Agryl

Prologue
Part One

A LOW FLAME LIT the tent as a man paced back and forth, muttering underneath his breath. Once every few minutes he would pause before taking a swig from a glass that contained red liquid. It seemed to help his addled mind, for he went back to pacing soon after.

His golden armor reflected the light giving it a shine. Favalon, son of Favalor, could not help fretting. The warriors under his command knew it well. How could he be calm knowing that a war was right at their feet? They brought the war, not he, but Favalon had to fight in it all the same.

Finishing his drink, he sat the glass on the table. It was unwise for a warrior to become drunk before battle, especially a warlord. He, Favalon, had every tight to become drunk. It was the only thing that made him strong. The guruths were far too great in number, ten thousand at the very least whereas he had five strong ready to do battle.

“Sir?” asked an unfamiliar voice to the warlord’s ears.

“Who calls for me?” his voice had a slight slur to it.

“You do not recognize your own kin, Favalon?”

A woman, in silver armor stood before him. Kind green eyes looked into his. Her hair which was brown no longer went past her shoulders, but to her chin. Not a single trace of warmth emitted from her mouth, words or expressions. A slight frown was steadily forming upon her young face.

“My eyes are weary from too much thought.”

“Tis I, Favalon, your betroth,” she responded, her voice had saddened.

“I beg of you for pardon, Darla, I have had one too many drinks,” it was obvious that he was trying to make his voice seem sincere. “What is it you ask of me?”

“I will do as you will, though I do so unwillingly. Your choice is an ill fated one. I ask of you nothing and yet everything. Reconsider your choice of war, of this madness. Flee to Saranoth where you and the men can be sheltered from harm. The women and children are safe; there is no need for war. Why do you still go?”

Favalon sighed, hesitating before answering, “I go for I must. Aye, the people may be safe from war; what of our lands? Will it prosper? Nay. “

Darla could not look into his eyes for fear it would bring too much pain to her. “What would you have me do?” her voice was no more than a whisper, softer than the wind.

“I hereby release you from Lord Denor’s army. You are to do as you wish.”

Darla nodded her head, turned around, and made her way to the flaps of the tent. It was not even a half a dozen steps when she turned around to face the man she was in love with. He is no longer the man I once knew. Her face was held high unsure of what she was about to ask. For years they have been in love with one another. It was just earlier that month that he had proposed to her, making her the happiest woman in all of the lands. “What does that make of us?”

“Be gone!” roared Favalon as loud as a lion, his face turning deep red frightening her away. Her back turned and there he was gazing at himself from her silver armor. What had he become? Staring at him was a man who had dark brown hair that went to his shoulders; his eyes were filled with hate and bitter cold. His face was turning back to its normal white color. She had already left before he could call her back.

That was last night. Darla had left while everyone was asleep, the sentries did not see her leave. Now the warlord was in front of his good five thousand warriors prepared to commence war against the guruths that threatened the land. Mounted on his white stallion he was muttering to himself making final preparations for his speech. After that they would charge to war, not knowing what was ahead for them. It was inevitable; they could no longer flee to Saranoth for safety.

“Fellow brethren!” All men silenced as he started to speak to them in his deep rough voice that pierced the hearts of many if one opposed a fighter such as he. Gentle it was too, it brought courage to his people; it gave them the needs to carry on with the tasks that were before them. “Fear is naught but a curse. A plague if you will. It is bound to stop us at what we are here to do this very day.”

The guruths, why are they attacking now? They are usually a peaceful race.

“Do not let fear get the best of you. It is very tempting, aye, that does not mean you have to give into it at all. I know you are scared, frightened, there is nothing wrong with that. Nothing. Fear and scared are not the same at all. They are two different things.”

No one spoke a word as he made his speech. The guruths had not yet arrived. So help me spirits, if I do not make it alive please forgive me for what I have done to my beloved. I wish her to know that I apologize for how I shouted.

“Fear, it is something that everyone dreads. It is something that everyone runs away from at least once in life. You let it overpower you; you let it take control of you. Fear is just a mind trick on you, nothing more than that. Aye, everyone has fear; the only way to get rid of that fear is to face it. Being scared is different entirely. You are afraid that you are going to lose your family, kin, and everything you have worked so hard for. You do not let it consume you; you do not let it overwhelm you. You stand up to it, face it like the men you are, and you ride out to the guruths facing them in war.”

