Arduval Yavandir of the House Meliane - army fluff.

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As per the title, this is just fluff for my army and its general, writen in preparation for the forthcoming Animosity Campaign (which are excellent and I suggest everyone gets in on it) and as an aid and prompt for me to work on my High Elves and develop the army in a fluffy way which is what I love most about the hobby)

Arduval Yavandir of House Meliane

Of the House Meliane
The House of Meliane have been inhabitants of Ulthuan since the dawn of time, making their home in the Principality of Yvresse, and building their palaces with wealth wrested from the old world by their skill as sailors and valour as merchant adventurers. From the rise of the Asur as the dominant race of the world, through the Sundering and the War of the Beard the House of Meliane have served the Warden of Yvresse and in turn the Phoenix King loyally and with distinction, their pennons of silver and azure a welcome sight amongst the hosts of Ulthuan.

Like many of the Asur the sundering and the calamities of that age saw their wealth, powers and numbers diminish, so they are a shadow of their former glory; but a glory they hope one day to achieve again.


Now though, the estates of the House Meliane are spread across the realm of Yvresse, with many sons ruling many households, or being ruled by the wives of the sons, while they steer there ships into the wider world. They are typical villas of the Asur, tall thin spires of frail elegance piercing the sky, decorated with banners and clean, smooth colours.

For millennia the sons of this house, on their mighty dragon ships, have plied the oceans of the world and even though their numbers are diminished now, and the world a more perilous place they still set sail to far off ports trading now with the humans of the Old World or searching for the ancient ruins of their own race to obtain wealth and treasure and are able to claim contacts in Marienburg, Altdorf, Bordeleaux, Cophiers and Lashiek and they have sent expeditions to the Southlands, Lustria and even Cathay and Nippon.

Naturally they find themselves sometimes trading their skills as sailors and warriors in the many petty wars of the humans, sometimes their involvement is for more subtle reasons, the long foresight of the Asur leading them to tip a conflict one way or another, other times it is for mercenary gain and the chance at plunder.

Of Arduval Yavandir

Arduval Yavandir is a prince of the House Meliane and is an Asur of middle age, approaching his prime but already with much experience and adventure behind him. He is tall and slender like all his race, but with a powerful frame and keen mind, indeed his calling could have been warrior, mage or sea captain. Instead he chose to dabble in all three. He is uncommonly handsome, even for the elder race, his features classically elven, his hair long, straight and so blonde it is almost white, while his skin bears a healthy tan from years spent under the sun and weather as an adventurer and sailor and his eyes are a clear, flawless ice blue. Typically his attire and armour are azure blue and silver white in colour.


He made and acceptable marriage in his youth to an elven maiden of a suitable family and he genuinely cares for her and their children, but she remains in their estates on Yvresse to raise their son and daughter who have yet to reach their majority and his natural wanderlust see him away from home for decades at a time.


As a result of this wondering, and his natural desires he has also kept a series of lovers during his travels, both human and elven, though he soon tires of them or rather with each new adventure or campaign they also change, as if they are little more than the passion of the season. It is almost certain that he has sired other progeny with these but he is blissfully unaware of, and uncaring of any such children.

Currently his cabin is made warmer by the presence of a stunning consort by the name of Katarine and hailing from the port town of Neus Emskrank in the Empire province of Nordland. She is a tall, amazon-esque human woman with long, brown hair and clear brown eyes, a woman of low birth but remarkable form and strong of personality. While she knows the relationship will not last, she also knows that life as a elven prince’s companion will be infinitely better than that of a common woman in the Empire, no matter how short a time it lasts.

After decades that run into centuries, his experiences of the Old World and his youthful activities as a soldier, sailor, adventurer and merchant have made him an ideal captain of a mission sent to ascertain what is happening in the northern realms and to take what advantage of them can be wrought. Thus it is that Arduval Yavandir of the House Meliane finds himself as master and commander of the Dragon of Imyrr as it sails into the Sea of Claws.

Of the Dragon of Imyrr
The Dragon of Imyrr takes its name from a near mythical city, founded by the House Meliane when the Asur were at their height, or so the family tales say. All that remain of it now are ancient stories, myths and legends of a glittering city where the house once called themselves princes in their own right, where flights of dragons flew at their command.


Alas it was located to the northern realms, in the lands overwhelmed by Chaos when the polar gates collapsed and the wastes spread south, and all who dwelled there, along with many of the mightiest sons of the house, much of their heirlooms and ancient treasures, were lost.
The vessel itself is now hundreds of years old; its hull has cut through numberless leagues of sea, and under countless changes of the seasons. It has seen hundreds of battles, both large and small and carried the treasure of kingdoms within its holds.

Now it prowls into the Sea of Claws under the command of Arduval Yavandir and is crewed by the very best sailors and marines of the House Meliane, hoping perhaps beyond hope, that some ancient heirloom of that long lost city that gives the ship its name might just be found and restored to the House.

Of the Host of the Dragon of Imyrr


Aboard the Dragon of Imyrr and under the command of Arduval Yavandir are hundreds of Asur warriors, bondsmen of the House Meliane. All of them are arrayed in the blue and white colours of the House Meliane.
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[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Illustrated, how fancy. Another of the Yveressi!

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Very Nice!! I look forward to learning more about the crew and comportment of the Dragon Ship! (Don't listen to Tiralya; there have to be peasants there somewhere!)

And I'm waiting eagerly for the narrative adventures of the prince and his current mistress....

(Hmmm...wonder how Yvressi society considers these cross-species dalliances?)

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As you request...the following are short snippets from A5.5 on the Animosity site:

A Sailor on the Sea of Claws

Everywhere he looked was grey.

The grey sea rolled and pitched, the white-capped waves blowing off in cold spray that would soak and freeze a sailor without his proper oilskins. The leaden grey clouds scudded across the sky, depositing their heavy load of rain over all they passed over and letting not a glimmer of sun through them and the grey haze of that rain blurred the division between sea, sky and clouds at the horizon.

There was no sun to steer by, no sight of land, no sea birds wheeling about no other ships passing on the horizon. There was just the enclosed world of the cold, wind blown, rain swept, grey sea upon which they sailed.

Amidst this world devoid of colour was a small island, a long and sleek vision of colour and life cutting its way through the bleakness.

Rama’ura’loce’nya’Imyrr or The Dragon of Imyrr in common parlance, was the name etched upon its hull in the fine, flowing and golden script of the High Elves.

The white wood of its hull seemed to almost glow against the drab sea as the knife sharp prow cut through the spume topped waves. The deep blue sails drew the eye and held them, enchanted by the richness and depth of that azure hue, and despite the absence of the sun the silvery design embroidered into the sails seemed to glitter and sparkle.

Upon its decks moved the sea elf crew, clad in their thick, golden yellow oilskins. Moving with a calm precision to trim the sails, loosen or tighten lines and to make the myriad of adjustments that kept the ship at its optimum.

