Swords of the Esper

[Vigil StarGazer]

“…With the departure of the Esper, the races of Kol’yun co-existed in an uneasy peace. However it was until the tragedy of the Weeping Woods that finally released the tension between the races and prelude the bloodshed of human and elves. With their vast armies, the Joint Intercontinental Human Alliance Directive hoped for a quick decisive victory. Nonetheless the war continued for thirteen years finally locked into a stalemate between the two armies in the northern eternal frozen plains of Schlachifeld even as the war continues…” – The Legacy Cycle. A.E 258.

 

The glaring sunlight through the leaf-less branches brought no warmth for anyone in the frozen forest, but Talen enjoyed it nonetheless. It reminded him of another forest where beauty is eternal, timeless. It is where he had made his first true friend, Umi-thanlana.

“Oh Talen!” A familiar voice caused a young man to raise his head, he agilely puts his hood back on before she came too close. Talen’s delicately skilled hand did not stop even as his child-like face looked up toward the voice. The seemingly older redhead looked down at Talen. “So there you are,” said Arianna, “Sepher and I have been looking all over for you this afternoon.”

“Master Nickola was looking for you.” The taller blond male spoke. “He said it’s something urgent.”

The words were lost on Talen’s ears though. He saw Sepher had his arms casually around Arianna, and she doesn’t seem to mind. Talen’s paused made him feel the situation became more awkward, but at least he managed to stutter a reply and hurried off back to the village where Master Nickola surely awaits him.

 

At a very young age Talen was lectured on the fact that he must held his hood closed to him and never let the wind caught it as he ran. Even now, after his parent’s death, he unconsciously obeys the rule and hang on to his hooded cloak as he hurried through the forest. The forest was covered with fresh snow from the storm yesterday but Talen managed to leave little tracks on the path. It was on the path where he met another heavily cloaked man blocking the way. Talen also noticed six other humaniod shadow behind the foryage but he was wise enought to heed no notice.

“Where’s the village of Begynne?” The voice coming out of the dark hood was merely a whisper, but somehow seems awfully familiar.

“It’s five miles east off from here, if you followed the trail.” Talen replied in earnest even if he tried to catch his breath. Vapors escaped from his mouth even as he spoke. “Do you want me to guild you there?”

“No need for young pups! Be off with you then.” The man's snarl came out unnaturally as he stepped aside to let the kid through.

 

*****

 

As Talen’s figure disappeared along the twisting forest path the others came out, pale skin, almond eyes, and pointy ears they were.

“That was easy,” commented one, “Humans are such simpleton.”

"Shouldn't have let that one escape," said another, as his eyes gleamed uneasily. "But I suppose it really won't have mattered."

“And I thought all humans are brutes, the kid’s so fragile he could almost be one of us.” Another voice cajoled almost mockingly. The others looked toward her as if she committed an unspeakable sacrilege.

“Watch your mouth, Salianathana.” Artismusathis, the man who was on the road commanded. “Let’s not waste time. Call the Rangers. We’ll strike at dusk.”

 

*****

 

Talen came back to Begynne just before nightfall and went straight to Master Nickola’s inn “The Hermit’s Home”. Master Nickola was a jolly middle age man whom lost his family in the first few years of the war. Left alone in this world without a kin he took with him what's left of his fortune, opened an inn in a neutral township, and began to foster orphans who shared his fate.

Talen was the second of Master Nickola's child followed by another child who had grown to maturity and left to appretience for a blacksmith. Arianna was adopted fifth when her mother died from a plague and her father had to join the army. Sepher and the rest of the little ones followed them into the house as the war raged. What Master Nickola wanted today from Talen was just a mundane routine about sums and digits on the general ledger for the village’s taxes. The calculations came easily for Talen but it was still time consuming. Darkness blanketed the skies when Talen deemed he had done enough for the day. Talen stretched and then realized he had been unconsciously using his night-vision and forgot about candles! He gave a silent cursed and walked downstairs to the tavern for some nourishment. Arianna were serving tables to a crowd of human soldiers, Master Nickola was busy at the bar serving drinks to the usual patrons while Sepher and the younger ones were helping out in the kitchen. Talen hungrily stuffed down some of the inn’s famous roasted potatoes. A child, Talen’s favorite little Claire caught Talen’s little thief. He just smiled and stuffed a chunk of spiced chicken into the child’s month when the village’s bell suddenly rang in alarm. Talen punched his chest and managed to swallow down the potatoes he choked on and hurried out of the building. The memory of the streets that night was an unforgettable sight for the rest of hife life, all the surrounding homes became a funeral pry as the village-folk pour buckets after buckets of water to no anvil. A band of cloaked figures wandered around the confusion with a sense of cold purpose, and stopped right in front of the inn where the group of human soldiers stood. The leader of the cloaked figures was the same person Talen met on the road earlier on, and slowly the cloaked figures took off their robe to reveal their pale skin, their cold almond eyes, their pointy ears, their elegant armor, and their thin but deadly swords. They are elves.

 

“This is a neutral town!” The mayor, one of the patrons that happened to be in the inn tonight, shouted with his sense of authority. “This is clearly a violation against the treaty of the non-aggression pact. I demand to speak to your…Gah! Ugh…” The mayor crumbled like the church that had been set on fire as cold steel ran through his guts, warm blood trickled from the ghastly wound that quickly became his death. A robed figure whispered to one of the soldiers. The soldier only nodded, unsheathed his sword, and stood out from the crowd.

“There is no need to harm the villagers in here,” The man spoke as solid as the ground he stood on. “We came here on our own accord and we’ll definitely fight our own battles!”

“Not so fast,” said the elf. “I want you all to feel how it is to be outnumbered!” Even as he spoke elves appeared from the rooftops and fired arrows toward the unaware human soldiers. More then a few fell silently as the fine elven arrows found their mark right into their throat.

“Charge!” The human raised his sword as the rest of the humans rushed toward their enemy with frenzy. Those elves on the streets also unsheathe their sword, but the elves-marksmen on the roof had already gone after the few escaping robed humans.

 

“The whole town is burning! Everyone toward the west gate!”

A scream within the flaming building caught Talen’s attention, and he rushed toward its origin to find Master Nickola and Arianna still within the inn.

“No Papa, I’m not leaving you!” Arianna scream even as the beams that supported Talen’s old home began to fall. The old man said not a word but grappled Arianna’s hand behind her back, picked her up, and tossed her out the window. Talen had his arms outstretched but it was Sepher that caught her.

“Take care of her,” were the last words of the old inn master. Master Nickola’s silhouette disappeared behind the waves of smoke and flaming carnage. A few seconds later the inn collapsed into the ground.

“Let’s go!” Talen exclaimed with urgency, “We got to get out of here!” He never expected the acrimonious glare from Arianna. Talen stretched his arms out defenselessly, but before a word could be spoken Sepher placed a hand on Arianna’s shoulder.

“Talen is right. Master Nickola saved your life and his sacrifice should not be wasted.” Sepher said in his caring voice, and at once Arianna fell into Sepher’s embrace, crying. Talen gave a longing side glance for a moment, but at last he sighed and moved out with the rest of the villagers. The slow orderly moments became filled with a sense or urgency, and finally into a rush of confusion as everyone with his or her belongings and carts trying to fit through the small village’s gate. In the sea of human faces Talen lost track of where Arianna and Sepher were. He was out of stamina, he could hardly breath from all the smoke in the air, and slowly he found himself alone on the ground of a dark alleyway. The sounds of people slaughtering each other fills into the background of his conscious.

 

*****

 

“All it take was a few fires to chase the rats out of their hole.” The comment was made with a menacing laughter as Two elves perched themselves on the bell tower overlooking the blazing inferno that surrounds them. The other figure was impassive, unmoved even as she glares into the flames and the line of villagers trying to escape this hell on earth.

