Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 4

An Unexpected Turn

The trip up to Castle Faldwell was a lot less eventful than the trip down. After a quick 3 days travel the two companions arrived at the castle and found a place to stay at the only inn, the Silver Flute. It was called that because almost every night the bard nick named Silver Flute would come and entertain the villagers.

Roland, having inquired before hand about the young bandit Eric The Nobody, as he called himself, was not too surprised to see him at the inn drinking with his friends. Before Roland could take 2 steps in the inn Eric and his buddies bolted for the back door. They swung it open just in time to see the towering Natiadar looking down at them with a smirk on his face. Instantly they dropped anything they had in their hands and backed up against the inn wall.

“Please Master Elf!” squirmed Eric, “we don’t want any trouble, we did just as Master Roland said. We stayed here in town and gathered some information for you. Please don’t do anything un-natural to us…”

“Then why don’t we go back inside and sit down at a table and have a nice chat. I’m in a good mood, drink swill be on me!” replied the Elf calmly.

“Yes that’s better… I like that… no magic… just some friendly conversation.” Eric smiled halfheartedly not sure what fate lay ahead of him.

All 5 bandits sat down around a table with Roland and Natiadar, and proceeded to explain what they had discovered. It seemed that this Droglen was a soldier who was under the service of Lord Isen himself. They don’t know why or how he came to becoming a mercenary, but he was a soldier before that, and quite a good one at that.

They also discovered from one of the maids at the castle that Lord Luther left the castle at night a few days ago and came back early the next morning looking exhausted. He was accompanied by councilor Cornelius.

Roland interrupted Eric at that moment, “Do you know where they went? Did they go there to meet with someone? Were you able to follow them?”

Eric replied, “Sorry we just learned this from Anita who works at the castle. She only noticed the Lord leaving because she was late cleaning the kitchen.”

“Hmm… I wonder if they will be going there again. When did you say this happened? And what direction did they leave?”

“They left 2 nights ago and came back yesterday morning.”

“Do you know of anyone who is good at tracking around here?”

“Eh… You could always try young Joram, he’s the new apprentice to the Master Ranger who works for Lord Faldwell.”

“Good, you’ll have to introduce us and I can take care of the rest. You’ve done well. Keep up the good work and stay out of trouble!”

The next day the two friends met with the young tracker named Joram. He was indeed quite young, being only 13 years old, but his skills as a tracker were growing fast, and he had gathered a bit of a reputation.

After having gathered a little more information on the nightly escapade of the Lord, Roland found out that they needed to search eastward. It wasn’t long before Joram found tracks leading into the eastern hills. The tracks led them to what seemed like an abandoned tower.

After close examination of the tower, Joram concluded that two riders came to the tower from Castle Faldwell and met another person here. There are no tracks indicating that the person they met here either came or left the place since his tracks, which are narrow and somewhat short don’t exit the premise of the tower. All three explorers seemed a little perplexed by this but didn’t have time to ponder as a large group of Orcs came stumbling into the tower.

At the head of the orc group stood a tall bugbear, who grinned at the sight of the three fellows, “Looks like we’s gots ourselves some lunch fellas!”

“Wait!” shouted Natiadar, “Beware of whom you challenge to combat! You may be 10, but your skills are of no match compared to the Elven magic of my ancestors! I suggest you find another abandoned tower to find refuge or hunt some beasts for your lunch.”

As he spoke the words came out of his mouth as a soothing lullaby, which caught the bugbear unaware. The bugbear looked at the wizard and smiled, “Da elfy ting is aright, hessa have a lot of power and there is plenty to hunt around.”

The orcs looked at the bugbear dumbfounded, but not wanting to incur the wrath of their leader, they chose to agree and vacate the premises.

Natiadar looked at his two companions, “Orcs, they never know what is good and what isn’t good for them. I suggest we not tarry too long, the charm pattern will eventually wear off and they are bound to come back for revenge.”

Roland and Joram looked as perplexed as the orcs. Joram’s mouth clenched shut and he spat, “I hate bugbears! I hate them with a passion!”

“Keep your pants on kiddo!” said Roland, you’ll get a chance to kill this bugbear I’m sure. But not right now. Right now I have to see if there is something here that we missed that could help explain the mysterious entrance and exit of our third party.”