On the stern castle stood Arduval Yavandir. Illuminated by the great storm lanterns that hung at the stern and warmed by the orange glow of nearby braziers and kept dry by an umbrella of magic that held away the wind and rain. His tall slender form marked him as an Asur. His cloak of white, silver and azure along with his armour of gold and jewels marked him as a prince and his position on the vessel, to those that know such things, marked him as the master and commander of this mighty dragon ship.

Alongside Arduval stood his principal advisor, Curuthin. His colours of azure and white matching those of Arduval and marking him as of the same house while the cut of his robes and his ornate staff marked him as a Loremaster of skill and power, their heads together in conversation as they consulted charts and the compass.

Soon they would be turning south to make landfall along the coast of Nordland, in the Sigmarite Empire. There would be trade to be done, and information to be gathered there. Many of the mannish merchants would scrabble to do trade with a Sea Elf and fortunes could be made from even the roughest of wines and cheapest goods from Ulthuan. But all the trade goods were but a means to an end for this voyage, the Dragon of Imyrr plied the Sea of Claws in search of something valued beyond mere gold to the House of Meliane.

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Very Nice!! I look forward to learning more about the crew and comportment of the Dragon Ship! (Don't listen to Tiralya; there have to be peasants there somewhere!)

You again! No This I'm certain about, it's in the Man o War book, Dragonships are crewed by nobles, it even describes how the nobles need to have ceremonial battles to see how gets to crew them.
Surely the noble House Meliane has a number of younger sons keen to earn the right to crew such a vessel. This must be set before my Prince's time, as now no Dragonship leaves the cove unless the High Elves are at war.
I love that you have an Elvish name for the ship, that's creative.

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Personally I am sure the junior offices of the Dragon Ships are minor nobles, but the main work will be sailors, not to mention the marines on board - they wont all be minor nobles.

Unless Ulthuan society now has everyone being a minor noble...or maybe its just Lothern propaganda

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Curuthin had plotted them a route to calmer and clearer waters further south and the great ship Rama’ura’loce’nya’Imyrr left the squall behind to sail into open seas and starry skies. Once again able to see the heavens, the navigators plotted their proper location on the charts and Arduval commanded that the ships prow was turned to face the current and its sails set to catch the wind, balancing the forces of the wind and currents so the great ship would hold its position.

The Dragon of Imyrr had been joined alongside by a smaller vessel, a sleek, fast elven frigate by the name of Senlui or Swiftness in the common parlance. Like the Dragon Of Imyrr its hull is built from a pale white timber and its fittings are of silver and blues, but it is of a trimaran design, possessing a central hull augmented at the stern by two large outrigger hulls which give her the appearance of being a long, slim dagger in the water.

Arduval, along with his principle advisor Curuthin, had decided that for the coming venture speed and manoeuvrability would be more valuable than the size and power of their larger vessels and so to this end Arduval moved from the Dragon of Imyrr to the Swiftness, leaving orders behind that the dragon ship was to remain at its station, unless it had no word of Arduval for a month at which point they were to come and seek word of them in full force.

Once all orders were given and all arrangements made, the Swiftness cast off the lines that held it to the Dragon of Imyrr and its crew trimmed the sails to catch the wind. Like an Ellyrion steed the trimaran leapt forward, its knife like hulls slicing through the water, a foamy wake trailing after it as if it were some sort of flaming arrow arcing through the air and leaving a streamer of smoke behind it. As more and more sails were hoisted the Senlui gained speed, until it was moving at a rate that few other vessels, if any, could match and before any time at all the great form of the dragon ship was left over the horizon.

Consulting the charts aboard the Senlui showed an ancient stone circle upon the coast of Nordland and it was here that Arduval intended to make landfall, hopefully unnoticed by too many eyes. From there the intention was to perhaps purchase horses for a small shore party from the nearby village, allowing the shore party to move swiftly along the coast road by land while the ship shadowed them by sea, thus perhaps hiding their true strength, while at the same time another party would make its way inland to try to contact their Asrai cousins in the deep forests of that province.

Within a few days swift sailing the lookouts of the Senlui gave the cry of “Land Ho” as the rugged Nordland coast came into view, with its rocky cliff faces, shingle beaches and small, huddled towns eking out a living from the sea and passing trade. They tracked east, watching the storm swept coastline slip past until the ring of ancient stones was located, perched atop the rocky cliffs. Here they dropped anchor and began their preparations to make landfall.

From the deck of the Senlui though the keen eyes of the Asur could see that the mannish village of Schlaghugel, marked on their decades old charts as standing close by to the henge, was now little more than the broken down remnants of buildings long since ruined by a storm or some other calamity meaning there could be no horses purchased and no other information gathered. They would still make landfall there anyway with only a minor change in their plans. Arduval himself, along with but two bodyguards would set off on foot along the coastal cliff road towards the nearest other town marked on their charts, that of Hargendorf at the mouth of the Elge River while a small party of reivers would head inland carrying with them messages of friendship to whatever Asrai clan they could find.

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Hmm, I need to post some more in here dont I...

[Elessehta of Yvresse]

Quick answer: Yes.

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The Swiftness slowly arced towards the shingle beach that lay at the foot of the cliffs. On her decks Torendil, the captain of the Senlui, shouted his commands out to the crew so that as she traced her graceful, elliptic curve she also shed her speed, her sails being backed against the wind to brake her then furled in before they tore or over strained the masts and stays.

The shallow draft of the trimaran’s design meant that it could easily beach itself, allowing the shore party to easily disembark and as she came into shore the starboard side outrigger hull made a loud rushing sound as it ground itself, the sharp hull pushing the smooth round stones of the seabed aside before coming to a halt. As soon as the Senlui had stopped moving, her crew ran a gangway down to the shore and the landing party disembarked with a rattle of boots and hooves on the wooden decks that turned into the crunching of stones as they made landfall.

Arduval had selected two of his household guards to accompany him on shore, Amhas who was older, and had seen many voyages before with Arduval and Narien who was young and on his first journey away from Ulthuan. Together, with the small troop of reivers that had volunteered to search for the Asrai the moved away from the Senlui and towards a flight of old, worn stone steps that ran from the beach up the cliff side. Slowly they picked their way up the path, winding backwards and forwards to the summit until they found themselves stood in the midst of the tumbledown remains of Schlaghugel.

On the summit their keen eyes could discern no sign of anyone watching them and so Arduval bade Amhas make a signal to the waiting ship below them, signalling that all was safe and the Senlui could put back to sea. Arduval spent a few minutes watching the crew free the ship from the beach before turning to his companions, now alone on this foreign shore. From his bags he took a long thin scroll case of blue lacquered wood capped and reinforced with a silvery metal and handed it to the Harbinger who led the small troop of reivers.

“Take this message to whichever lord or lady of the Asrai you can find in the Laurelorn forest, give them our greetings and hand of friendship to our cousins, bid them we would meet with them in two months hence, at this standing circle, if they will come. If they will not, then you must be here in two months hence in any case, but be careful along the way, these are dangerous lands.”