“They are worthless,” the first figure continued. “Gnats! If you don’t squish one now a hundred will come after you.” The first figure continued to justify itself. “This is to protect Norswood, This is for Weeping Woods!”

Both figures turn as a third being appeared out of the darkness, kneeling toward them.

“Artismusathis, three of the blades have been retrieved.”

“And the other two?” The person kneeling gave no response.

Normally Artismusathis would glare and spoke harshly, but tonight he kept his temper in check, all for the sake of his very special companion beside him.

“Very Well then,” Artismusathis respond with a voice of authority. “You have done well, retreat with the blades you have now and meet us at the fork of the Silver Sorrows.” He paused, as if to emphasize his decision. “I will retrieve the rest of the blades myself.”

Artismusathis swipe his cloak aside and was ready to depart when an outstretched hand stopped his progression.

“Wait,” the figure standing beside suddenly stopped his pace. “I feel my destiny is tied into this.” Even as she spoke Artismusathis’ expression was a misxture of shocked amusement. The lady continued, “I will retrieve the blade myself."

"Ofcourse you are," Artismusathis smiled. The words slowly edged into her mind as if the hand of the Gods rested upon her shoulders. "You will wield one of the blades yourself."

 

*****

 

The robbed figure hurried across the alleyway, her paranoia warned her of every shadow, as if an elf could appeared out of any of them. Even as she searched frantically for a glimpse of pointy ears, she found what she was looking for right in front of her eyes. An elf, purple eyes and silver haired, appeared soundlessly but stood there as if that's where she always haddben, awaited her at the end of the short alleyway. The robbed figure held the box she was carrying tightly around her arms, pondering an out in this tight situation. The elves could not have what’s inside the box!

The elf spoke first, her voice as cold and distant as the stars. “Hand it over, human sorceress, and I might let you live.”

The human laughed. “You think I would hand this to you just to save my life?” The memories gave her courage to finally speak, and her sense of duty strengthens her resolute. “Thousands of my people will die if I hand this to you, I would die a thousand deaths before I surrender myself.”

To which the elf replied coldly, “thousands of my people did die, in Weeping Woods.”

The human had no answear for her except a wand of mists, and at once the alleyway filled itself with a dark smogs that not even elven sight could penetrate.

The human sorceress thought she bought herself some time before she prepared her next spell, but even as she did so a blade swiped inches from where she stands. “Nice trick,” the elf’s voice almost sung with the blade, but even as she spoke both gasped at the sudden light of the sword pierced the darkness of the mist. The elf was stunned at the beauty of her new-founded weapon while the human cursed, realizing the enemy already possessed one of the five blades they had sacrificed so much to create. 'Soloron' gleamed so brightly that it even outshone the fiery of the flame. She had no choice but to use what she have, and threw the box toward the elf. Both knew it was a ruse. As the sword cut through the empty wooden box and the velvets, another blade was ready to meet Soloron’s steel.

The two battled on, steel and skills and magic. The golden trimmed edge of Soloron crossed and uncrossed with the other blade, creating aesthetic sparks and painful symphonies into the dense midnight air.

“Look out!” the elf said, and before the human could respond the elf hand was on her arm. The human did not take the chance to strike at the elf but rather let the elven hand dragged her out of the way of a fallen building. The dust finally settled and the two combatants found themselves panting from battle fatique. They smiled at each other for a moment, but then their smiles were replaced by chilled battle rage. Once again they were at each other, blade against blade. The song of affliction continued. Finally a skilled strike send the opponent’s blade flying out of her grasp and stuck fast on the ground missing Talen’s head by an inch. Before Talen’s eyes was a word carved into the blade itself: ‘bravery’.

Talen looked up just to see a human female kneel toward an elf, a custome for the defeated against an honorable victor. “Your sword is ‘Soloran', the blade I was using is 'Wind’s Nocturne'”. The other figures just nodded and send her blade toward the human’s throat.

Edited April 21, 2003 by Lord of the Gay

[Tamaranis]

It doesn't seem quite so happy, just yet...

 

These unexplained swords, presumably of great power, are excellent. There's story behind them that the reader wants to know, it's a good hook. There's a whole lot of history unknown to the reader that most readers probably want to know, come to think of it.

 

I also like that the elves destroying this town are people, not heartless monsters.

 

I'm interested to see what happens with the conflict between Talen, Arianna, and Sepher.

 

On a final note, I'd suggest proof-reading more carefully. There are enough typos here to take away from the story, and that's a shame because it's a good story and you could probably skim through and fix most of them with minimal effort.

[Vigil StarGazer]

Morning comes and goes for everyone. The sun rises faithfully every day and disappeared behind the horizon every night as if it had always been, but the world that Talen had wakened up to seems like an alien place. Master Nickola, the inn, and the village had all gone to smoke as if they had never existed before except inside his memory. Talen’s life had completely changed, All that he deemed prescious had been scattered to the four winds by a brutal storm. Talen found himself looking toward the blade in his grasp for the cause, but the flawless Thorium bastard sword’s answer was the reflection of the wielder’s pale anglar face.

 

A strong but gentle hand clasped on his shoulder. Talen himself speechless and stunned, remembering that he allowed himself to be ushered out of the burning village even as it collapsed. The villagers were all refugees now, another nameless casualty of war. The surviving soldiers lead the villagers out of the harsh winds into a nearby valley where they could be sheltered from the Arctic winds, kindle fire, and laid camping grounds for the night. Sepher, Arianna, and the rest of his siblings safely escaped from the fire. He had longed to join them and share each other’s comfort, but the need to distance himself was greater. Now they would find the cause to hate him and despise him for what he is. The sudden chill had Talen wrapped his cloak even closer toward him. The female human in the alleyway introduced herself as Angelica Lightwand. She thought he had saved her life and therefore returned the kindness by sharing her fire, offering him travel rations, and trying to talk him up. He could almost start a conversation with her, even if her eye occasionally pry on the sword in his grasp. It belongs to hers anyhow, but the possibility of her using the same blade to cut off his silly head was not a thought easily let go. Like always, he could never risked being too close to anyone.

 

“Kid,” Talen did not look up to recognize the same man that had rescued him out of the flames last night. The voice was strong and empowering, yet familiar as if he was your neighbor. It was the ideal voice for any heroes out of children’s fairy tales. He led Talen's gaze toward the battalion that had just arrived just before dawn. A crowd of people surrounded the newly blazed campfire. They were all waiting for him, or at least the sword he carries. Once they arrived, the circle around the campfire was complete as officers exchanged salutes and stations.

On the other side of the fire, surrounded by four bodyguards, was a female dressed in rich mink pelts. With the aid of her spear she stood up and saluted. “I am Akira, sisters of the frozen tribe and leader of the Arctic Fox. Address yourselves.”

“Angelica Lightwand,” the human sorceress returned the primative salute with one of her own, “Under the Black Towers of Wayland and apprenticed to the late Archmagius Pan-Salida.” The archmagius’ name brought another round of salute toward her. The sorceress grimly accepted the homage.

"Y'ul Kazzu, shaman of the BlackSkies Tribe, second in command of the Arctic Fox."

"U'kiryo of the Icewind Tribe, chieften of the wind squad."

"Fel'duth of the WhiteSea Tribe, chieften of the blade squad."

"Mu'potain of the Nighthoof Tribe, leader of the strike squad."

“Manter Uth Vanyar,” the man who still had his hand on Talen’s shoulder was the last to spoke. Talen would have expected more, for humans loved to claim status to enhance their self-importance. Yet that was all he said, and the others glanced toward him with an awakened respect. Even Akira flushed in embarrassment.