Roland started searching this ground level of the tower to see if there were any secret passages or hidden trapdoor. It didn’t take long for him to notice a small protruding rock from the base of the spiral staircase that lead upstairs. After inspecting for potential traps he proceeded to push the stone the floor at the base of the spiral staircase dropped to form an extension to the stair leading into what would be a basement level.

“AHA! I knew it! Joram bring a torch so I can see a little better down here?”

“Eh… a torch? You never mentioned about a torch? Was I supposed to bring one? I thought I was going to do some tracking for a little bit, but this is a little more than I bargained for! You guys never mentioned about excursions into basements of dark towers. I don’t even know who lived here and what it was used for?”

“Well, this is just swell!” exclaimed Roland.

“Calm down Roland, let the young human alone. He did what he was paid to do, and he may leave if he wants. After all we don’t want him to get hurt while searching for some hidden treasure in this tower. Besides, I can help you with some light.”

“Treasure?” said Joram, “who said there was treasure in there? Certainly not me! Although it is kind of strange that no one would have discovered the basement of this place. I’ve seen this tower many times before while out hunting with Master Fedrick. Maybe I’ll stick around for a little longer.”

The elf smiled and moved up to the stairs, he let out a simple incantation as a small ball of light formed in his palm, like a tiny moon. He held his palm out and the ball began to float in midair following the mental orders of the wizard. The ball floated down the stairs slowly as Roland examined each step to make sure nothing strange was amiss.

He reached the bottom of the stairs unhindered, which meant that it was more than likely safe. The other 2 companions came down soon after following the dim light of the sphere. As the light shone out they could all see that this landing was but an entrance hall to some other place. In front of them stood a large stone door imbedded with silver letters. The writings were neither Human nor Elvish, but Natiadar had seen their kind before, in old spell books back in Falinesti. The language was draconic and the elf translated them for the humans.

“Every thing has its opposite,” said Natiadar softly.

“That’s it! All this fancy script for one short sentence!” scoffed Roland, “What is that supposed to mean anyway?”

“Exactly what it means, everything has its opposite! Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Well the opposite of a closed door is an open one, and since this door doesn’t seem to have a lock let’s find out.”

Roland moved up to the door and grabbed the doorknob. A jolt of electricity shot out of the knob into his hand sending him flat on his butt.

“OUCH! I hate magic traps! That’s cheating! Why can’t people just stick to mechanical traps!” Roland grasped his arm as he tried to regain his composure. The jolt had definitely left its mark on the rogue.

The Elf grabbed some ointment from his bag and gave it to Roland, “Rub this on your hand, it’ll help it feel better.”

As Roland rubbed the lotion on his hand, Natiadar moved up to the door to examine it. He spoke a soft word and his eyes began to glow with a light blue light.

“Hmm… I know this pattern. It’s a shocking grasp. But energy doesn’t really have an opposite…” he pause and thought for a little longer, “Ah… but that pattern follows the laws of transmutation, which are in direct opposition to conjuration and evocation! Let me see, I think I have something memorized that may be of some use…”

As he worded a new incantation the pattern in the room changed and formed a boulder sized ball of fire in front of the wizard. With a single gesture the elf forced the ball to roll towards the door. As the ball made contact with the door the ball exploded into nothingness and the door slowly opened without a sound.

Joram looked in amazement at the tall Elf, not knowing whether to run or satisfy his curiosity. Roland was starting to get used to the arcane of his Elven companion, but still gave a strange look to the wizard as he got up to examine the entrance.

Natiadar mentally guided the sphere of light past the entrance as Roland stepped up to peer inside. Joram stood back but decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay and find out what was inside this place. He did remember noticing something strange that he decided to bring up to the others attention.

“Just so you know, before Master Natiadar worked his dweomer on the door, I did notice that the floor was quite dusty and there were definitely no signs of footsteps. You know what this means don’t you?”

Roland and Natiadar stopped for a second…

Roland looked at Joram, then at the elf, “That can only mean that our third fellow somehow grew wings and flew in and out of this place.”

Natiadar interjected, “It is not unheard of. In fact there is another possibility. My mother is a powerful wizard amongst the Elves of Falinesti and she has been known to affect the Pattern in such a way as to teleport herself.”