“It is our honour to conduct this task for you my lord.” Came the Harbingers reply, and with a swift hand signal the five horsemen mounted their fine elven steeds, gave Arduval a bow from their saddles and wheeled their horses about, trotting through the tumbledown remains of the village south, towards the great Laurelorn forest. As he watched them leave Arduval called out an elven blessing after them, bidding them fortune and safe return.

The three remaining elves watched the riders until they disappeared into the rolling landscape. “We must make good speed along the road, it is a long walk to the next town and I would rather not be abroad for more nights than we need to be.” Arduval told his two companions. “Come, gather your packs and let us be away.”

Following Arduval’s lead the three of them followed the rough, pitted road along the coast, eating up the miles with their light, swift pace. No longer were they attired in the garb of an elven prince and his household guards, but of a more common strain, clothes of a darker colour more suited to stealth and shadows, and woven from fine elven wool rather than rich damask and silk, even so their clothes were finer than any else they might encounter in the town ahead, and along with their long spears, bows, blades and armour they would make a rich prize for those foolish enough to attempt to take them, but Arduval knew such dress would make their appearance less outlandish to the humans, and hoped they would not meet a party strong enough to take them by force.

It was a journey of perhaps fifty miles to Hargendorf and although along the way there they passed through other small hamlets the rough looking peasants eyed them with suspicion and fear, perhaps not even sure what they were looking at and it did not need any conversation, even if they were prepared to exchange words, to know there were no horses to be bought.

“Is this how all men live?” Asked Narien when they had passed through the first of these villages.

“For the most part yes, young Narien. They live hard, brutal lives, their young are commonly born mutated, and those that aren’t, seldom live to be able to speak their own names. Those that do must suffer the predations of all manner of evils in the hope of little reward. But, when the times are needful they are mighty when roused against the darkness, and are our natural allies against the servants of chaos and destruction.”

“But how can they even exist in such conditions my lord?”

“Think on it Narien, their lives are so very short, it is usual for a man to have been born, grown to adulthood, married, sired the next generation and died before a child of the Asur has even reached adulthood, I wonder if they even live long enough to notice how hard their lives are before they die.”

“I think I understand my lord, but I could not stand it I think.”

“It may come to pass that you will have to stand it Narien, when we leave the shores of Ulthuan we leave paradise, we step willingly into danger and horror. There may be times when you find yourselves deep in the wilderness of this or some other continent, alone but for the companionship of humans, halflings and even dwarves. Forced to eat their rotten food and drink their foetid ales, the wines of and sweetmeats of home all but a memory, but you must remember always you are of the Asur, the firstborn and we are a blessed race, superior to all the others in every way. They endure these hardships and it would belittle our names to think we could not.”

Narien and Amhas listened to their lord in silence as he gave them the benefit of his wisdom, and the walked on without speaking for some time afterwards until Arduval himself broke the silence again.

“But, it must be balanced with the sheer thrill of such times, the strange camaraderie that is forged amongst such groups, even with a dwarf in some cases if you can credit such a thing, and let me tell you this young Narien, even the most noble of human women will moisten at the thought of a High Elf in their bed”

At this Narien visibly blushed, which made Arduval and Amhas laugh, but it had lightened the mood again, so much that Amhas broke into an elven marching song that the other two soon joined in with.
Though they covered many miles in the first day, they had not reached the town before night fell ad so had to make camp over night. Moving away from the road inland, they found a suitable dell with a scattering of low, windswept trees about in which they made their camp and lit a small fire. In this dell they ate their small meals, tended to their weapons and equipment and talked about inconsequential things.

As they sat Narien produced a small lyre from his pack and began to play, softly singing songs of their homeland until the sun had set fully and the clouds rushed inland to blot out the stars. Amhas kicked over the coals of the fire to dim their light and they settled down for the night, with Narien and Amhas taking turns in keeping a watch while their lord slept.

The night passed without incident, and like all travellers on the road, they awoke with the cold and wet dawn. The sky was overcast and a light rain that fell out to see made the horizon grey and blurred. Looking inland over the bare windswept land all that could be seen in the distance was the low cloud and mist that hung over the Laurelorn forest that stretched into the far southern horizon.

Arduval warmed his fingers on the hot cup of tea that Narien handed him and looked wistfully to that line of forest. “Perhaps when our tasks are done here, we might get chance to hunt in those woods, whether it be game or monster.” Narien nodded in agreement with Arduval, who with a sly smile added “and perhaps have some sport with an Asrai maiden eh”, again causing the young elf to blush

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It was midday when Hargendorf came into view. It is a small town of but a few hundred families, their meagre houses clinging to the steep hillsides on each side of the harbour estuary where a couple of merchant brigs now lay at anchor.

As the three elves walked along the cliff path towards the port town, they sheathed the long blades of their spears, tied their helmets to their belts and slung their shields over their backs so as to minimise their warlike visage, and assume an air of relaxed travellers arriving in a safe haven. At the top of the cliff they passed a temple venerating both Sigmar and Manaan just as the worshippers were leaving after midday prayers. As they passed by the worshippers huddled together, saying nothing but simply staring at them in grim silence, perhaps surprised to see them, for even in a seaport such as this the sight of a Sea Elf was almost unheard of.

The town itself was a little less forbidding, though people still stopped to stare at them as they wound their way down the steep lanes through the houses and cottages until they reached the quayside about which were gathered the larger, more important buildings and it was towards one of these that the party now walked, a solidly built, two storey and sprawling collection of buildings enclosed by a wall that stood a head taller than the elves. By the open double gates hung a board with the silhouette of a lion upon it and from within came the sounds and smells of an inn.

“It may seem of rude quality”, said Arduval to his two companions, “but it is clean and well maintained. By mannish standards it is of good quality, even so it will test your fortitude young Narien.”

The hubbub of voices dropped as the three Sea Elves entered, but only for a moment before picking up again. Looking about the main room of the inn, it became clear why. Strange times were afoot, for the main room was filled with the tongues and clothes of all manner of men, hailing from all over the old world not to mention Dwarves and Halflings. And by the way, their gazes did not over linger on the elves, it was clear to Arduval that these were well travelled folk and the Asur were no strangers to their eyes.

Arduval gave an almost imperceptibly signal to his companions, who moved into the room and sat at an empty table while he himself headed to the bar where he was met by a tall, thin balding man of middle age.

“Welcome, er, sir, to the Black Lion Inn, can I get you and your friends some food and drink?”

“indeed good inkeep, some simple roast fowl if you have it and a carafe of wine to our table there. I would also take your best room for the next few nights.” Replied Arduval in a Riekspeil that held almost no accent at all.

“Well sir, the fowl and wine I can produce, but our best rooms are all taken, that gentleman there who is a Marienberger has taken my best room. All I have available is a smaller dormitory room that you’ll have to share with 4 or 5 others.”