“Sir knight,” she said even as she offered a bow. “It is the rule of the alliance to obey the highest in rank. Thus, my men and I are yours to command.”

“Ofcourse not, princess of the ice plains.” Manter held both his hands up and backed away simultaneously. “Besides, Magius Angelica was delegated before me during this mission.”

Talen caught a glare from Akira to Angelica.

“Since our situation changed completely, the order of command would have to be rededicated.” Angelica announced, watching carefully each word that came out of her mouth. “And we are in the sister tribal land, it should be natural that we follow the tribe’s directive.”

“Pray, sisters.” Akira was clearly smiling now, “but the two of you would be my left and right hand.” She turned around to her tribesmen. “Men, obey them as if they were me.” Her bodyguards were the first to salute.

“Under the light, it should be then.” Manter said it with such a casual tone that at one all the tension released, but his voice held such finality that none would ever challenge the chain of command.

 

They sat together and breakfasted, giving them some time to re nourish themselves before asking the critical question. Talen was offered bread and water as Angelica spoke of their flight from the elves and finally hid themselves in the neutral village of Beyenne where they are to wait for escorts to arrive. Akira’s battalion of native amazons was the assigned escort. The plan was flawless except that no one would expect the elves to attack neutral territories.

“And the blades?” Akira asked.

Angelica lowered her head, almost too ashamed to speak. “My order acted as keepers of the blade. They would die before letting it be tainted by the hands of the enemy. Yet now we have in our procession all but one.” A snarl almost appeared on Akira’s face, mocking the weak southerners, but if she did none would had caught her, for all eyes rested on the blade Talen carried. The sword was made without a guard, and the grip was plain but functional. The blade was crocked as if it was a scythe. No one could have imagined how the blade could be used.

“That kid saved my life and managed to preserved the blade. If it wasn’t for him then all would be lost.” Angelica continued without catching her breath, as if to stop any attempts for anyone to seize the blade.

“As if everything had not been lost already,” Akira sneered. She made a feint to grab the sword, and then flicked her hand upward to removed Talen’s hood.

Talen saw the feint and tried to move back but he lacked the reflex to evade and at once his heritage revealed in open view.

Normally Akira would have said something clever in this situation, but the truth shocked the wits out of her. The refugees that had known Talen so long all gasp in disbelief. The others behind her pointed their blades toward the hapless youth. Even Angelica was rendered speechless.

‘What trickery is this?” Akira shouted, and pointed toward the child in full hostility.

“Stay your swords, gentlemen. Look carefully.”

They all did. Even as Talen lowered his head Akira grabbed his silver hair and pulled his face toward her. The pointy ears was a definite sign, but his face was less akin. While his violet pupil is a color humans could never have, his eyes are large and round like all other humans.

“A rapeling?” She asked, even as she let go of Talen’s hair and shove him backwards.

“Not a rapeling!” Talen found himself shouting back at the amazon who’s a head taller then him.

Another hand was placed on his head, but this one’s gentle fingers smoothen his hair. Angelica lowered herself and smiled face to face with the half-elven. “Not all elves and humans wished to take sides on this war. Some desired peace and choose to live in neutrality right?” Angelica smiled as she turned toward Akira.

“The blade is too precious to fall into enemy hands,” Akira uttered even as she turned around to leave. “Even if he was only half of an enemy.” Talen thought he had just been slapped.

“I am still the keeper of the blade.” Angelica returned the jeer with a tone of absolution. “He is the only one who could wield it.”

The two women glared.

Manter cough. “Ladies, we have other important matters to discuss.”

 

They continued to chat about matters of consequences. Food would have to be rationed before they arrived at Alliance territory. The refugees will share what they have left. Yes the refugees would have to travel with the band. They will die in the bitter cold otherwise. It would hinder the troops down but it could be used as a cover.

The village boys could be swordsmen, if there are enough weapons available. They will fight when there the choice is their lives.

I will cover recruitment and training then.

Storm?

 

Talen did not stay and listened to the mundane conversation, and besides he felt that his presence was not convenient for the humans to discuss logistics. He dared not wandered back to the refugee’s camp. They would assuredly hate him now. Instead he found himself in a quiet place amongst the trees, meditating with the blade in his grasp. Four Akira’s tribesmen followed him into the woods, spying on his every action. Talen could not sense them as his began to lose himself in a childhood memory thinking of Umi-thanlana. A sliver of fear slipped into his mind as he began to recall the events last night. Could it be…?

 

The fight of the moment did not belong to either human or elves, but the struggle in Talen’s mind.

 

‘Elves killing humans, humans killing elves, what else is new? Yet he should defend the humans, but why the humans? Certainly if the situation is reversed he would be helping the elf who was about to get slain, but the situation now is an elf slaughtering a human. He was picking a side, and to place yourself on one end of the battle means you’ll have to fight the other end, no matter how slanted to one side you were…’

 

All those reasons poured inside Talen’s mind at an instant, but instead Talen listened to his heart. His heart guided his hand to the hilt of the sword, but at once Talen knew he lack the sufficient strength to pull the sword out from the pile of debits, yet in another instant Talen felt a surge of energy coursing from his fragile arm into the blade. Thunder strikes as the pile of stones surrounding the blade were blasted apart. Stone flew everywhere and more then a few rocks strike against Talen’s fragile frame. A pebble came at Talen and scratched his otherwise flawless face. The shining blade stopped inches away from the human’s throat as the holder turned around, dagger on the other hand still aiming toward her captive’s throat as her blade flatly placed before her chest to protect her from oncoming harm. The moment they lock gaze seems like an eternity as the faint recognition was realized, but doubt shadowed both their senses. Talen could not remembered if she had whispering his name…

 

*****

 

“No, It cannot be him.” The elf was perching on top of a tree, overlooking the humans even as they slowly venture south. Umi uttered to no one in particular, as she recalled that fateful night. Even as the same dawn approached for both of them in this world, she wished he were furthest away from Schlachifeld as possible. It was a twisting torment for the female elf, as her hand twiddled at the beautiful figurine he had carved for her. Him, the boy she had met when she was still a child. How tall he had grown since they laughed and played together under the summer light. She had remember when they played betrothed, how she danced while he played the flute, and how her first kiss ended up being a bruise on his cheek. She had wished to meet him again someday, and had always longed for him to be close. Yet she could never imagined meeting him now, in that night raid against such a small and insignificant village. That night, their eyes crossed each other. She could not tell if it was an expression of recognition or just simple fear. His broad open face that was always so solemn and melancholy, his body has grown, stronger, more muscular then she could have remembered, but those purple liquid eyes could only be his. She whispered his name at the same time as he whispered hers, but she could not be sure from all the noises the accursed human soldiers were making as they rushed toward the source of the blast. Realizing she could be outnumbered, Umi instinctively dashing out of the alleyway, slashing at a human as he came rushing in. His blade came up equally fast as he managed a simple cross parry to foil her unsuspecting attack. The armored soldier tried to follow through with an attack but already she passed him and disappeared into the night. Once out of the village she had run ceaselessly in the twilight, springing from tree to tree, following the human refugee’s movements, hoping to catch another glimpse of the person she saw that night. So far she found none. For no matter how fast she raced along the lonely forest path, she could not run away from the thoughts of her Talen dressed as a human, living as a human, fighting as a human.

Edited April 21, 2003 by Lord of the Gay

[Peredhil]

I wish you'd write more often, because I enjoy reading your works. Even when you deal with "less original, more traditional" works, (I can hear you saying why this isn't as good as I think it is, in my mind, ) you managed to infuse it with a creative voice and freshness that is all your own.

I agree about the spelling/typo thing, but I understand the need to get the ideas out before you loose them or critique yourself into silence. You can always go back and edit later.

 

Keep writing. You just get better.

 

-P

[Tamaranis]

Really... This just went from good to awesome.