“Fancy words my Elf friend, but what exactly are you meaning by Pattern and Teleport?”

“The Pattern is the construct that our entire world exists in. It is what us, Wizards, alter to create our own patterns. As for Teleportation it is a means of instantaneous transportation from point A to point B. You disappear from A and reappear in B a split second later”

“Goodness! And you can do this?”

“Nay! You have to be a powerful Wizard indeed to be able to accomplish such a feat. I am but a babe amongst Elven Wizards. After all I am only 156 years old.”

“Alright! That’s enough! I don’t want to hear any more about this. It’s starting to make me feel either very uneasy, or very insignificant. And either feeling is not pleasant, so let’s move on shall we?”

Roland turned back to the entrance and started forward. Joram, on the other hand, looked at the Elf in total amazement. What fear had existed in his mind had finally subsided and he stood in awe wondering what other stories Natiadar may have to share with him.

“Master Natiadar, are all Elves as old as you are?”

Natiadar turned towards the young ranger, “Not so, some Elves are older than you can possibly imagine. But we Elves count time differently as you mortals do. Maybe I will explain more to you about our people some day, but let us not leave Roland to explore alone.”

They both turned and followed behind the rogue.

As they passed the threshold of the door a musty smell assaulted their noses. This place must have been closed for quite a long time, thought Roland. The glowing sphere illuminated what seemed like a large laboratory. A large rectangular marble table stood in the center of the room. It was still covered with an assortment of tubes, and burners, and vials, and jars, and beakers, some empty some filled. The shelves along the west wall were filled with all sorts of books while the shelves on the eastern wall had more jars containing all sorts of components.

Opposite the entrance was another door, this one simply made out of reinforced wood.

Roland walked toward the table with an unsure step and started inspecting the vials searching for anything useful, while Natiadar and Joram stepped towards the west wall to examine some of the books.

Natiadar read out loud, “‘The anatomy of Elves’, by J.S. Laslan, ‘Conserving human parts’, by M. K. Sallack, ‘Exploring the afterlife’, by T.H. Wurdan. These are all books connected to the black art! The last owner of this tower must have been a necromancer of some sort. Roland! Be careful what you touch! There could be curses laying on some of the items.”

Roland stiffened, and immediately dropped a vial he had picked up. As it shattered on the floor a hissing sound came from the ground as the concoction bubbled and fizzled.

“Eh… Nat, why is it hissing?”

The wizard turned around instantly at the sound, “Oh oh… this could be bad.”

As he said that smoke started to fill the room.

“Roland, draw your sword! Joram get out of here, NOW!”

The young ranger didn’t need the order repeated. He bolted for the room as he drew his hunting knife out of its sheath. His hunting bow would be of no use in such a confined area.

As the smoke filled the room, the sound of Natiadar’s incantations could be heard, and a faint glow of his magical shield appeared in front of him. His staff started to glow with a faint blue light empowered by the Elven magic.

Chaos erupted.

A shadow appeared in the midst of the smoke. The shadow grew as the smoke receded. It grew so as to encompass almost the entire room. Even the magical sphere created by Natiadar winked out as the shadow swallowed it. The Elf cursed inwardly wondering what could dissipate his magic.

“I can’t see a thing!” shouted Joram.

In the midst of the darkness a low muffled growl sounded.

“Oh oh…” was all that Joram could say before whatever lied in the darkness attacked him.

The young ranger lifted him dagger in defense of whatever was coming, but whatever it was that was attacking him was stronger and faster than him. The sound of breaking bones accompanied by the furious growl was quickly followed by Joram’s shrieking.

Joram fell stunned and battered under the shear weight of his assailant. He barely clung to consciousness as he discerned two large red glowing eyes staring at him from the darkness.

Roland shouted, “Light! I need light! Come here you bastard! Stop attacking those weaker than you!”

The shadow shifted.

Natiadar plunged into the darkness his staff raised, stretching his senses to attempt to locate his foe. He brought his staff down in a wide diagonal sweet covering as much space as possible. His strategy paid off as his staff contacted something hard. A small crack and a yelp could be heard as the staff connected with its intended target.

Roland used this opportunity to jump out from his spot, and thrust his rapier at the shadow. The rapier bit flesh and penetrated deep. A horrendous shriek of pain sounded from the shadow as the darkness intensified.

