Laughter of the Night

[HighArchmage]

This story is extra narrative behind my entry into the fluffy army list competition. I sort of got carried away and am to allowed to add it to my entry as then I would double the word limit! So I put it here for those that want extra info behind all the characters and stuff have a look in announcements.

Enough prattle heres the story.

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Laughter of the Night

Kneeling in an ancient glade, a plain yet sacred altar before him and a sword more powerful than anything in the land in his grip, Lorinethos prayed. The living shadows of his cloak drenched the scene in a dark gloom, mirroring their master?s thoughts. He had been given power and with it responsibility. He could feel it, an evil in the north. A question he must answer.

Elves approached the clearing. They stayed out of the glade itself; respectful of the power they felt resonating from the clearing.

The power was familiar to those that stood outside the grove, yet it was something none had felt for centuries. The god to whom this power belonged had been nought but blank blessing for centuries. Now awakened, Loec, god of shadows and night snickered at the world once more.

He had slept for power, drawing the winds of magic into his sleep and letting the threads renew and strengthen his will. His awakening had gone unnoticed. A tiny thunderclap vying for attention with a raging tempest. Few had been listening; even fewer had understood most of which were now dead. Except those he had chosen.

Ordering his thoughts Lorinethos rose. One of the chosen, a champion. He raised his sword, his god?s sword. And with it he pointed it in an arc around the glade.

?Brothers, you here are chosen by our god. He sets us a task. One that will echo in the history of our people for eternity,? Lorinethos paused lowering his sword to the ground, ?our cousins approach, they bring with them fire and chaos despoiling our land. We march to their death.?

With no further words and never once turning to see who followed Lorinethos set off into the coming night, a score of Nagarythe warriors at his back. Ahead lay forest, fortune and foe a horde tenfold their number.

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Standing upon a rise, hidden in shadow the mage Akreulin spied the enemy, his people?s enemy. The chosen one stood beside him calm, powerful. The scene below them was appalling. The ancient forest had been cut back for fires. Their dark kin spread out across this new plain, blackening the stripped land. Men stood beside them and the stench of chaos hung over them all.

Attack would be hopeless; no hatred could drive the shadow warriors into the suicidal ambush their champion intended.

Lorinethos? small band of shadow warriors was waiting in the forest behind him. They saw the doubt in the mage beside him and they mirrored his thoughts.

?You would counsel me against this action,? Lorinethos said turning to the shadow weaver.

?Their numbers are too vast. No god has the power to grant us victory this night, to attack would be death,? Akreulin replied to this elf he once knew.

A faint smile touched Lorinethos? lips as he turned back towards their dark kin raising his powerful arms.

Akreulin suddenly flinched back, never in his life had he been so dwarfed by the power of another being. He stumbled away. Falling to the ground he crawled from this unnatural power. The world spun, twisted and forces beyond his control wrestled through his mind.

The shadows deepened.

Quickly forcing his mind closed to all that assaulted it. He looked to the Druchii and gasped at what he saw.

The night had turned darker than pitch. The fires of the horde were snuffed out like candles. Shadows muffled their cries of alarm. For those watching there was no darkness only the shock of clarity.

On their left the forest screamed. The chill sound the heralding call of two creatures even legend told as false. From the forest flew the guardians of the night, the Arsna. Souls of slain phoenix, discarded by Asuryan and masterless until now.

Beneath the screams of the birds came the deep sounds of three mournful horns. The shadow warriors stared in wonder as called from their sleep by Loec rank upon rank of elven spectres marched from the forest. Silent and ominous they descended towards the darkness.

Halting their march the ethereal host raised a thousand bows, their arrows raining down upon an unsuspecting enemy. Joining their forefathers the shadow warriors added their quarrels to the air breaking the darkness shrouding their targets.

Mournful horns, the real screams of legendary beasts and the voices of Nagarythe elves pledging themselves to a champion and his god. Together they descended upon their foe a moment that would be forever to be etched into the history of these elves.

And amidst all the death screams and din of battle a new sound filled the night.

Faint.

Almost a whisper.

The night laughed.