Spirits, I hope I am doing the right thing.

“You will not flee in cowardice, though you are still scared. I, Favalon, am not afraid to admit that even I am afraid of what is to come. Remember what you are doing this for and your hearts will always remain true.”

Chanting and drums came to their ears. Men shifted in their places. The guruths. Favalon reared his horse to face where the enemy was coming from. There was many, as much as he had heard from his scouts if not more. The warriors begun to speak to one another, the warlord made an attempt to silence them once more.

“So who will fight along my side?” questioned Favalon loudly, “Who will scream out in the ancient language that our forefathers have spoken as they too shed blood for what they believed in? I ask of you who will?” reaching with his hand to where his sword rested, he wrapped around the hilt and unsheathe the sword from the scabbard hearing it ring and held it highly in the air. “Alrea!”

And with that the quarter league of men shouted the same thing as their leader had done. The enemy that opposed them, the guruths, was a barbaric race. War was not something they were fond of. They have four horns total, two on either side two near where a man’s ear would be as well as two where the cheeks were. The height of them was fairly tall; each of them towered over most of the men that were there. The weapons they used were whatever they could find, Guruths were not relatively strong, but they had strength in numbers as well as intellect.

“Bows ready!” commanded the warlord. Several other men shouted the command as it rallied down the line. “Archers do not fire until I give the command,” he ordered and then rose his sword in the air. There were at least two lines of archers, totaling up to three hundred. The number was scarce Favalon knew that, the best had to be made out of it. The sword was lowered, its point facing in front of him. Arrows were released.

Nearly half had made its mark, it did not stop the guruths from advancing. Favalon had told them to fire at will, they were not going to ease their assault. If one were to hesitate for the slightest second it could cost a lot to the men. Arrows upon arrows were fired, killing many dozens of the beast, while others were only wounding them. Nothing would or nothing could make them stop their slaughtering. Soon they were far too close for arrows to be used and the command for swords to be drawn were made. They had no where to retreat if the war went foul. They had no allies to come to their aide if they needed it desperately.

“Steady! Hold your ground! All swordsmen charge with all your might. Alrea! Alrea! Alrea!” he shouted over and over again.

The enemy had arrived and made contact with the swords, maces, and other weapons that were held in the men’s hands. Blood stained the earth as the fight raged on. The guruths were blood hungry, the creatures wasted no time killing the prey. Once or twice a man was beheaded, other times the once peaceful race would tear their hearts out with their bare hands and eat them to bring fear into the others.

“Rally to me! To me! Fall back!” Favalon cried as loud as he could, his voice roaring over many, word was spread across to his other warriors and they were able to make a hasty retread a good distance away. The guruths had no beast of burden to carry them.

“We are doomed! The spirits have deserted us!” one man said aloud others nodded with their agreement.

“You may think so, not I.”

“Sir,” said one man who rode up to him on a black mare. “Estimation of nearly two thousand dead, sir.”

The warlord was lost for words. They had killed nearly a half of them already; it felt the war had just begun to him. Half killed already?

Spirits have you truly abandoned us?

“We are still strong. Do not give up hope. Do not despair. I will ride with you to war; I will ride alone if I have to. I will take as many guruths as I can with my blade. I care not who follows me. I do not plan on riding back. I have made a mistake this very day deciding to stand our ground and fight these creatures. The choice I had not made was to flee to Saranoth. At least our loved ones are safe.”

Spirits, at least Darla is safe.

“If you plan to ride with me to war, do not plan on returning alive. We have barely scathed them. It is far too late to make way to Saranoth. We may have horses, they will tire eventually and we will be slowed down by the weight of our tools. May your hearts stay true to death. Alrea means death, and it is something that shall not be feared.”

The guruths were now firing arrows of their own. Several had hit their spot dying almost instantly which was a puzzle for many. The arrows were aimed at the least fatal points. Favalon pulled one of the arrows out, examining its tip realizing that it was poison. No defense of theirs could protect them from it at all.