Roland lifted his mace in a defensive manner, not knowing if he would be the next target of an attack. He felt the hot breath of his opponent an instant too late, and stared in amazement at the red glowing eye as his attacker bit his leg. Pain coursed from his leg into his whole body as he tried to keep a scream in.

Natiadar started chanting and with a stretched out hand let out bolts of energy loose. The bolts found their mark and struck causing the shadow to shift again.

Roland regained his composure and used both weapons to try and strike his opponent down. Both swings missed their marks.

Natiadar brought his magical shield around to cover as much of his front as possible. Unfortunately his opponent must have detected the change for it came from the side and bit into the Elf.

With little time to consider, Natiadar stretched his hand out at his opponent and touched what seemed like soft fur. With a word from his mouth energy rippled through his arm and was released at the beast, singeing the fur in the process.

With what seemed like a final howl, the shadow dissipated, leaving a the smoking remains of what looked like a very large black dog.

The Elf immediately searched for any more threats and relaxed seeing Roland still standing.

“Roland, are you ok?”

“I’ve had worse, but I guess I’ll live.”

Then he remembered the young human and rushed to the door. He noticed blood spats on the ground and swallowed hard. He looked searched around and noticed under the stairs a pair of feet. His heart sunk…

“Joram!” was all he could squeeze out of his tightened throat.

He checked the ranger for a pulse and noticed there was still one, and he took a deep breath of relief. He looked at the wound and lacerations made by the bite marks on the young man’s chest and applied one of his ointments on it. The healing herbs in the lotion seemed to take effect and Joram opened his eyes.

“What happened? All I remember are two red glowing eyes and lots of pain in my chest, then my head started spinning and everything went black.

“Can you get up?” asked the Elf.

“I think I can.”

“Then come and see what attacked you.”

“Elf! Elf! Come here quick!” yelled Roland.

“What is it?”

As Joram and Natiadar re-entered the room, they noticed on the ground the shape of the black beast slowly fading away into nothingness.

“Strange… the only pattern I can think of that would replicate such a thing is a summoning pattern. Come to think about it, the smoke at the beginning seems to corroborate this. The only perplexing thing is that if this was a potion of summoning it would only have worked if swallowed by someone, and the person making the swallowing would have had total control over the beast. There must be something about this lab that may have altered this. Or maybe it is just a protection spell cast on the potion itself. Who knows…?”

Roland looked at the Elf as perplexed as ever, “You mean to tell me that I am the one who brought upon this mess? Ok, fine, but what about you? Can you summon beasties like that? I mean I would much rather have them on our side than against us, if you catch my drift.”

“If my memory serves me right, the creature we fought is known as a Shadow Mastiff. These evil beasts roam the undergrounds of Elestar and cast a protective shadow around them; a shadow than can dissipate normal and magical light. It is this protection that makes them dangerous foes as they can see through the darkness while effectively blinding their opponents. We were lucky there was only one of them. More would have been catastrophic. I can create such summoning patterns, but nothing of this magnitude. The wizard who created this potion was much more powerful than I am. Plus, creatures summoned tend to depend on the person creating the pattern. Had I been forming this pattern I would not have summoned an evil beast such as this.”

“Ok ok! Enough with all this fancy talk, let’s get this finished with!”

“Do you seriously intend on continuing? We can’t take the young boy through this. It could be his death!”

“Well he’s a ranger! He knows his way home doesn’t he? He brought us here in the first place!”

“We are not going to leave this half dead child walk through the open moors with a band of Orcs roaming around. It’s more than a day’s walk back to Castle Faldwell, and he is certainly in no shape to ride.”

Joram interrupted the debate, “Ehem… I can ride, besides shouldn’t we all leave? I mean the band of Orcs lead by that bugbear are bound to return here to check out if there is anything to plunder, don’t you think?”

Natiadar stopped to think for a little while, “Well they may very well return, as the boy said, and then we’ll be in a heap of trouble.”

Roland became annoyed, “I am not leaving this place for Orcs to plunder! Come on… for all we know there is treasure waiting for us somewhere in this basement!”

“Always thinking about money are you? Can’t you just drop it! This is a Necromancer’s lab! Do you know what this means? Undead beings my friend; abominations that are neither living nor dead! How would you like to meet up with a couple Zombies or Walking dead? Personally I could pass on that experience.”