Arduval looked to the Marienberger the innkeeper had gestured to. “My thanks, I shall take the dormitory, and if you can send our wine and food to us at our table.”

As the inkeep made his acknowledgement Arduval was returning to his table. Here he removed rested his long spear against the wall along with Amhas’ and Narien’s as well as their bows. On the table he placed his tall helmet and dropped his gauntlets next to it before walking over to the human the inkeep had picked out as the Marienberger with the best room.

“Well met good sir” was Arduval’s simple introduction. “It seems that like the basis of all mercantile transactions, you have a thing I would procure...”

The Marienberger looked up from his table, almost falling off his chair to find himself being addressed by a sea elf, but within a heartbeat he composed himself and his traders instincts took over. It didn’t take long, but the debate between them was conducted swiftly. At the end of which the Marienberger handed Arduval a key and Arduval handed the Marienberger a few coins which seemed almost of little interest to him. It was when Arduval produced what looked like a small silver leaf from within his cloak that the Marienberger’s face broke into a smile. With the deal concluded Arduval returned to his table, just as a serving woman was laying down a tall bottle of wine newly wiped free of dust along with three silver cups.

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Arduval and his two companions spent the best part of a week lodged in the Black Lion Inn at Hargendorf, playing the part of lowly Sea Elf adventurers and mercenaries, a role Arduval had played many times before and one that, in truth, he relished.

The only incident of real note was an argument between Narien and a Norscan sailor that happened in another tavern in the town. The Norscan was trying to attract the attentions of a local doxie, and she in turn was trying to attract the attentions of Narien who was doing all he could to not blush at the thought. To this the Norscan, his judgement clouded by spirits and pride, took umbrage and drew a blade on Narien. Alas for the Norscan, Narien’s reflexes took over, and before anyone could react and faster than anyone could see the young elf had skipped inside the Norscan’s reach and with a flash of steel had driven his short, heavy bladed sea knife under the ribcage of the Norscan and skipped away again leaving the Norscan to fall dead to the floor.

It seemed to not matter much that a drunken Norscan had been killed, especially since it had been self-defence but it was noticeable that the locals were both more wary of the three elves, and more deferential in their dealings with them. In the meantime though Arduval had been able to solicit a great deal of information from the sailors in the inns and taverns about the town, learning much of the comings and goings in the Sea of Claws and that several factions seemed to be coalescing, ready to vie for advantage within the region and Arduval suspected the coming months would merely be the opening skirmishes in what would become a much greater conflict. Above all this though, Arduval had learned for the first time what seemed to be the truest explanation for what might have been the cause of the Chaos Wastes’ retreat.

A night of good wine in the Black Lion had led him into conversation with a table of seamen who had recently come from Estalia where they told of a civil war that had recently raged there. Of the battle between the Bretonians and the Arabians for domination of the country, of the sacking of Muros by Druchii and the defence of Almagora against a greenskin Waagh by the Arabians, but most importantly he was told of the plot by the followers of the renegade chaos god Malal who’s release from her ancient prison had weakened the Four and set in motion this retreat of the Chaos Wastes.

As Arduval listened to this tale he struggled not to sit there mouth agape at this tale. If this story were even half true then there must truly be hope back in the world, and it took a great deal of will to not simply rush off there and then to send message of this back to Ulthuan. Instead he bided his time, until later that night in the safety of his room could work a cantrip that would ensorcel a sea bird to could carry a message to his ship.

The next morning on the dawn tide Arduval, Amhas and Narien stood on the quayside, the bill for the inn settled with a barely awake innkeeper. As they waited they stood and watched the small fishing boats returning with their catch from their coastal fishing grounds and they stood and watched as all work in the harbour stopped when the long, dagger shaped Senlui came over the horizon and into the harbour, cutting its way between the fishing boats and coastal cogs to weigh anchor just inside the breakwater.

The locals continued to stand in dumfounded silence as a long canoe paddled its way from the deadly looking elven frigate and collected Arduval and his companions from the quayside, and little work was done that morning in the town until the sleek form of the Senlui had raised anchor and slid out of the harbour on the ebb tide, rapidly sailing towards the open sea and out of sight.

*
As they made to open sea on the ebb time Arduval gave orders to make best speed to the larger sea port of Nueus Emskrank further east along the Nordland coast where he had learned that one of these factions seemed to be gathering its forces and where Arduval hoped they would be more open to the presence of an Asur captain in their ranks than the Dawi fleets that were gathering to the west.

It took only a day to sail east around the headland that lead to the estuary of the Ems upon which the town of Nueus Emskrank stood. A good sized town, it had been established by the elector of Nordland over a century ago to try and take some of the trade into the Empire away from Marienburg, and while it had gathered some trade for itself, it was barely noticeable compared to the flow of goods through that great sea port at the mouth of the Reik.

Sailing east along the coast the rocky cliffs give way to the subsided land and marshy shore of the Teufelsumpf before then sweeping into the sandy shore of the North Bay just before the headland, upon which is perched a low, stout castle. Around the headland is another sandy beach that opens from the mouth of the Ems and its bustling port town. The harbour is busy with dozens of ships including a number of heavily armed merchantmen and outright warships, all flying the pennons and standards of the Sigmarites, but even into this mix of vessels the appearance of an elven warship causes a stir as it smoothly draws itself up to the dockside.

As the Senlui pulled into the harbour Arduval noted the names of the ships around it, Righteous Endeavour, Relentless, Defender of the Faith amongst others. They were violent, religious words that proclaimed their opposition to the enemies of the Empire and Arduval nodded in approval, these were men that surely would not waver in the face of the forces of destruction. The only question that remained was how would these zealous men treat one of the Asur.

Soon though the Senlui was safely moored and the Sea Guards at their posts by the foot of the gangways and Arduval went ashore, once again dressed in the dark, simple garb he had worn before and once again accompanied by Amhas and Narien and as they passed by the harbourmaster he enquired as to the best-appointed inn the town could boast at which he was given directions to the Narwhal’s Horn, a tall, stone built inn that overlooked the towns south bay and where, the Harbour Master had told them, it was that he would find the lodgings of the captains of those warships, and most likely here they would also hold their councils.

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The world was tipped at an alarming angle as Senlui cut hard to port, her starboard outrigger cutting deep into the water while the left one cut only through air. The white spray from a tall waterspout glittered in the sun light as it lashed across the trimaran’s deck.

Torendil’s skilful manoeuvring had taken his nimble, delicate ship away from the firing arc of the Norscan trebuchets, the sublime seamanship of his crew keeping them from being hit by the great boulders that would leave it crippled should they strike home.

“Rudder amidships!” was his quickly shouted order and with a crash the world resumed its proper angle. The sails and lines of the knife like ship cracked as they caught the wind, accelerating it at an oblique angle past the norscan long ship’s stern and sending sea spray down the length of the Senlui as her triple hulls bit into the waves.