Favalon, mustering all his pride, went forth alone on his white stallion, head held high, trotting toward the guruths. No arrow touched him. Reaching behind his back he took another sword out, now having two weapons in hand. Holding them to his sides so the blades stuck outward, they went through the bodies of a good ten or so of the enemy, ones who had not expected his assault. More arrows were fired upon him; none had hit its mark. Then the target was switched to his horse, which was hit immediately and had died like the rest of the men.

The warlord was now alone on foot. No one was there with him. They had not arrived yet. It was just him. Swords in hand he begun to slay one guruth, two, then three without pause. While he had injured a fourth, a sword was sent right through him, piercing his armor. His body fell to the ground. His world was becoming black.

Spirits you have deserted us.

No, that would not be his final thoughts. The spirits were no good to him. They had abandoned his people, all for what he thought was right. Darla was the wiser one; he should have taken her advice. A smile formed on his face as an image of her entered his mind. She was so beautiful. At that very moment he could feel her lips on his, he could taste its perfection. How he would give just to feel them one more time. His love would not be married to him like he had wished. She would never now he had been killed either, or where his body would lay.

Darla, my love, I have failed you.

Prologue
Part Two

AN ELF NO LATER THAN four hundred raced through the forest with joy in his heart. Once more he was in his woods, the woods he had missed so. They were sacred to his people, the only place they had ever lived in. Years of vigorous work it took them to ensure they had the trees trust in when they made little houses for their people. Each home would fit no more than ten. It was quite common for a single house to have multiple families living under one roof.

The small village was the way he had left it nearly fifty years ago. It was good for him to be home again. While he walked the path carefully avoiding vines, stumps, roots, and other hazardous things, he waved to many other elves, greeting them cheerfully. Such a wondrous sight, to see his old kin again. He wondered to himself if they would remember him after so many years. It mattered not so, for he had a wonderful tale to tell.

Word had spread quickly of his return, the celebrations commencing as soon as he got to the heart of the wood. The king of the elves greeted him, like he would to a son. The king, as well as every elf was dressed in earthly colored garnets. The only difference was the crown that sat upon the head of the elven leader. He held his arms out to Erestor, bracing him warmly.

“It is good to see you back my good friend,”

“And I to you, Lord Thrunduil.”

A grin appeared on the king’s face as they broke apart. Erestor bowed his head, and stood beside him as other elves, the men, women and children alike hailed the mighty traveler. Most, mainly the children, begged for him to sing a song to them. Erestor was known for his gaily sung songs about nature, and other things, like elder elves who had founded their current home. Few of the songs he sang were sad, moving ones that he treasured greatly.

“In due time. We will feast, drink, and be merry before I sing you a tale. The trees are still lively as ever. Even they are celebrating an elf’s return. It is a wonder how our woods remain untainted. We owe Her a lot.”

“We will have the feast prepared, a Gathering was just made so you are mighty lucky my fair kin,” spoke the king chuckling. “Even I am curious to know what tale you have for us this time. I miss your songs; it has been quite some time. I would like to hear them again if I were to ask of it now.”

“Aye, you would. I know you by now Lord Thrunduil. You would not command me of that since I have barely arrived. I must have at least a drink first from freshly fermented grapes.”

“Very well! Very well!” boomed the elf back, “Your favorite drink by far. A dwarf would envy you at that.”

“Marry they would. Marry they would.”

Elves around them, young and old conversed with one another as the two spoke. The king beckoned for Erestor to walk with him. Side by side they ventured toward the grandest part of all of Galdor. A vast castle made naught but nature. Vines were grown from every direction; flowers blossomed to the tunes elves sang. Butterflies and other stunning creatures flew by, one landed on Erestor’s outstretched finger and he whispered to it gently in elvish.

“My fair friend, I beg of you, and shall beg of you no more, to sing a song to me. My ears yearn for it right now.”

“You are quite impatient. I will try to think of one of old.