[Archaneus]

This has now become a great book, the kind that you stay up late reading and stilll can't wait to read more in the morning. Great job, and keep the installments coming.

[Vigil StarGazer]

Parry, parry, thrust. Actions themselves give no meaning, and instead we give meaning to every action.

Thrust, parry, thrust. Actions themselves are repeated, often without another thought. Why do we do what we do?

Thrust, parry, CLUNK!

“Talen,” Talen himself regretted telling Manter his name. The knight elongated the syllables as if he was expressing an angry sigh. The half-elf was expressionless, his face was blank as he picked up his practice sword as if his arm was not tired or hurt from the welts.

“Don’t hold it like this, Talen.” Manter took a long breath and groaned. “You are holding it like…” And what were he supposed to hold it like? The practice blade has been made from a wooden sword snapped in half and then rebound by magic to duplicate ‘Wind’s Nocturne’s’ unique shape. Manter had not touched the real blade nor seen it used. He imagined it could be used as an enlarged hand scythe or a cleaver, or even both.

The student was equally unphantomable to the blade master. Even the most unwilling recruit would have jumped to learn blades from the Knights of Eastern Calculus. Manter have had squires who were not physically fit to even carry their own shield, but he never had to deal with inattentive students before.

Manter withheld his anger, gave a smile of reassurance, and then walked over to adjust Talen’s grip on the blade. The refugees, especially the new recruits, were assigned various tasks and sent away as far as possible from those two. The lives of the whole camp could hinge on Talen’s shoulders, or at least his magical blade. Manter does not want to disappoint them. The tribesmen were another matter, for they were free to roam around as they pleased. Most flocked to see the two outlanders ‘dance’. The layers of thick clothing and kneel deep snow hindered dexterous maneuvers, thus the northern barbarians preferred their own style of brutal hack and slack that brought fear even from the elves. Most of the barbarians were partially disappointed. Manter Uth Vanyar was one of the finest blades on the land. The northern barbarian came to admire the finesse and the strength in this knight’s moment even if he was just teaching the basic thrust and parry. Most then a few tribesmen found themselves weighing against their own skills against him, studying his moves as if he was a enemy. Not too many of the outlanders deserve such distinctive honor.

As for the fawn, they offered him encouragement in forms of taunts and jeers.

“Give him a day with me,” Akira offered as she watched impatiently at the two. “I’ll make a man out of him.” The rest of the tribesmen laughed. Talen sank his head lower.

“That’s enough for today.” The kid had to be tarnished, but Manter still wanted his ego to be intact. It was enough humiliation for the day, for both of them. “Go get yourself some hot water, rest well, and we’ll continue tomorrow.”

Manter could almost hear his apprentice sighed, his innocent voice was merely a whisper “why do we fight?” Heads all turned toward Talen, and for a moment the whole camp was silent. Several held their fist tightly as if to punch the reasons out of the naïve youngling.

The knight-blade master glared at the first person that tried to speak. The lesson would be his to teach, even if he was reluctant to give.

“Raise your blade Talen,” and so he did. Without a warning Manter released three quick thrust toward his swordspupil. The strike was not at the leisurely practice pace but at a speed truly design to kill. Talen could only deflect the first blow, the second thrust barely singed Talen in the throat even as he moved backwards, with the defense wide open, Manter’s own practice wand jabbed straight into Talen’s heart. A cross swipe knocked the practice blade out of Talen’s hand before he could recover his senses, and Talen watched helplessly as the wand looped over his head and descending down again to maim his face. Instinctively Talen raised his hands to block the impending blow, but even as he did a sharp kick in the stomach send Talen flying into a pool of slush.

“That,” Manter shouted, even as Talen screamed for help as he slowly drowned in the frozen lake, “is why we fight.”

The rest of the crowd watched as Talen struggled to breathe and to stay afloat in the freezing water... struggling to live.

 

Night drew near.

A few sticks, stones, and lines across the snow. A true Amazon had the area mapped out in her heads, but she need to draw it out to demonstrate her point. Inside the tipi the three figures sat silently, pondering the grave predicament they found themselves in.

“It would be two days before we reach the Grim Teath’s tribal house.” Akira looked toward the stone set on the furthest right. “The hollow path would be the only way through the glaciers and therefore it would be ambushed.”

“Our other option is Raven-rift, we should be able to cross the Silver Sorrows.” Akira’s fingers slowly trailed the middle path, and stopping to where a stick was place diagonally from the trail.

“That is forest ground.” Manter spoke at once. “There will likely be an ambush.”

Akira nodded, as if the same idea came across her mind.

“We could double back the valley, and then travel east toward the Crystal Dawn.” Manter suggested.

“It’s closed.” Akira dismissed the idea without a thought. “The port would be ice-locked in this time of the year. Besides, it’s another neutral town. They might not let us in after what happened to Begynne.”

Akira silently cursed. Manter’s eyes traveled between the trails, calculating the grim changes of survival between the two options.

“There is another way,” Angelica offered cautiously, knowing that it might be a bit hard to swallow. “We could to the Stone hills. Its five days of travel northwest to Fortress Evan-Hart, but once we made it in the tunnels the elves could not follow us.”

“Dwarves.” Akira sneered, but even she knew there were no other choices.

“Northwest, but it would mean running against the winds,” Manter responded. “The Teeth of Schlachifeld was a chill that could not be easily overcome.”

“That, from a man who threw a kid into the freezing water?” Akira questioned the knight in amusement.

Manter kept his mouth shut. He knew what he did was necessary, but anything he’ll say now would make a fool out of him.

Akira turned to Angelica. “My men could brave the harsh winds without fear.”

“The refugees would have to do the same if they wanted to survive,” Angelica returned the comment with a nonchalanting smile. Both women gaze toward each other meaningfully, now it was Manter’s turn to look amused.

 

Warm water. Talen cherished that simple luxury even as he rested himself in a giant bath that the refugees managed to provide. The bruises on his body and the pain of strained muscles slowly eased as he hide from reality for just for a while, but even as he dreamed the forest in his memory seems unreachable. Umi’s face was nothing but a blur. A sliver of fear crossed Talen’s dream, as Umi’s eyes became the same pair of eyes that glared at him at the alleyway. Talen woke from his unconsciousness at the betraying sound of rustling snow arisen outside the tent’s flap. The body repeal leaving the warm nourishing comfort, but his will dragged himself out of the water and got himself dressed quickly in the cold atmosphere. Talen could not remembering when the sword was placed into his hands, but he used it all the same and thrust the sword toward the shadows.

“Hey Talen!” Sepher’s voice came out as a surprise for both of them even as Talen raised his blade toward Sepher’s throat. On Sepher’s shoulder was Claire, and even she leaned forward she patted Talen on his head. “Hello Talen! Is that your new blade? Can I see? Can I see?”

Talen relaxed and brought his blade down. “You scared me there, Sepher.” Talen could not hide the awkwardness in his voice. “So, what brings you here?”

“To see you ofcourse!” Sepher’s expression was one of shock. “There was a fire and everything, we were all rushing out of the village and we could not see you so we thought we’ve lost you there.”

“… about Arianna…”

“She’s feeling better already. She would’ve come, but she had to take care of the others.”

“Sounds like a family already.” Without me in it, Talen silently added.

“Please Talen,” Claire whined. “Can I stay with you instead? Joseph is picking on me again.”

Both Talen and Sepher laughed.

“I volunteered to be a soldier.” Sepher switched the topic. He unsheathed his sword and placed it in front of Talen. The blade was barely serviceable with all the rust and notched edge, but Sepher revered it as if it was a sacred blade. “We had a good practice today. Sir Manter Uth Vanyar told me I have potential to be one of the the best blades,” Sepher beamed proudly and continued. “Someday I’ll wish to fight beside you. We have to fend for ourselves you know.”