The sleek elven frigate held itself just out of range of the norscan bowmen and now it was the turn of the Senlui to return fire. “Loose your volley” came his next order and on both of the outriggers and the prow of the frigate the Eagle’s Claw repeating bolt throwers thrummed with pent up tension, hurling over a dozen spear like shafts towards the enemy ship with unerring accuracy.

Half of the bolts sank themselves into the hull and shieldwall of the enemy ship sending splintered wood flying through the air, the remaining half found their mark in the bodies of the Norscan raiders, their heavy steel heads punching through flesh and mail, killing the raiders instantly and causing most of their comrades to dive for cover.

At the stern of the Norscan ship Torendil could see a tall, powerful looking warrior, clad in furs and sporting a long mane of blonde hair and a beard a dwarf would be proud of. He levelled an evil looking sword towards the elven ship and shouted something that could not be heard over the wind and movement of the ship. Aside the chieftain him was another Norscan; his heavy muscles straining against the steer board as he wrestled to bring the ship back around and to close with the lighter ship.

The Norscan crew was also skilled, and their ship fast and manoeuvrable. Against another foe it would be a different battle, but they were outmatched in speed, agility and the skill of the sailors when they took on the Senlui, their only hope would be to run, knowing the Senlui lacked the firepower to sink the longship. But the blood of the barbarian raiders was roused and they wanted battle, so they desperately tried to turn and fight.

As he crouched behind the gunwales along with his handpicked boarding party, Arduval smiled at this. He knew Torendil would dance around them, winnowing their numbers with well-placed volleys from the Eagle Claws until it was time to close for the kill.

The deadly dance continued for perhaps another hour as the two ships danced around each other, the repeating bolt throwers raining their deadly volleys down until the Norscan numbers were reduced and the Senlui was in complete ownership of the weather gauge. Torendil manoeuvred the Senlui so he would tempt the norscans with a shot of the trebuchet again, which they took and yet again missed, though not by a great amount. As soon as the water spout erupted from the sea the Senlui cut in towards the longship, every inch of its sails set to the wind and its prow lanced through the choppy water towards the enemy. Arduval’s senses sang with the thrill of battle, in his mind’s eye he saw a sea eagle stooping for a fish.

The norscans knew they would be boarded and they began to beat their weapons against their shields and shouted hear their hoarse cries of challenge and oaths to their dark gods. As they crouched out of sight Arduval and the boarding party listened to this and silently slid their own blades from their sheaths, waiting for the moment their own fury would be unleashed.

“Brace for impact” came Torendil’s shouted warning. A heartbeat later there was a ear splitting crash of oak being sundered as the prow of the Senlui scythed into the hull of the long ship. In a flash Arduval leapt up, springing with consummate ease and grace, first onto the gunwale of the Senlui and then into the shattered wreckage of the enemy long ship, his agile frame finding easy footing on the blood slicked and ruined deck. As he landed his left hand cast forward a dagger, leaving it embedded in the mouth of an enemy warrior, his screams now replaced with a choking, gurgling sound. Around him landed the rest of his men. Lightly armoured and armed with a variety of weapons. Some had spears, others great swords, some long bladed axes and others slim swords but all of them were peerless in their skill with them.

In the blink of an eye a dozen norscans were dead and the landing party were moving out to leave room to fight for the Sea Guard that would follow them in. But the Norscans were deadly foes and they did not blanche from the fight, instead rushing forward to fight the elves. The elven skill at arms kept many of the enemy blows at bay, but still many landed home and the light armour and slender frames of the Sea Elves could not withstand the axes of the Norscans and so the tally was redressed in part and the decks coated with gore.

Arduval pulled his sword from the heart of another enemy and looked around for his next foe. He could see the enemy captain pushing his way forward and so leapt forward to meet him, springing and dancing a bloody, balletic path through the norscan warriors, his long enchanted blade flashing out left and right to sever limb and head before he pirouetted to the feet of the giant Norscan chieftain.

The huge warrior bellowed in rage and challenge, filling Arduval’s nostrils with the stench of rotten fish and bad ale. Like lightening Arduval’s blade flashed forward, first striking home, then in feint around an attempted parry before landing twice more on the hulking form of his enemy.

But the Norscan’s armour was solid, and his endurance prodigious and the chieftain ignored the great gashes cut into him as if they were scratches and in turn he now whirled his great axe about his head to bring it crashing towards Arduval who skipped from one side to the other, dodging the blows that left the decking splintered, but the Norscan had not risen to his rank by lacking skill himself and the tip of the Norscan’s axe tore a line in the mail links of Arduval’s light armour across his chest that began to well with blood.

About them the battle raged, with Sea Elf and Norscan trading blows, the norscans were dying swiftly under the assaults of the boarding party now supported by the Sea Guard, but Arduval had his attention focused on the great warrior before him, knowing he must end the fight quickly for one solid blow from the mighty warrior would fell him.

He skipped backwards, out of reach of the Norscan, who in his rage pressed his attack, blinded to the trap that was being set for him. Arduval danced over the broken deck easily, jumping backwards to land back on a fallen spar. The norscan lacked Arduval’s agility though and stumbled on the uneven, slippery surface. Like quicksilver Arduval pounced, flicking his blade up in a long, powerful arc, the distance judged to perfection as the chisel nosed tip cut through the norscans throat, slicing through muscle, windpipe and artery to send blood fountaining through the air. Avoiding the spray he landed behind the dying chieftain, Arduval continued the motion of his sword, its arc tracing the pattern of a butterfly’s wings and finishing the cut, severing the Norscan’s head from his shoulders.

It wasn’t quite the last action of the battle. At the prow a small not of the enemy had managed to form a shieldwall to fend of the Sea Guard spears. The solution was simple really. A volley from the Eagle Claws simply swept them from the ship in a bloody ruin.

Searching the remains of the long ship the Sea Guard found a cramped, ramshackle cage in the sump filled with naked, half dead, half mad people that the raiders had taken as slaves. They had been abused beyond words and even with the skilled healing of the elves not all of them would survive their traumas and none of them would be truly sane again. In addition to the slaves though they also found other booty taken in the raids; gold, silver and other treasure favoured by raiders but this seemed of little consequence to Arduval, for it was not so much the gold and treasure looted from the human lands he looked for, but anything of elfish design the Norscans bore, or any maps and charts they might have aboard. Sadly they had not a whisper of either such thing.

The slaves were cleaned, fed and given blankets and what healing could be given, was given. The booty was taken on board the Senlui and the longship was cut away from the trimaran by the boarding axes of the sea elves and allowed to sink beneath the waves and freeing the Senlui.


“Take her back home captain”

[Code13]

To Ingwe of House Daerleon

Written in this day being the 83rd Day of the Season of the Sun in the 375th year of the Reign of King Finubar

My dearest wife, this forsaken sea has a strange charm to it. The aurora above the polar gates ebbs and flows at night, the seas are cold and grey as are the folk that make their home here. The world abounds with portents and omens, the seers find it difficult to know the ways of the future and the Aethir is fickle and capricious.