[align=center]Oh the moon rises high, because of Her
The sun rises high, because of Her
The Lady of the wood fore’er more
Oh the moon rises high, because of Her

The wind blows gently, because of Her
The trees are merry, because of Her
The Lady of the wood fore’er more
The wind blows gently, because of Her

Life happens, because of Her
Death happens, because of Her
The Lady of the wood fore’er more
Life happens because of Her

The Lady of the wood fore’er more
Oh the moon rises high, because of Her
The wind blows gently, because of Her
Life happens, because of Her
The Lady of the wood fore’er more
We love Her all the same”[/align]

The song ended sad and sweetly as the king of elves applauded enthusiastically. While he was singing flowers were blossoming, showing their eradiating beauty. It was a stunning sight to see. Thrunduil places his firm elven like hands on his shoulder, clamping it in a friendly manner. He then squeezed it for strength as well as support.

“Am I too old to remember that song Erestor?” he questioned his voice never losing its happiness.

“Possibly my friend. You are one of the eldest amongst us. Nearing ten thousand by now aye?”

“Marry, five more years at least.”

“Losing track?”

“Nay, I just try not to remember how old my body is.”

There were no doors to the castle, neither were there guards. The elves of Galdor felt confident in their wood, and felt confident in Her as well. She protected the forest from war, no one dared to go against her wishes. The elves have lived in the forest for nearly ten centuries in peace, almost as hold as Thrunduil.

“Would you like accommodations so you can be replenished of your energy before the feast?”

“Nay, that will not be needed My Liege Conduct me if you will to the feasting halls. I have important matter to discuss with you that I almost forgotten about with all of this joy. It is best if unwanted ears did not hear of what I have to discuss about. Can you ensure some privacy within there?”

The elf‘s joy evaporated as fast as it had came, his face became serious in a matter of a heartbeat. “Aye, I can arrange for that. It should be right now while everyone is busy preparing. I trust that this is important if you must speak with me alone.”

“Marry, only I wish that it was untrue.”

Upon entering the feasting hall, Erestor smiled at how right the king was. To be sure that they were not interrupted the doors were cast shut and bolted while the elf placed a few spells on them to diminish the sound that they would make while talking. Then they both walked to the table, and sat on the wooden chairs.

“What is it that you want to speak of my dear kin?” Thrunduil asked barely above a whisper.

“You know of my travels aye?”

“Marry; I know a good deal about them. Word has said you left the wood.”

“Aye, I have. In search of something more. Of what it entails is not of much importance at all. What matters is what I have learned through my journey. A prophecy.”

The king leaned forward; interested in the conversation that was taking place between the two.

“What is it?” he asked trying to conceal his excitement.

“I am only able to reveal its contents. It is a meyander prophecy. A dangerous one at that. The sword, the one Mahtan drained his magic into has aroused. Terrible times have come to the lands of Quar. We elves will no longer be safe here. Our forest will be tainted within time. Preparations should be made at once.”

“I trust you my kin, believe me, I do. Though I cannot conduct orders such as that to prepare for something we know nothing about. And for one, we do not even know when it will take place. It could be within days yes; also it could be many years, decades to a century."

“I apologize to you Erestor, I cannot fulfill the request you have come to make with me. You have been tainted by the Outer Realm. Who knows what has happened to you were there.”

“There is no Outer Realm Thrunduil. Even one such as you should know that. It may be true that without Her we would not be able to have anything we have right now, that does not mean there is life outside of this wood. I, Erestor have been out of this very wood to travel what is known as the Outer Realm, the world outside of the forest. You may think it is hazardous; my opinion is you are wrong."

“I have done my best and I hope you will see that someday. For now I must prepare for the feast, and my songs. I shall see you shortly My Liege,” spoke Erestor, bowing deeply to him.

I have done all I could. They are cursed by Her for their ignorance to her prophecies.

Hey Aevum. long time no see... 😛 and i hate you for that lol 😛

nice story! 🙂 thumbsup great as usual.

took time to read it though... its pretty long.. >.<

Merry Christmas and God bless!

Wasn't as long as my other version. I find this has more detail. Still need to work on my prologues, and i am typing chapter one. Won't add anymore until the chapter is complete. Thanks Jaeh!

Yeah. More detail alright. i think its better than the other version... >.<

ok.. *waits*