“Wait!” said Joram, “I noticed a lever at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe it resets the stairs, and no one would bother us for quite a while. We could get some rest and regain our strength, and maybe explore some more. I mean Master Roland is right, maybe there is a treasure to be found.”

“That’s right lad, exactly my kind of thinking!”

The Elf sighed in frustration, “Humans! They just never have the patience for anything! It’s not like we couldn’t seal the place back and come back and explore at later time, once all of us are healed back and better equipped for an underground expedition. Why are you being so rash?”

Roland retorted, “Because someone else could just as easily find this place and sack it before we get a chance. Plus, it’s not being rash, it’s being precautious. If there was a powerful artifact stored in here, you wouldn’t want it to fall in the hands of miscreants would you?”

“Fine, but let it be known that you have been warned! But before any more exploration of this compound you will both get some sound rest!”

“Now you are starting to sound like my mother…”

“I could still beat you to a bloody pulp with my staff, so don’t push your luck. Plus you would be dead if it weren’t for me. So get some rest, and have one of those to, and you have the other one. I shall go up and outside to make sure no one comes back during the night.”

Roland and Joram both took the potions Natiadar handed to him.

“Let’s hope these potions Father Tully gave us are as good as I hope.”

As they both swallowed the potions their wounds started to heal and their strength to come back. In what seemed little less than an instant Joram was back in full strength and ready to climb mountains, while Roland had but a few scratches left on his leg.

Natiadar applied his last ointment on his wound and proceeded up the stairs to inquire about any potential outside threats.

Roland winked at Joram and pointed at the Laboratory, “He said no further exploration, but it doesn’t mean we can’t look around the lab for anything interesting. Sometimes, these crazy wizards like to have secret compartments or passages in which they like to hide away their secrets. Shall we?”

Joram looked up the stairs with doubt showing on his face, “But Master Natiadar said…”

“Oh enough with what he said, we aren’t doing anything wrong, or dangerous, just a little inspection!”

“Oh, well if you put it like that, why not.”

“Ok, good! The key here is to test every aspect of the room; wood plank by wood plank, rock by rock, shelf by shelf, floor, ceiling and walls. If you find anything unusual or out of the ordinary, don’t touch it! Simply call me and point the anomaly to me, ok?”

“Ok.”

They proceeded in their meticulous inspection. It wasn’t long until Roland found what he was looking for. Against the west wall, he noticed one of the tiles on the floor seemed to not be fixed like the others. He applied some weight with his foot and noticed the tile depressed a little. He removed his foot carefully without pressing the whole way, not wanting to release any potential traps. He turned around and perused the room searching for something.

“Hmm… I knew I should have grabbed a long rod. Hey kiddo! May I borrow that bow of yours for just a second?”

Joram approached with an inquisitive look, “What is it Master Roland? Did you find anything?”

“Not sure, but I’ll need your bow for a little experiment.”

Joram handed the bow to the rogue who proceeded to use it to press down the loose tile. As he did the sound of mechanical grinding could be heard and a section of the wall opened up.

“Kiddo, bring one of those torches hanging from the wall.”

Joram handed him the torch and Roland threw it pass the opening. As it landed, it illuminated the small room around it. This small storage room held what seemed like a small treasure trove. Hanging from a stand was a set of full plate of armor. Although slightly worn it still looked in very decent shape. Resting in a corner was a finely crafted long bow, with what looked like silver threads engraved on it creating a beautiful weaving pattern along the entire length of the bow. A shelf on the right hand side had a leather bound book resting on it with a small box on top of it. And there were two chests resting on the ground opposite from the entrance.

“Wow!” exclaimed Joram “Look at the suit! I’ve never seen one up this close other then when they have big ceremonies at the Castle!” as he pointed at the full plate hanging resting on its stand. He took a step forward, but was immediately stopped by Roland.

“Now lets not be hasty my young friend. This is exactly how people die. Why don’t we examine the entrance a little more before running in for the loot?”

Roland set down to examine the floor and the walls surrounding the secret entrance, and didn’t seem to find anything suspicious.