Truly the Elthin Arvan stands on a junction in its destiny, and perhaps with it not just the House of Meliane but all our peoples too. It is in just the last days that news has reached me of an island, hitherto unknown on any of our charts or navigational almanacs that stands at the centre of the Sea of Claws. Around this island is a terrible, whirling maelstrom that is bound in with these strange times and is driven by the forces of the mundane and the mystical.

Can it be that this is the place we came here to seek? That lost realm of our fore-bearers where the Dragon Lords of Meliane once made their kingdom in elder days? It is too soon to tell, and perhaps too dangerous to approach just yet but even so I must send missions to investigate. I shall summon the Rama’ura’loce’nya’Imyrr whose size and seaworthiness can surely withstand the terrible storms that wreath themselves around this island, I just pray that she comes swiftly, for I am sure the forces of destruction also approach this strange, fate laden island.

But these are things of darkness and I would put such things from my mind while I think of you, who is as the sun and the stars to me and the source of all things that are light and good in my heart. Little time have I been gone from our mansions in Yvresse but already my thoughts turn to the views along that rugged, beautiful shore and of riding with you along the cliffs and through the forests of our home.

Alas my time flows swiftly with the pace of the humans in this place, and the eagle is ready to take my summons to my flagship along with this message to you and so I must put down my pen, but not my thoughts of you or of our children.

I have sent gifts with this note; to Camling I send a spy glass. Its lenses are ground by the dwarves of the Fauschlag and are a rare prize that any young sailor could want.
To Ardana I have sent a necklace of silver and lapis lazuli that comes from the desert lands of Araby, it is the finest skill the humans of that realm can make and has a style and charm that I am sure she will adore.

And of course to you, my love, I send a bolt of silk, crafted by our cousins the Asrai and is of the green of the deep woods and in it gold thread they have embroidered the symbols of their realm.

Till I return

Arduval

[Code13]

A few more entries from "A Sailor on the Sea of Claws" for your entertainment.

[Siegfried VII]

Good stuff and good times mate.

[Code13]

With the impending start of the A6 campaign, there is a little more fluff for my army before hostilities start, still set in the Nordland coast. Enjoy.

The deathly grip of Ulric had encircled the Sea of Claws, the dark grey waters now turned white by his breath. The very air shimmered with cold and the world was drained of colour and laughter. The only sounds of contentment were from the ravens that grew fat on the feast left for them by the conflicts that had raged in the summer.

Upon the Nordland coast, the small mannish town of Neus Emskrank was no different to any other along that southern shore, the land turned iron hard and the people driven indoors for shelter, only venturing forth with good reason.

Icy wind howled round the heavy, grey stone buildings of the town, coating their edges in rime and making the cobbled streets almost impassable. Thin trails of grey smoke were whipped away from chimney stacks by the wind and any door being opened was welcomed by a chorus of disapproval from those within.

Within his rooms of the Narwhals Horn, Arduval Yavandir wrapped himself in his bed furs and opened the door to the balcony, his breath taken away by the cold and his long fair hair whipping about his face. The cold air caught on the back of his throat as he drunk in the freezing morning air and his eyes watered with the chill as he watched the glow in the east that said morning would soon come, weak and cold to the north.

From behind him a muffled complaint and the nubile figure in his bed wrapped itself in blankets, prompting Arduval to close the door behind himself. Leaning on the balcony Arduval considered the events of the summer. He had come here to seek one thing, and found another, found something whose implications he was still struggling to understand, and about which the seers could give him no aid to plot his course.

His naked limbs grew numb with cold as he pondered more earthly matters. Winter’s reign would be long in these parts, then would come spring and the war would continue anew. More combatants would come, the war would be wider, and it would spill into the north and east. The Sigmarites were in turmoil, the strength of the dwarves waxed but they would be assaulted by the greenskins and the ratmen, the northmen were scattered but ever present and the men of Kislev held on and in the midst of it all, the fate of the world hung in balance.

He turned and went back into his room, the heat of the fire making his cold skin sting as it warmed up and he slowly began to dress himself.

Preparations must be made for the coming war.

[Code13]

Arduval stepped out of the warmth and comfort of the Narwhal’s Horn Inn just as the sun was cresting the horizon. Its thin pale light rolling across the grey, silvery frost encased landscape, making it glitter like a sea of diamonds. Down in the harbour huddled shapes wrapped in grey cloaks and thick winter clothing scurried about, the sounds of them carrying far in the still, cold air.

Wrapping his cloak about him, Arduval was a splash of life in a world devoid of colour, his deep azure cloak making him stand out stark from the rest of the world. Casting his eyes north and east he judged the weather, there would be no snow for the time being, but winter would tighten its grip on the Nordland coast, and as his breath hung heavy in the air he knew that cold as it might be, it was nothing to the deathly grasp that Ulric would exert further north, or in the hinterlands of the mannish realms.

The clop of hooves on cobble echoed round the streets, along with the light, gentle jingle of silver bells and from the stable block Arduval’s squire led his horse. A fine white elvish steed from the plains of Ellyrion, the supple leather tack trimmed in silver and gold, the bridle decorated with precious stones that glittered like the frost crystals.

He mounted swiftly, and began to trot up the steep hill out of the town of Neus Emskrank towards the coast road, the elvish horse and rider looking like some other worldly vision in this bleak mannish town, the jingling of the horse’s silver bells simply adding to the illusion.

At the summit of the hill, where the Temple to Manaan stood still shuttered against the winter he turned west and spurred his horse into a gallop, the pace of his horse swift and light as he sped along the cliff top road. He had a rendezvous to make at the old standing stones along the coast road for word had reached him, allies were coming.

[Code13]

On the Nordland coast the sky was black over the ancient henge and the world grey from the torrent of rain that poured from the heavy, dark clouds that hung low in the sky. An icy wind gusted, that cut through all but the thickest cloaks and furs, driving the rain before it and soaking all who wondered abroad to the bone.

In the centre of that ancient circle of stones was a vision of another world, an eldritch, almost ethereal thing. For sat there, upon a silvery white charger, and encased in armour of silver, gold and azure was an elven prince. Despite the bleakness of the weather, he was dry and warm, despite the darkness his armour and harness still glittered; only the wind still seemed to tug at his cloak and hair and only then to make him seem somehow less real, less mortal.

As the elven prince sat there, waiting, motionless the wind began to die, and the rain squall passed by, dropping to a mere constant rain now. Eventually, for those with ears keen enough to hear, came a faint jingle upon the wind. It too was out of place in this setting and spoke of fey things and tales told to children by the fireside.

The elven prince remained upon his horse, impassive and immobile.