Sepher was so enthusiastic that he could not see the dismay on Talen’s face.

Talen wanted to strike out at him, screamed at him. He knew he should not have felt that way, and instead his anger turned to shame. “I really have to sleep, Sepher.” Talen was feeling tired; it was the fatigue of will.

“Ofcourse, Talen.” Sepher smiled and patted him behind his back. Sepher ushered Claire out first, and just before he leave he turned to Talen. “By the way, Master Nickola told us. We’ve always knew.”

 

Talen found himself crying as he slept that night.

Edited April 22, 2003 by Lord of the Gay

[Vigil StarGazer]

The depths of winter, the frosted slumber,

the break of the night before dawn.

 

Let the shortest day awaken the season of spring.

 

For within the greatest despair lies our greatest hope,

The frigid earth hides the sprouting seeds.

 

Let the pure white snow turn to nourishing water.

 

Now in the deepest sorrows the people will burst for joy.

The eternal tide of life continued,

 

Let the kindling life push death back toward its bay.

 

And with the snatching evil undo itself.

So in our darkest hour, we’ll see the light.

 

Let the roaming rangers wander back home.

 

The last echoing note of the lyre signaled the end of the hymn, but the sentiment within the last verse did not die. The ritual of spring dawning does not allow time for remembrance, it ran as fast as the silver sorrows flowing toward the inevitable future. With a signal of the Speaker, a silver-spanned tree burst forth from the ground. The year tree sprouted upward as emerald leaves burst forth from its branches. Like falling snow, golden fruits drifted slowly down from Quartz flowers. Though even as she reached out to grasp it, the sparkling gold orb slipped through her hand. Another illusion gone. There was a time, before the departure of the Gods, that the ever-tree was real. The giant oak tree had once grew to meet the sky, the nuts it has fallen was rich-brown and real, and fireflies of all colors nested on its sturdy branches. The multi-color light could be seen for miles. Now, the tree faded back into non-existence.

There were fewer people meeting this year at the fork of the Silver Sorrows then she recalled. Most of the guests garbed in deep purple for mourning. Even if they wore their tired smile, it was to reassure this festival was politely cheerful. Their conversation was mundane; each trying to evade any reminder of the only thing that haunted their lives. The first reference of war could distrupt this otherwise peaceful ceremony; the first sign of misery could begin an avalanche of tears.

“And that is why we must end the war quickly.” Artismusathis’ voice was beside him, “So the suffering of our people shall thaw like ice during spring.” His hands gently reaching around her waist, but even as he did so she slipped away from his grasp.

“The speaker had called,” Umi replied plaintively. “We’ll be summoned.”

“Ofcourse, my lady.” Artismusathis bowed and offered his hand, but even as he courteously did so Umi could feel the chill behind that elf’s eye.

 

“Artismusathis, tell us of the search for the princess.”

The voice quivered and wheezed even as it fell into each elf’s ears. None could help but to marvel at the Speakers’ sudden aging within the few years of war. The burden of the people had weighted heavily on his shoulder, as many would say. Much remorse would be invoked if he would one day earn his rest in the after-life. The Speaker’s time in the physical realm was dramatically shorten by the disappearance of his daughter, the event broke the old elf’s heart and snapped the last straw of strength in the remaining shell. His hair finally lost its silver luster, his eyes became weak and feeble, and he would slumber so deep that none could wake him. There remained a hope that the princess could still be live in the wretched human’s hands. The task was to rescue her, to place the Speaker’s mind at ease, or at worst, to retrieve the line of succession back into elven hands.

Thus the assembly was in an uproar when Artismusathis’ response was “Speaker, we came across a more important task at hand.”

The fragile skeleton stomped the ancient wooden staff that was made from the woods of the Ever-tree. The air of authority still commanded with in the old elf brought the discord back into his reign.

“Explain your words, young one.”

Umi-thanlana had wanted to step forward. Soloran was an exquisite crystallized long sword, its transparent blade shimmer within the multi-colored spectrum. The handle of the blade was scribed with the word “Honor”. She could feel the spirits inside the blade radiates an aura of benevolence righteousness even as it dangled on her belt within her cloak.

 

“Alakgristiel,” A tall pale female appeared from the crowd even as Artismusathis summoned her amongst the others. Her silver hair was cut short from her back and draped down on her front to cover half her face. Deep blue eyes radiated a sense of coldness that reflected nothing within her soul. She presented in her arms a wooden box and held it up as she knelt before the Speaker. The black velvet within the plain wooden box enveloped a doubled bladed wicked-Scimitar. The black obsidian blade was carved with the word “vengeance”, the malevolence within the blade whispered fear and hatred within the crowd. Umi found herself instinctively reaching toward her blade for defense, the anger was so overwhelming that she had to draw steel. Yet as her fingers brushed the handle a reverberation came from within Umi’s cloak, instilling a sense of peace around her.

“Blasphemy!” From the other side of the assembly, Archmagius Quiolsoth was the first to speak. Others around him rallied his voice with their own chatter. In the middle, the Speaker silently pondered in senility. Alakgristiel received a nod from Artismusathis, and in return the Speaker and Artismusathis exchanged nods. Alakgristiel picked up the weapon as if she was drinking rich flavored wine from its edge. Her liquid movement was graceful to behold, her careless moment betrayed no intention of mutilation even as the blade sliced at a nearby tree. The blade ran through the tree like a needle through cloth, but any highly crafted elven-carved blades could accomplish such feat. Yet even as the elf withdrew her blade, the gnashing wound from the tree decayed until the whole tree toppled to the ground. The fallen trunk continued to decay into ashes right in front of every elf’s eyes!

“Rancor,” The female elf uttered to the astonished crowd. “The human gave the blade this name.”

The spectacle brought another wave of silence in the crowd. Artismusathis’s voice was quick to fill in the gap. “Speaker, as we came across the ancient Wells of the World we found a large number of humans within the sacred sanctuary…” Even as the male elf speak, Alakgristiel sheathed her blade into a specially designed scabbard made to fit the exotic weapon. Umi had thought the elf was presumptuous that she would be allowed to keep the blade, yet at the same time she found herself keeping Soloran as her own. “…With much sacrifice of lives we managed to convey these blades from the wretched human’s hands…and so it was my decision alone that we shall pursue these weapons of mass destruction to protect the lives of all elves. May it be that they will not be used against us thereafter. All fault falls into thyself lest I was found erred.” A sweeping bow followed Artismusathis’ speech as he knelt down before the Speaker in fealty.

“Bring out thy blade,” The Speaker commanded. He knew he had grown old, too old to still be alive. The war had sucked the life out of him as they had drained the blood of his people. Just when he thought there would be peace, the humans conjured more devastation up their sleeves. Are these the last days, now that the keepers of the Gods had once again walked the earth? None could have remembered the Mad Prophecies, and certainly none could remember the Tales of the Espers. He had heard it when he was still a child, and that was a time too long ago.

The Speaker’s ancient hand brushed the blade, careful not to touch the edges else it would decay his flesh.

“Baal…. Baal are you really in there?” the forgotten name came out softly from the Speaker’s lips as if he was cooing a child, a progeny of death, decay, and destruction.

“Then let me destroy the cursed blade!” The Elf master forger raised his precious sword, ‘Stars of Gabrielle” and hammered the heavily enchanted sword onto the bare black obsidian.

“A’trallin!” The Speaker scowled at the forger’s improvidence, but was too late to stop his rash actions. The famed elven blade struck Rancor, but the expected metal clash was not. Instead the jewels from the elven blade fell from the blade like raindrops. Enchantments and wards evaporated as the master forger’s proud creation crumbled to iron figments. A sharp pain razed the elf as the rot spread onto his hands. Artismusathis reacted quickly, raised his blade and chopped the master’s decaying arm off.