“Hmm… There doesn’t seem to be anything that would resemble a trap, but let’s not jump to conclusions…”

He took a step forward with precaution… as soon as he passed the threshold a panel on the left wall opened and three arrows shot out. Roland dove forward trying to avoid the flight, but could only dodge two. The third arrow lodged itself in his left shoulder.

He stood back up and looked at the arrow. It had pierced his leather shoulder-pad and bit into the skin, but his fine armor had taken the brunt of the damage.

After removing the armor he looked at the wall where the arrows had come from and it seemed as though no panel existed.

“No wonder I couldn’t find this. This trap is finely crafted, and it seems it may have rearmed itself. I wouldn’t come here if I were you. I’ll just toss you the contents of the room. You just stand here ok?”

“Sounds fine by me…” Jarom smiled. Somehow he knew that long bow was better than his hunting bow and was already dreaming of using it to hunt some wild boar. Maybe they would let him have it, just maybe…

After handing everything but the chests over to Joram Roland proceeded to inspecting the chests. None of them seemed trapped, but they were definitely locked. He pulled out his tools and proceeded to go to work on the locks. Both locks showed little resistance and as Roland opened the first he noticed it was filled with coins of all sorts. He also found a small pearl, an amethyst and a moonstone, which he immediately pocketed for later uses.

As he opened the second one he discovered it held various fine pieces of clothing and a small box, which contained six vials. He took the box and handed it to Joram carefully and tossed the clothes back into the lab. He also stuffed all the coins in his pack before closing the chests.

Finally satisfied with his plundering Roland jumped back into the lab and began to make an inventory.

“You can keep the bow. Maybe it’ll be of some use to you when you grow up. The plate we can tie up to a horse; same for the clothes. Make a nice bundle of them. Let me see that small box. Hmm, nice ring! I think I’ll keep that one. The book you can give to the wizard. He can add that to his current collection, but wait what’s that? It’s no book marker! It looks like a wand of some sort. Bah, leave the to the elf too. I don’t understand the engraving on it anyway. We’ll need our Elven friend to examine those vials. Who knows what they are or what they do. Well, that was good wasn’t it! And all I got from it was a small little scratch on the shoulder. See I told you inspection could lead to some treasure. But nobody believed me.”

“I believed you, it’s just I don’t want to anger Master Natiadar.”

“What Nat, he’ll be fine. Wait until he sees that book you’re holding. He’ll forget we even did anything wrong.”

They spent the night peacefully underground and were woken up in the morning by an angry looking Elf.

“What did I tell you Roland?”

“Eh, me? What? Nothing, I didn’t do nothing!”

“And that secret passage in the lab, and the arrows on the ground. Did I not tell you not to put the kid at risk again?”

“Nonsense! You said not to explore the rest of the compound any deeper, which we didn’t do. The door across from the lab is still locked safely. You never said we couldn’t inspect the lab again, plus look at what the kid found for ya. Stop complaining all the time and be happy for once.”

Joram got up and handed the Elf the book with the wand in it.

“You humans are just so stubborn sometimes. Anyway, I’m glad you are all ok. Did you get any decent rest at least?”

“Well, we did get some sleep, but you could have let us sleep a little longer you know.”

“Nonsense! The sun has already risen, and luckily the Orc band hasn’t returned to pester us. Let’s finish our little exploration and be off.”

They got up and walked back into the lab. Roland pulled his tools again and went to work on the wooden door at the other end of the room.

“Argh! This lock is tougher than I thought. I don’t know how long it will take to unlock. I may not have the proper tools for this kind of job.”

Natiadar nodded and stepped up to the door, “Step away, I have a better way of handling this.”

He laid his hand on the lock and started an incantation. As he reworked the Pattern his hand started to glow bright red. They all heard a clicking sound emanating from the door and the wizard removed his hand from the lock.

“Now try to open the door.”

Roland opened the now unlocked door, “Neat little trick of yours there! You should teach me that some day.”

“I doubt you would understand what is involved in creating patterns, but maybe someday if you have a lot of free time I can try to explain to you the intricacies of Magic.”

They proceeded into the next room with precaution. Natiadar had conjured another sphere of light to precede them. As the light illuminated the room, the details came to life. A corridor of torch brackets lead to a large stone altar in the center of the room. A pulpit stood in front of the Altar and next to it a small table with all sorts of chirurgical utensils. The altar seemed covered in dry blood. The room held a sense of foreboding as the smell of formaldehyde permeated the room. Behind the altar rested a huge aquarium filled with the remains of multiple humanoids. Some of the corpses looked badly decomposed, while some of them looked perfectly preserved within the liquid.