Gradually the sounds became louder, a jingling harness and delicate silver bells. Along with it were the sounds of voices, fair and lyrical and into view, across the rough, rolling landscape and amidst the scattered trees that hug the ground and point their limbs in the direction the wind invariably blows could be seen the tips of spears. Long leaves of shining metal, the base of the spearheads decorated with coloured ribbons of blue and white and the spear shafts of a polished, ivory coloured wood.

Soon it could be seen that the spears belonged to horsemen. Elven riders; lightly armoured on graceful steeds, their colours of blue and white matching those of the elven prince, the silver bells of their harness the source of that delicate jingling. With them walked more elven folk, but these of a different complexion.

Those on foot were no less graceful or other worldly than those on horse, but they had the rumour of a more wild, untamed power. Their colours were those of the forest in winter, muted browns, greys and greens and while their voices were light and musical their tread was silent and their numbers hard to count, but perhaps some score of them carried great bows, fashioned no doubt from the heartwood of the great trees that grew in the Laurelorn forest.

The other half of their number were more outlandish, their dress and their demeanour marking them as something different again. While they wore thick cloaks of a muted grey that seemed to match the landscape, underneath could be seen clothes of bright colours in checks, diamonds, stripes and quarters while on their skin could be seen swirls and lines of tattoos and sigils. This troupe bore weapons of all kinds too. Some had spears, some long slim swords; others great curved axes while others bore large shields and mailed gauntlets mounting wicked blades.

As a whole they reached the edge of the stone circle, the riders dismounting and kneeling before their prince, the others standing a respectful distance behind.

“Hail, my prince, we have returned at the appointed hour and with us come some who may lend their aid in the coming trials” spoke the leader of the riders.

The elven prince lifted the tall, ornate silver helmet from his head to reveal his handsome face, smiling as answered. “Well met once again Imbol, I am glad you have come safely back to our midst. And well met my cousins of the Asrai, it makes my heart glad to see you here.”

The elven prince dismounted and walked to the edge of the henge. “I am Arduval, Prince of House Meliane from the realm of Yvresse on Ulthuan, and I would bid you welcome”. His every word and motion full of the formality of the royal court of Ulthuan, giving his would be recruits the utmost respect.

From amongst the Asrai archers stepped their leader. He was tall, lithe and tanned with long black hair flowing over his shoulders, a fine sword at his hip and a mighty bow over his shoulders. “I am Gilgalion, Glade Guardian of the Asrai and captain of this company. Imbol has told us some of your tale, and our seers tell us we of the Laurelorn forest may have some part to play, but we would hear more from your mouth before we will shed our blood in your service and do not forget, Prince of the Asur you may be, but we are Asrai, and we keep our own council.”

Arduval gave a slight smile. “I would expect no less Gilgalion, Glade Guardian of the Asrai. And had you offered unconditional service I would be the one with questions. But for now will you accompany me a short distance, for there is the ruins of a mannish village that will give us shelter while we talk.”

Gilgalion nodded his approval, and without further debate the large company made their way past the ancient stones and along the cliff road a short way to where the tumbledown ruins of a village once stood. There, amidst the ruins of the rough houses and shacks that was once home to the folk of Schlaghügel were tall tents, arranged in a circle and enough to occupy twice as many as were in the company.

Within the tents were braziers filled with hot coals, tables with food and high elf servants ready to wait upon the prince and his guests and into the central tent Arduval led Imbol, Gilgalion and some selected Asrai.

“Please, my guests be seated and avail yourself of my rough hospitality and let us talk over wine and bread.”

“And what shall we talk of, Prince of the Asur?” quipped the leader of the troupe of Wardancers.

“We shall talk of ancient things, things that are and things that might be...and perhaps then Bladesinger I shall proudly count the fearsome talents of your troupe amongst my host?”

“We shall see, Prince Arduval, we shall see.”

Prince Arduval began to tell a story, weaving ancient legends of the Golden Age and a time when all the elven kindreds were as one, and as the meal progressed his honeyed voice wove their spell over his audience, swaying them to his cause with practiced confidence.

His tale moved on to the fall of the polar gates and the sundering of the kindreds and of the things lost to the Elthin Arvan and of the dark years when the forces of destruction waxed in power and trampled over the lands of the Asur and the Asrai both.

But then as the last courses were being served his tale told of a new hope, an opportunity born in the mannish realms of Tilea when the balance of power shifted, of the retreat of the Northern Wastes and of the seers who see the world in balance.

At the end of the meal, Arduval’s tale was also done and was greeted with a murmur of appreciation and the prince looked to see the two Asrai with their heads bowed in conversation, after some time talking the leader of the glade guards stood and gave the prince a deep bow.

“You speak with skill and eloquence your grace, and much of the tale is known to us already, which stands you well for the parts unknown to us. Our seers too say the Elthin Arvan hangs in balance and to that end you shall have the service of my glade guard and Harrond will give the service of his wardancers. There are other Asrai travelling to this war also, led by High Born lords of the wide woodland realms and they too might welcome alliance with a Prince of the Asur.”

With a slight bow, Arduval stands and replies. “My thanks and gladness to you Gilgalion, and to you Harrond. There are no bows to match those of the Asrai, and the fearsome reputation of the wardancers is known to friend and foe alike, and it is fitting that our two kindreds will stand shoulder to shoulder against the great enemy. Come, share the wine from my cup with me and let us be as one blood.”

With that the three elves sipped from the silver chalice and the troops of the Asrai were welcomed into the war host of Prince Arduval of the House Meliane in Yvresse.

[Code13]

Some miles south of the mannish port town of Neus Emskrank, at the place where the river Ems flowed out of the great forest had sprung a vision from an ancient time, for standing there was the camp of an elven prince and his host, and in that place they were joined by their cousins the Asrai of the Laurelorn Forest.

Amongst the tall trees of the Laurelorn stood great marquees of brilliant white silk that reached up like swans craning towards the treetops, their panels decorated in the swirling, abstract designs of the Asur. Amidst these were lower, longer tents woven from a strange grey fabric that looked to be made from the very woods of winter itself, its colours were brown, grey, white and muted drab shades, but at the same time they were vibrant and full of the promise that life now dormant would soon spring forth and no matter how hard a viewer looked, their eyes seemed to slide off them and they would remain unnoticed.

From within this town of silken walls came the sounds of laughter, music and merriment in elven tongues. Mixed in with this was the clash of steel, the ringing of a forge, the whickering of horses and the thrum of bowstrings as the host continued their training for war. A few of the brave and curious townsfolk hereabouts had dared to approach the camp, getting close enough to take a peek and those that managed it told the air above it and around the camp seemed to shimmer and dance, and indeed this was true, for the mages in the host had woven many spells about the camp for protection and comfort.

At the centre all this was the court of Arduval or, to be more correct, the Court of Prince Arduval Yavandir of the House Meliane. From within his court he made his final preparations for the coming campaign, and as the final hour approached he was most happy with things. True his full host was yet to arrive, meaning he would lack the heavy knights of Yvresse until the start of spring, but they were not needed as yet and in their place he had allies of the Asrai, now being captain to a company of Glade Guard and even a troupe of Wardancers.