“It’s better then letting the decay reach his heart, when he surely will die.” For all the violent action Artismusathis committed, the elf’s voice truly sounded sincere.

“The fault lies within the humans who committed such sacrilege to create this deadly blade.” As the elf’s arm began to mummify on the frozen ground, the speaker could only arrived to this conclusion.

“But tell me, child.” His true sincerity was toward the barer of the blade. “Alakgristiel, House of L’ander. Do you wish to accept this blade as your own, knowing the curse within it resides?”

“It’ll be my honor, the burden is mine to proudly bear to eradicate the evil humans from this realm.”

Umi-thanlana hated her, and in that moment she sworn an oath of her own, and proudly patted the blade beside her. Soloran’s aura expanded.

“And the other blades?”

“As I told you before, Speaker, four of the five blades had been retrieved. They would be presented to the assembly in due time.” The Speaker sensed no true triumph in that boost. With humans, it was not how many blades they had but how many they could make. The brutal demonstration will kindle the fighting anew, and if the other blades are as devastating as this black one…

“Yes,” The Speaker smiled weakly. “We have had enough for today.”

 

*****

 

Back within Artismusathis’ mind, he called the Speaker an old fool. Start a war, accomplishable ofcourse. Yet it was a surprise that the humans had outdone themselves, even if it was their own doom. Umi-thanlana had been equally useful in failing to retrieve the last swords of the Espers. Now the devastating blades had been revealed to the elves, they would stop at nothing to capture the last one. On the bed beside him, Alakgristiel smiled lascivious as she traced her nails on his bare back even he fondled her finely shaped leg wrapped around him.

A knock on the door interrupted the foreplay.

“Sir,” Artismusathis could recognize Thalidoion’s voice on the other side of the door. “Patrols have detect the human’s movement, but at their current direction they seems to be heading nowhere.”

Artismusathis double check the bolt on the door even as he got up and began to dress. Alakgristiel had instinctively covered herself with bed sheets and now she glared at the door.

“Notified my rangers. We will be heading out at midnight.”

“With the blades sir?”

“All of them.”

The fading footsteps signified that the messenger had left. Artismusathis smiled to himself. Yes, everything went according to plan.

 

*****

Edited April 24, 2003 by Lord of the Gay

[Vigil StarGazer]

Unfamiliar skies was part of Talen’s life, from the eternal emerald skies of the elven land, to the scarlet skies in which the desert bears its name. Talen remembered again traveling across the Kylandor coast where one could not distinguish where the skies end and the sea begins. The human land was a blur inside Talen’s memories, mixed with the same kind of people behaving differently. Only the night skies stuck in his mind, where cities lid up like a billion stars across the tranquil landscape. Each household, whether rich or poor, holds the flicker of a candle flame out on the window. A million candle-like souls struggled against the darkness until each is blown out and succumbed to the darkness of the night.

 

And now Talen woke up to find himself staring in another unfamiliar skies. His eyes opened to an endless void of white without depth and height, while puffs of whiteness falls out of the unreachable heavens and dissolved on his skin. He lay there imagining if he was dead as memories that seem like another lifetime rushed back into his head. All strength left him, and he was motionless until at last Angelica came to check on his fragile body. Her face blocked the glaring sun as a pair of warm mitten hands held his own. “Good work, Talen. Good job last night.” The wizardess pulled him up from the snow-covered ground and began to offer him warm tea and food, but Talen’s eyes continued to stare at nothingness. Flicker of images continued to flutter inside his mind as memories seeps back to haunt him in his mind.

 

… Three horn blows signal the attack of the elves. By the light of the pale moon, long shadows stride across the empty plain flashing their elegant crescent swords. The slid down the snow-covered hill like shooting stars, leaving sprinkles of ice behind their trail. The humans were ever on them even as they descend, but the surprise still belonged to the elves. Wounds and cuts appeared onto soldiers’ flesh and their corpse decays even before it hits the ground. Blood swirled in the air as nothingness cuts through the human forces until enough blood revealed the invisible stalker. The crimson red figure dances away as a knot of swordsmen finally could see their target. Shouting an elven curse, the blood-soaked female elf appeared from view and tried to wipe the blood off her face. She smiled even as she licked the blood from her obsidian blade, for the damage has already been done. The humans were scattered by the unseen attacker and with the line broken the few elves poured in through the gap, slaughtering humans as they passed by. Just when Manter and his squad of paladins rallied enough soldiers to reform the line another wave of elves appeared from the northwest. Leading them was an elf with a double-bladed sword. The blades glowed with a twisted red. The few wounded humans that had escaped from the carnage met up with the flaming sword that melted through armor like hot knife through butter. Victims screamed as their own armor burns their own skin. Few of the ‘human torches’ attempted to roll on the ground, but the attempts to put out the magical fire were futile. The elves merely snickered at the human ‘fire-dance’ to their deaths.

 

In this fray Talen stood at a distance. The blood of the battle blinded his vision, the screams of the battle paralyzed his mind, and the fear of the battle sank into his heart. At awe of the massacre his feet felt like lead and he could not move. He imagined he saw those tribesmen that mocked him during practiced dying under elven blades, systemically chopped to pieces and left to be devoured by winter worgs. Yet when he cleared his eyes what he saw was the same tribesmen dying, but those were the tribesmen that pulled him out when Manter kicked him into the cold freezing water, those tribesmen that somehow found warm water enough to give him that bath and provide him with food and clothing afterwards. It was not just them, but manter’s men who sat with him by the fire sharing stories, to the refugees of Begynne who was his very own neighbors up to a few days ago. They were all poorly armed, but stood their ground to fight for their lives.

 

“Wretched human!” the familiar whisper of a dark shadow snuck up on Talen and raised a elegant blade toward him. The emerald eyes, pale skin, pointy ears, and fair hair. A part of Talen’s blood willed to rush toward him and called him friend, but his instincts pulled him back to a safe distance as the blade swings toward him. “I’m an elf too!” Talen wanted to cry in elven, but from the reflection in that elf’s eyes he looked pathetically human. In another instant a streak of pain bloom in his mind as the blade notched his shoulders. The crocked blade, “Wind’s Nocturn”, shook inside the sheath. Yet Talen’s body was still, his eyes as calm as the death that was about to take him. Yet the blade did not strike home, for behind him a mage chanted a shocking grip spell. A feminine but strong hand found its grip on the elf’s slender throat. The magical shock combined with the chocking killed the elf. Yet only when the dying elf’s throat produced infamous ‘squeal’ did the hand let go. Talen recognized the human, the wizardress Angelica. Yet he struggled to put distance between them as if it means his death. The expression she wore was the one of an impatient mother. Her hand grabbed his and dragged himself back on his feet. Even then her talon-like gripped held onto his shoulders. She held onto him desperately as if he was lost and was almost forever gone. Her thumb pressing deep into his wound, but neither of them noticed the pain or the blood oozing out of the wound.

“What are you doing here? We were all looking for you? Where’s the sword? Let’s get out of here.” She spammed out all at one, pausing just to see the sword hanging behind Talen’s back, and then dragged the child away without waiting for him to answer. Even as they ran away from the battle another familiar faced went to meet them. Akira stood in front of the two, blocking the path with her spear. Behind her, a score of tribesmen stood battle-worn and weapons drawn.

 

“Little wizardress,” The rage of the battle pales compared to the anger behind female barbarian’s voice. “Where do you think you are taking that boy?”

“To somewhere safe!” Angelica was caught like a girl doing a dirty deed, but it only took her a while to re-compose herself. “The child and the sword were too valuable to be lost. If those people on duty would do their job right we won’t have to flee to begin with.”