All three stood in horror at the sight in front of them. Joram turned his head and threw up repulsed by the stench of the room.

Roland and Natiadar swallowed hard and the Elf turned to his companion, “We should not have come here. This place is unholy and a desecration to anything that lives.”

As these words escaped from his mouth a moaning sound came from both far corners of the room. The light didn’t extend that far, but Joram didn’t wait to see where the sound originated from, he turned and ran back into the lab.

Natiadar’s magical shield sprung to life, as Roland pulled both rapier and mace from his side and prepared to fight.

From each corners two decrepit corpses moved towards the two companions, somehow attracted by the sense of living flesh.

“Great! Zombies! It was to be expected, coming from a Necromancer’s lab. Use your mace to attack, your rapier is of little use.”

Natiadar spoke a word of power and his staff began to glowing again, pulsating under the magic endowed to it.

Roland tightened his grip on his mace and swung carefully at one of the incoming Zombies. The mace made contact with the Zombie and crushed some bones. Somehow this did not seem to slow the Zombie down much. It clawed at the rogue, but the rogue daftly dodged out of the way. A second Zombie clawed at him and got under his guard. Luckily the wound was superficial.

Natiadar brought his staff down square onto one of the zombie’s head crushing the skull in the process. The zombie did not slow down either, and attacked the Elf, but slammed his hand on the magic shield erected. The second Zombie attacking the wizard was simply to slow to attack.

Roland swept across the head of the zombie he had already attacked and the monsters head came clear off. That seemed to do the trick as the remaining part of the body dropped in a heap of flesh and bones. The other zombie attacked the rogue again, but this time Roland had his rapier up and ready and parried the blow easily.

Natiadar followed the example set by Roland and used his staff to sweep the head off one of the Zombies with a mighty swing of both hands.

Roland swung relentlessly at his second zombie only managing to get a glancing blow, while the zombie slowly clawed at nothing. The battle between the two raged on for a few exchanges, and Roland was getting tired his movements were getting sluggish, but the monster would not slow. Gradually the zombie started hitting him here and there.

During that time Natiadar, took a few great swings with the magically enhanced staff and got the best of his second Zombie. He then spun around and spoke word of power. The Magic missiles struck the zombie fighting Roland and the monster dropped to the ground motionless.

Roland nodded to the Elf, “Thank you kindly. These things never seem to get tired do they?”

“No they don’t, and they aren’t easily killed either. This place is cursed. We should leave immediately.”

“You know what, for once, I think I’ll have no problem agreeing with you.” Said Roland as he limped out of the room, holding his side.

“You never seize to amaze me Elf! Somehow you always seem to get away with all but a scratch.”

“Don’t be so sure. That Shadow Mastiff took a chunk out of me too. Luckily we bested it before it could do any more damage.”

Both companion returned to the surface where Joram waited with the horses.

“What happened? You told me to leave so I left. Is Master Roland ok?”

“I’ll be alright kiddo, just help me onto the horse.”

The three companions mounted on their horse and swiftly returned to Castle Faldwell.

As they arrived back at the Castle, Joram left the two to return and report, still holding his prized long bow. He had promised Roland not to tell anyone how he had found the bow. Roland told him that if anyone should ask, it was a gift for helping him and the Elf out.

Roland and Natiadar went back to the Silver Flute Inn to get a good night’s rest and pursue their inquiry.

As they sat at a table sipping on fresh drinks Roland pondered out loud, “I wonder who it was the Lord and the Councilor went to meet. There’s something really fishy about this. If you don’t mind me, I may go investigate in the Castle for the next few days.”

Natiadar looked at his companion and sighed, “Do what you must. I need some time to rest and read. All this is happening a little too fast for my liking. I will be in my room for the next few days.”

Roland shrugged, “Suit yourself. I don’t think we have time for pondering like you say. I’m a man of action, and actions I shall take. I’ll make sure to inform you of anything strange I find. After all, we are in this together now.”

