As his cloak had fallen off his head, the peasant could clearly see his Elven features. Natiadar was a taller than most humans, topping 6 feet and 5 inches, and his thin black hair which came down to his mid back had a few neatly woven tresses attached to the back of his head to keep them off his clean hairless face. His deep blue eyes looked somewhat sunken after the amount of effort he had exerted that day, but they did not betray the strength that lay behind them. His shoulders were broad and strong and his gray Elven embroidered tunic seemed like it would have taken ages to weave.
“An Elf! Then you are no foe I presume…”
“That is correct! I am a friend, and will not harm you or your family. I have a man with me who is grievously wounded. He needs medical attention as soon as possible. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me take him to the closest place where we can find some help.”
“Oh sure! Our Lord Isen Faldwell lives only a couple miles away from here. Father Tully, our priest, I’m sure will offer any assistance that is needed. Let me get old Kala out of the stables and we can put your friend on the cart. It’s only a half hour drive from here to Castle Faldwell.”
Natiadar’s mind wondered for a bit and he thought to himself, “These Orcs must be bold indeed to raid a farm that is that close to the Castle. I wonder what motivated them to do such a foolish thing.”
The Elf turned towards the peasant, “Tell me…”
“Jolan, sorry I did forget to introduce myself. Jolan Haggart!”
“Yes… so tell me Jolan, how do you explain Orcs raiding Lord Isen’s land this close to his stronghold?”
“Well you see, ever since Lord Isen fell ill his presence hasn’t been felt as much, and the militia hasn’t worked as consistently as they used to. My guess is that the Orcs somehow found out about this and decided to take advantage of the situation.”
“I see… interesting all this, very interesting. I have yet to reach Port Berathon and it seems that I have already fallen into some curious sort of intrigue. A sick Lord, a lax militia, and some Orc raids on farms close to the castle… interesting…” he let his voice trail into the wind.
It wasn’t yet nightfall before the little group reached Castle Faldwell. They were let in after only a few minor questions, which Jolan decided to answer. Jolan led the cart to the abbey and quickly ran inside to fetch Father Tully.
A few hours later Natiadar was let inside a small bedroom. The room was modestly filled, with just a bunk bed a nightstand and a chair. Lying on the bed was the human, looking much better than he had earlier. The aging priest known as Father Tully was still examining the wounded man.
As the elf entered, father Tully turned towards him.
“Your friend here is lucky he survived! You did a good job in dressing his wound and made it just in time! He is still very weak and I don’t suggest you badger him for too long.”
Natiadar nodded, “Thank you priest. I will not tarry.”
The priest left the room and the Elf sat on the chair next to the bed. He sat for a little while looking at the man. He was young and slender. His studded leather armor had been removed and hung on the wall with his rapier and buckler. A pair of nicely crafted navy velvet gloves rested atop the nightstand. He looked like he would probably be twenty, with short brown hair and clean-shaven. Although quite thin, he was definitely the wiry kind, and having lived through such an injury was proof enough that he had extraordinary resilience.
The man opened his green eyes slightly and looked up to his rescuer, “Who are you? Where am…”
“Rest for now, all answers will come in due time.”
“My gloves?”
“On the night stand, next to you. Get some rest, we shall talk later.”
Natiadar laid a gentle hand on his chest, and spoke a few words in Elvish.
The man fell back into a deep restful sleep.
With Father Tully’s great healing powers it was only two days before the man was back up and walking.
The previous day Natiadar had had a chance to talk to the human and found out his name was Roland Festus. He hailed from Port Berathon and was indeed only twenty years old, which seemed very little compared to the 156 years Natiadar had been living, but then again Elves don’t see time the same way humans do. He was on an exploration mission in this region for a friend of his when he was waylaid by the small group of Orcs.
Natiadar had also gathered from the priest that Lord Isen was very sick and that Father Tully’s healing abilities seemed powerless against such a disease. He had sent word to Port Berathon two weeks ago, which was only three days south, but had not heard any response from the Temple of Osha. Isen’s oldest son Luther was currently in charge of the Castle, but being only sixteen he was not very apt at making very good decisions and the people considered him somewhat incompetent.
Natiadar had chosen to leave the protection of Mithlannar so that he may educate himself better in the things of the world that are not Elven. He knew that the best way to learn about other places was not by simply pouring over the ton of books he had at home, but to also experience that world first hand.
So he decided to dig deeper into this intriguing situation.
The following day, while eating in the abbey with Roland, Natiadar turned towards his new found friend and asked, “So what exactly do you think is happening here? I mean first a Lord who becomes sick from an unknown incurable disease, and then we have these raids on his land, which are mind you awfully close to his stronghold. What do you make of this?”
“Well, if I were thinking like one of Isen’s enemies, which I don’t know if any exist, I would think that this could be easily implemented by the use of either poison or maybe even a magical disease, and then have an agreement with some Orc tribes to raid and weaken the lord’s land so I can raid it at a later time. But who would make any agreement with Orcs is beyond me! These beings want nothing other than to destroy every living thing that isn’t of their race.”
“You do have a point”, replied Natiadar, “but all this is only presumptions and hypotheses. We need harder evidence. Maybe we can talk to the Lord or his son and find out a little more about this.”
That afternoon they were let into the main hall of the castle where the lord held office during the day. After dealing with a merchant and a case of theft, Natiadar and Roland were introduced to Luther. Luther looked very young and large, his thick brown hair was methodically slicked back to show off a good sized forehead. His gown was deep green and held the crest of his family, a falcon on a branch on a gray background. Next to him stood a very thin robbed individual robed in a long navy velvet dress. His slightly wrinkled face indicated he was getting along in age, but he couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five. He leaned over towards the young lord and whispered something in his ear.
“Ah!” said young Luther, “Cornelius tells me that these are the saviors of our beloved Haggart! I guess I have you to thank for saving his crops and his family. What can I do for you?”
Natiadar looked at Roland who shrugged and stepped up to the dais, “Well lord Luther, we have heard of your father’s disease and have come to offer you assistance in the matter.”
Luther looked a little surprised at first, but then said in a concerned tone, “Yes! This is most distressful… I heard that our good father Tully has sent word to the City to see if any more help can be mustered in that area. Unfortunately we haven’t heard from the messengers in a couple weeks. Maybe you could go to Port Berathon and carry the message yourself?”
Roland nodded and bowed, “We would be delighted to assist you in that matter.”
“Good! Then I will have my scribe write a letter for you to carry to the city. Come back in an hour to pick it up. I shall also provide you with a pair of riding horses to aid you in the matter.”
The two companions left the hall looking at each other.
“I think this is not the end of our little adventure”, said Roland.
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know… It’s just a hunch. I just feel like something is wrong about this whole situation. Something’s not clicking.”
“Well, our assignment should be simple enough.”
“Yes, we shall see about that. Who knows how many more Orcs plague this region…”
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 1
Here is the first episode in a series of short stories about an Elf, set in the world of Aganor. The document itself lives on Scribd.com which is a document sharing site. There are other episodes on scribd if you feel like following the story.
Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 1
Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 1
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