The tribesmen behind Akira looked as if they wanted to rip Angelica’s head off. One tribesmen yelled in common: “We stood here and fight for you so you would fight by our side, not run away like cowards while we shed our blood and die!” Other tribesmen continued with their own protest and swearing.

Angelica retaliated with another line, but what the rest of the conversation became nothing more then background fillers inside the half-elf’s mind.

 

Why do we fight? He always thought about it, and now he is out of time to think. The people that died from the war are still people. They have parents, spouse, and might even have children. Killing people on either side is the gravest of all sins. The war has been going on for generations, too far to trace the right from wrong for humans, the wound too fresh to be forgotten by elves. Then why do we fight?

 

A blood human hand grabbed his feet even as life began to leave him. A figure had just blocked a lethal blow aiming for Talen, and now the decapitated head rolling in the crimson snow. The elf with the obsidian saber appeared out of nowhere, but Sepher sacrificed his life to save him. Finally the human part of him awaken to answer the question of his own. Talen pulled out ‘Wind’s Nocturn’ and held it up against the winds. Trails of blue sparks danced on the blade even as he screamed the lightning rage. The rest was thunder and the winds.

 

A slender elf washed her body on the creek; but the maiden refused to show her face. Tears fallen for hateful elation; she spash the water to break her reflection.

"You'll pay for this!" Alakgristiel screamed with agony, swearing vengance to the wielder of the strange electric blade. For the tears had trailed down the hidious scar, from her otherwise perfect face.

Edited November 26, 2003 by Vigil StarGazer

[Peredhil]

sneaks in to catch up on his reading, knowing he really doesn't have time but unable to resist.

 

"Oh good job!" he whispers furtively

[Vigil StarGazer]

“Why it is that dreams always felt more real then reality?” Talen whispered to himself, and the echo resonated loudly in the emptiness that was once an empty hall. The ancient carvings on the corroded wall spoke of sorrows and misforgivings. Talen thought he felt and experienced all the sorrows that bleed from the sculptures. He turned away from the memories, and so did his surroundings. Time had evaporated the dense and alien feeling, evaporated into a think fog, and finally settling in an endless forest. “Am I alone in here, in a world where I’m warring with my other half?”

Warm sunlight slowly wormed its way through the thick white fog, and the shadow of another slender figure became to take form. Talen reached for his sword, and in an instant his hand grabbed the hilt and pulled the aberrant blade from its scabbard. From the mist came Umi-alathianis. The light first touched her long raven-colored hair that drifted easily in the breeze. Her purple eyes were still warm, but emitting no joy but pity as her eyes set upon Talen’s crocked blade. Talen noticed that her once waist long hair were tripped short to just along the neckline, and note that it’s the elf’s custom to shed its delicate beauty for war. Not a single blade of grass rustled as her bare slim legs gracefully glided toward him. No wind, but his own breath stirred from his racing heart became the only sound in his mind. His eyes followed her posture as she appeared before him in the mist. The forest was lid with sunlight now, with leaves like emerald reflecting the glorious, memorable sunlight. Time seemed to rewind itself in the light, and now they were as children once more. Talen as he was after he was carried from one distant relative to another until he finally settled with his grandmother on the elven side in SpielenSie-Bodenis. In the foreign yet familiar wood he met her, Umi-alathianis. The first sight of her as he made his own fishing rod and fished alone in the running river and she peeked behind the trees, her captivating eyes betrayed her as she spied curiously at the strange boy. Then the memories cooled and retreated, a moment before he stood before Umi, his olin-melar. Now Umi stood before him as before, with her own blade drawn and placed parallel to his for comparison. The same familiar face right before him, the same familiar purple eyes gaze toward him, yet Talen understood that the mood had changed. The change was himself: his frame was more wide and irregular, his skin was on longer fair but tanned, and fine hair grew sparingly on his bare arms. He stared so long at her, enchanted by the beauty that grew out of her since they parted that he did not realized she was staring back at him and realized that he was half-elven all along. Umi’s own blade radiated a pure whiteness. The sword was a single-handed longsword with no edges, the guard was carved with two scales and an eye in the middle. Talen realized that she is in procession of one of the other mysterious blade, Bahamuts “Judgement”, with the word Justice engraved on the blade. Between the two blades now stood the invisible line that slowly grew, dividing the world between the two, pulling the pair apart. In desperation Talen cried out her name, his arms reaching for the other side of the growing rift. Yet something held him to his side, tugging at his heels. Talen turned and saw Sepher’s zombified corpse burst out from the ground, his skeletal hand clutched tightly around his ankle…

 

From the other side of the world Umi opened her eyes from her deep trance. Within her hand held a small tear-shaped emerald on a thin silver necklace. Artismusathis quickly came to her side and clasped his hand on her shoulder. “Is everything alright, a'mael?” Umi-alathianis nodded without hearing what he said, her eyes fixated in the emerald tear that a special someone had given her, her thoughts fixated to her own emerald dream.

 

Talen had also awaken at the same moment. His body covered with bandaged wounds and his forehead covered with sweat. Once his vision cleared he saw Arianna beside him, mopping the sweat from his face.

“Arianna?” Talen tried to speak, but she hushed him and clasped her warm hand into his.

“We are safe now,” the red head whispered. “We are underneath the stone hills in the dwarven city of Bauch im Wal…” Talen closed his eyes again.

After what seemed to be an eternity watching the half-elf breathing deepens into slumber, Arianna began to smile. She wore it now, the shortsword that Sepher wielded. Slowly she unbuckled the crude sword-belt from her waist, disrobed herself and crawled into Talen’s bedroll.

[Vigil StarGazer]

…The Final Episode

 

How fascinating it was, to see the colors of blood reflected from the dawning sun. The lance of light that ignited the horizon, clearing the feasting vultures from the putrid corpse of fallen heroes unnamed. Within the frayed stone walls the defenders of the human alliance stumped to a side. Some laid bleeding, nursing their wounds; Some laid crowing, fearing for the light of day; and some laid still, forever dead. Yet all eyes laid upon Talen the half-elven. He was the outsider, the fruit of an evil union, the abomination, He was the crow before the storm; he was the wielder of that baleful sword. That boy stood on top of the broken tower where Akira bravely stood defending, and was pierced by the talon of the great griffion. Now he stood alone, without friends or any more fodders to take the blows to his side. The winds blew strongly against him, stirring his sandy hair in an upheaval. He had always been a lonely child, or so Master Nickola had always told him. Yet now, as he felt weightless against the winds he was truly happy: He is now truly alone again.

From the north the scattered green banners begin their methodize progression. The elegance of their formation and the delicacy of their armor could only be so distinguished from afar. Like ants, the reminder of the humans crawled about their crumbling walls, arching their bows on the battlement or bracing themselves between the cracks on the broken wall. The war was silent; no sound except for the releasing of the first volley of arrows bouncing off wooden shields, no screams as both side deal swift death that ends before the body falls.

 

… she searched for him everywhere, cutting a path of blood in the ranks of the human troops. Umi hacked and slashed until her elbows were sore, and even the consecrated sword Soloran runs red with blood. Yet his a’mael was nowhere to be seen. No lightning flashed toward the elfish file nor crocked sword slashed at elven flesh. She strolled through the breach on the walls and strolled through the castle courtyard. The first elves that set sight again on Terra-Scelta found the land no different from the other side of the wall. The dead, the sick, and the diseased filled the courtyard. Too starved to move, too ailing to care, most of them awaited eagerly to embrace her bloodied sword. Those who had seen too much to fear were too tired of living to flee for their lives. Quietly she strolled through the courtyard like the lady of death. Following the stench of death and decay she arrived at an endless pit of human corpses. Bits of armor, broken weapons, or sticks stood in columns was the only thing to remember those who got buried in a cluttered heap. A lone shadow stretched over the fresh new grave and he who turns was Talen half-elven, no longer the boy who played with her in the streams of Emerald Woods nor the man who had slain loyal Thalidoion. He’s no longer a distant fantasy or the lethal renegade kinslayer but just as he is, his emotions as deep as the seas and as dense as the air around them.