Roland finished his ale and headed to bed. Natiadar did likewise but he wouldn’t be sleeping. He had to see what secrets were held in this book Roland had found, and this wand, what of it…

Meanderings of an Elven wizard - Episode 3

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.

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?

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…”

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

Meteor

Joran stood at attention, sword raised in his left hand above his head, his sideways stance was on purpose providing less of a target to his opponent across the ring of dirt. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he breathed heavily from the exertion. The glaring sun, about to reach its zenith, added to the heat of the moment. Across the training ground, dressed in a loose shirt and bright blue breeches, stood Kyro, clearly the elder by quite a few years. Kyro stood crouched low in what he called the saddle position, with one fist against his hip and the other palm up extended towards the young lord. Having come to the village of Glenwood close to ten years ago, Kyro claimed to be trained in the arts of Hayu'din, a fighting style that used hands and feet with great efficiency, an art not known nor practiced in any of the provinces of Felgar. Lord Ornsfeld had assigned him to his youngest son soon after hiring him, believing that he would counterbalance the young man's inability to bear a shield in his right arm. Joran had been born crippled, with a short stump in place of a right arm. This however did not entirely seem to diminish his ability to handle a sword in his left arm. Indeed he had worked hard to develop his speed so as to compensate for the lack of strength his elder brothers seemed to all be endowed with. At the moment he stood poised and ready to receive the offensive from the middle aged monk.

As Kyro began an acrobatic tumble across the ring, Joran slightly shifted his position so as to expose as little of his body as possible. A sudden shadow passing in the dirt, drew his eyes away for a split second allowing Kyro to bring up his foot in a rounding arc with lightning speed. Before he knew it the young man was on his back with his head spinning.

Kyro ended his cartwheel and stood over the defeated young man with a frown on his dark skinned face.

He spoke in a calm voice, as if he hadn't just exerted himself, "My lord, you must maintain your focus, even when there are distractions around you."

Joran began to regain his composure when something in the sky caught his eye. What seemed like a orange ball of flames the size of a large bonfire was streaking across the heavens, approaching at a velocity that could only be construed as alarming. As he began to rise, eyes riveted on the flying fire, he heard the gradually intensifying roar of thunder. The roar reached its crescendo when the thing flew directly overhead. As he tried covering his ears from the sound, the ground shook violently. The ball of fire had somehow plummeted right in the village, creating a massive shower of dust and debris.

Joran came to his sense and shouted, "The lesson's over master Kyro. Time to go find out what just happened."

He wasted no time in rushing over to the stables to grab a horse, and was off galloping towards the epicenter of the conflagration. Suddenly remembering Karline mentioning something about the Hengler girl having a fever and that she needed to drop off some herbs there today, he redoubled his efforts.

Wondering how Kyro could have gotten there before he did, Joran noticed a huge crater in the fields west of the Hengler farm. Glancing over towards the farm, he realized the west wall had somehow imploded, making the entire structure lean precariously. Through the haze he could make out five figures in front of the farm. All were covered in dust from head to toe. Three small children stood clutching their mother's chalky apron, while a tall man stood next to her clutching a small figure against his chest.

In the beginning...

The veil of time lifted and I saw a shimmering light. I found myself in a place of utter silence and peace, yet all around chaos erupted in fits of violent anger and invisible discharge. At the center of the light was a presence beyond understanding, unaffected by the violent turmoil excerted by the surrounding chaos.  It uttered in a sweet soft whisper, "Let is begin..."  Chaos shuddered as I felt a compressing and a sudden explosion of energy and light.  Time itself was born along with the universe that as we know it.

I felt a sudden lurch and I was suddenly flung forward in time only to witness a devastation beyond compare.  Humans and changelings tore each other apart. Cities crumbled, forests burned, and deluges of water poured onto the land drowning thousands of innocent beings. I stood surrounded by giant storms with roiling black clouds and deafening thunder, all engendered by magic. The world seemed like it would end, but again in the center I felt the presence I had felt earlier.  This time it spoke, but it was not a whisper.  A booming voice louder than a thousand hurricanes shouted, "ENOUGH!"

And the world stood still...

In complete awe I stood petrified, but a curiosity came over me like an itch you can't help but scratch.  I asked, "Who are you?"  The voice replied in a gentle tone, "I am Aga, and I did this for you because I love you..."

Extract from the Book of Argil.