Talen had just finished digging the grave for Akira, piling the frozen snow into her grave as prescribed by her tribal law. Beside it was Arianna who he killed in self-defense because she tried to kill him, and even then she was not put to rest. Death solves nothing.

“It was nothing,” Talen broke the dead silence between then, and for the first time, the timelessness in the atmosphere ended. The words are spoken, and when immutability was broken time itself was the change.

“We have been fooling ourselves, how weak and puny we are Umi-alathianis.” She could no longer hold the emotion armor on her conscious or the tears in her eyes; Umi broke down and cried. The shadows slowly advance toward her until it towered over her fragile body. Those gentle hands cupped her cheek and wiped the tears from her eyes, those hands stained with elven blood…

“But we have no choice,” Even Talen’s voice grew weak as he spoke, and the words carries the certainty of death. “I killed Thalidoion, you killed Manter; I killed elves, you killed humans. We do so with all our will but yet against our will, for we do not know the souls that we have murdered but just to assume that they are evil. We assumed each other is evil, but is that really so?”

“Don’t cry… for our love had finally cleared our sight. We saw each other as who we really are, and because of that we saw everyone as what they really are.”

From beyond the courtyard the cries of battle intensified. A sound resembled the crash of an avalanche echoed in the field with the cheering of elves. The first line of defense for Fortress Terra-Scelta has fallen.

 

With the speed of lightning the sword Wind’s Nocturnal meet Soloran golden brim and mystical sparks exploded in the air like fireworks. Within the span of seconds the two drew swords and expanded their powers onto their sword. Umi gasped “Why?”

“Because it must be done,” his voice was no longer the childish voice she remembered but has the maturity and gravity as if one that has been through a lifetime of his life, and he have.

But what does he mean? It was the war that has separated them, but it was the both of them going against their own will that had caused this tragedy. The two of them are like puppets being dangled around on a string instead of just having the courage to break free from the burden and run away. It’s too late now. Deeds cannot be undone; dead cannot live again. So the only resolution was to fight, but for no one but themselves. It was the only way they know, to feel each other in the heat of the battle. They could not bear to die unless it was by each other’s hands. They laughed as if they were at play, even as the reverberation from their powers knocked them aside, and smiled even as the vast powers of the blade pressed against them. They strike their swords at each other, pass after pass as if they were dancing, with blows as strong as each other’s affection. They fought each other with all their strength and will, for that’s the only thing left for them to do. Umi’s tears had blinded her eyes that she could not see not remember when she finally pounce Talen down to the ground and disemboweled his. His face smiling even as he lay dying.

When the elves had finally broken through they could see neither their princess or the kin-slayer. Like the mystical blade they wield they were never seen again…

 

“…It wad dusk when the great Terra-Scelta finally broke, and a bloodied victory in the chronicles of the Circa-Koan war that begins the decline of the Human Alliance. With the gateway of the north toppled, the methodize elven army rushed in and destroyed the human accomplishment thinking it would bring their beloved land back to the arms of nature. Instead it had turned most of Terra into a barren waste. The land no longer grew from the stenches of decay and destruction, now soaked with blood and sorrows. Strange creatures prowled the night where once human governed, terrorizing both human and elves. One of such dark horrors was none other then Lady Alakgristiel herself. The diabolic powers inside the obsidian blade “rancor” had finally caught up with the elf. Lord Artismusathis saw the tadetale sign of her thirsting for blood and spirited her away into a forgotten human king’s tomb. There he impaled her arms and legs onto a stone coffin while she wails and cursed his name. From there she occasionally lured victims into her lair by whispering in their dreams and then sucked their blood. Thus Alakgristiel gave birth to class of abomination known as vampires… The surviving human refugees sailed across the Sea of Rage to the land of Avalon. The elves followed and a brutal seal battle resulting Pryogust - one of the swords of the Esper sunken into the sea along with the rest of the crew, firmly convinced the elves to remained in land for the rest of their history.” History of a forgotten earth. The Legacy Cycle; verse 3, hymn 19.

 

Epilogue

 

Artismusathis, now the elven sovereign, waved his royal guards away as he ventured into the valley between the ancient points of Su where civilization begins. Princess Umi’s disappearance had caused much disruption from his plans since now it means having to employ tedious political maneuvers to secure the Sun throne. Time was not against him and he had plenty of it to see those against him died of old age or otherwise. The cost was that now the senate was fragile and decaying within the core. It was no matter, for his aim was not for these. The war, the death, and the corruption was just to further his goal.

None knew that he was half-elven and hated both races inside him. The conflict of his identity he spread to the rest of the world, and now humans are as vulnerable as elves and elves as wicked as humans. He was not at peace, for his goal was not this. That goal was what brought him here, into this ancient place so hollow and pure. The natural cave he slowly descended until the scene changed to the antiquated architecture of the Espers. The god-like race constructed their arch slender and their tower bold. The elegance of their carving life and their pictorials resemble death. Artismusthis had studied this place countless times in books and visited a million times in his dream, but it was nothing compare to being here just twice. Indeed the Espers were everything he had hoped for. The first time he manipulated the guileless Magius Angelica and his goons to work their crude wizardry to wedge the sword from its place, thinking the sword would balance the two races thus stopping this cataclysmic war. Instead the war got bloodier and death toll increased, all thanks to the swords. Angelica herself is a number among the dead and the Black Towers are no more.

The secret to the swords of the Espers is that they are not merely tools but the power for a glyph to seal a forgotten sin. Now the powers from the star-shaped seal as been removed…

Lightning struck even as the half-elf stepped toward the pedestal and the air parted way as a flash of steel strike at Artismusthis. Even then Artismusthis smiled, for a life force surrounded him created by the power of ‘Serenity’. The assailant tried again, riding the wind and the shield shattered under the true blow of “Soloran”, but even as the sword penetrated flesh Artismusthis regrow himself. Such was the power of ‘Serenity’ the sword of life. Beneath him the floor slow began to buckle.

“I was expecting you, Princess Umi-alathianis. In fact I do believe I need your help.”

The darkness reveals a face as pale as ghost. Her beauty wanes from the sorrows within. Her eyes are as cold as the two blades she wields. Winds Nocturnal and Soloran continue to slash and weave an impenetrable wall of swords between them, yet Artismusthis was calm in his manner. He whispered Talen’s name and expected the coming rage. Indeed the sword strokes become empowered with rage. Soloran’s glow was hot and blinding; Wind’s Nocturnal caused winds as strong as waves. Yet she knew she was no match against the elf soveriegn. Even as she hacked at him his arms regrow. The amber blade picered the elf's heart, but even then she smiled for she remebered Talen's words that was ever so wise: it was her will to fight him and she fought with all of hers. Her emotions was spent even as she felt warmth left her body... her soul away from the earth to join her kindred, her father, and Talen...

Artismusthis kicked the corpse's head and the dismembered head explode as it collided into a nearby wall. "Such beauty, such a waste." he smiled as he picked up the other two blades. "Still, nothing escape my manipulation. Even those that defies me shall serve me in the end."

The half-elf began his dark ritural, using the power of the three swords to pass his age into the seal thus prolonging his life, never realizing Umi's blood slowly fills the ancient patterns within the glyph until it overflow into the cracks. The life eccence that is evil and the blood that is pure slowly awaken the hidden horror that is

.................................................The Child of the Espers

Edited March 15, 2004 by Vigil StarGazer