His Asrai allies had also provided much provisioning, the finest wood for spear shafts, arrows and even bows and many rare and prized herbs for healing and medicine. Moreover, the Asrai, while they were camped so close by, had come with their ordinary folk to visit, for it was a rare occasion that the Asur and the Asrai would meet thus and now several families and clans were now hosted by Prince Arduval and much to his amusement, many of their maidens sought to catch his eye, and truth be told, he theirs.

But his political instincts had over ridden his more base desires, not wishing to cause offence to his allies and despite there being many of the Asrai maidens whose eye he would dearly seek to catch in return, he remained nothing more than a gracious host. Ironically this just seemed to make these wild Asrai maidens more interested, as if he himself became some sort of sport to tempt. An odd feeling to Arduval but perhaps when the time was right he would allow himself to succumb to their charms and be caught…

But that thought had to wait, as today was the last day they would be camped in this place and today was also a feasting day. For they would follow a tradition so deep in the past of the elven kindred that both the Asur and the Asrai shared it, for today was counted as the Eve of Departure, when the warriors of the Elder Race would feast, make their peace and say their goodbyes before departing to war and today the Asrai held that feast for their kin, the Asur having held their own such feast long months since in the halls of Tor Meliane. But where the Feast of Departure for the Asur had been laden with etiquette, structure and hierarchy, for the Asrai it was wild, free, untamed and somehow seemed more ancient, more vital even.



At the centre of the camp, in the midst of all the tents, the tables had been arranged in a great ring under the bare canopy of the forest. Above was the clear winter sky and about it were woven enchantments of warmth and weather protection. The feast itself was a myriad of dishes and starting at the table where Arduval sat alongside his captains and the visiting nobles of the Asrai were brought a succession of platters, taking from it their choices before passing the platters left and right, so all that ate would share from the same serving.

To them were brought venison, boar, woodland and water foul, fish and all manner of fruits, vegetables, breads both leven and unleven, all in a variety of dishes. To accompany this were the varied wines and spirits brewed and distilled from the forest fayre; sweet wines, heady brandies and smooth vodkas of many different hues and tastes and all manner of sweets, candies and sugary treats.

In the centre of the great ring of tables were the wardancers, spinning and whirling as they told their balletic tales, sometimes with great speed and power, other times with languid grace and Arduval Yavandir and his cohorts watched with admiration at the skill of these dancers as they related stories of the golden age to the assembled host.

The day waxed full and then began to wane, and all through it the food was brought to the tables, along with the wines and spirits and constantly the dancers continued and it seemed to Arduval that the very mood changed as the hours passed. At noon things were bright and hopeful, then grew darker and more closed in as night fell and the stars began to come out, as if with the turning of the seasons or the changing fortunes of fate.

As the great moon Manslieb began to fill the sky, and cast its silver light on the ring, Arduval realised that Gilgalion, the Asrai noble he had first met, was no longer sat on his left but instead sat next to him was an Asrai maid; her eyes deep green and her hair long and dark, he features fine and delicate. Upon seeing him look at her she simply gave him a knowing smile, and carefully poured some deep red wine into his goblet and proffered it to him to drink from. He took the goblet from her delicate hands, almost without thinking and drank deeply from it.

When he had drunk she smiled again, but then, as he was about to ask her name she pressed her fingers to his lips and said “you must wait my prince, for the last dance is about to start.” And with no more comment, she rested her hand upon his and turned back to watch the dance.

The dance told of two lovers, separated by the tides of war, occasionally thrust back together again as fortunes shifted, only to be inevitably broken apart again, the dance and music rose and fell, the tempo changing to match the passion of the scene being played out. Mansleibb began to wane in the sky as the dance went on and the ballet’s final, climactic scene began to be being played as almost total darkness had fallen.

Finally only the two principle dancers remained; initially on opposite sides of the ring but their dancing bringing them closer and closer as they spun about the circle faster and faster. As they spun the Asrai took up the rhythm of the dance, beating their hands on the table in time. As the tempo increased so did the force that the rhythm was hammered out by the spectators, the sights, sounds and experiences of the whole day were culminating to this moment.

Even Arduval was caught up in the moment, the food and wine combining with the dance and the rhythm to make his head light, with his hand under that of the Asrai maiden he began to beat the base of his goblet on the table along with the rest, unaware that the music they beat time to had stopped and now the dancer’s only accompaniment was the drumming of the spectators. Closer and closer the two dancers wove to each other, and faster and faster the beat rang through the clearing until, with immaculate timing the two of them met just as the last light of Manslieb vanished from the sky.

The beating rhythm stopped instantly, the two dancers fell to the floor, their limbs intertwined, their chests heaving with effort and their breathing was the only sound in the clearing. Without a word, Asrai began to leave the ring of tables and the elven maiden sat next to Arduval took his hand and stood up, as if to lead him away. With his blood pumping to the rhythm of the dance, and his mind heady with the wine and food he had consumed he stood and followed her as she led him into the forest…


(I took this as the inspiration for the final dance, just imagine it with less bretonians and more elves...http://youtu.be/1YOL-Cm5RmQ)

[Larose]

Haha "I must have her!" foolish Arthur, . Good story keep it comin!

[Code13]

That was Uther watching Igrane dance, i.e. Arthur's parents. But yeah, foolish Uther...

[Code13]

Arduval’s senses were filled with the night sounds and scents of the winter forest; the skittering of creatures hunting for food, of night birds sending their calls across their territory, the scent of frost laden air, of the hard dry earth, the slumbering woods and the maiden’s perfume.

But his touch felt nothing but the warm hand of the Asrai maiden that now led him away from the feast as her soft, delicate hand wrapped around his and his vision saw nothing but her lithe form from behind as he followed her, the cascade of her dark locks and the flash of her smiling eyes as she turned to look at him.

As the pair of them wove their way into the privacy of the forest his head began to clear. Gone was the swimming effects of the food and spirits, and gone was the pounding of his blood caused by the rhythm of the dance, but the spell was cast already, not that he wanted to resist it.

Soon the pair reached a dell away from the camp, a low hollow surrounded by trees and lined with moss, and filled with a freezing mist. The Asrai maiden spoke a few words of magic, some simple cantrips that drove away the mist and made the hollow warm and comfortable before she turned to face Arduval.

Face to face in the hollow Arduval looked upon the maiden, she was truly astonishing, everything that was beautiful about the Asrai was in her form, from the wildness of her spirit to the tan of her skin and once again, she silenced him before he could speak, only this time she did it with a kiss. Without a word then Arduval spread his cloak onto the soft mossy ground and together, the Asrai maiden and the Asur prince embraced each other on its thick warm fur.

*

Day would break late in the forest at this time of year, but Arduval had woken while the sky was still dark. The dell was still warm, but he and Talanessa, the name she whispered to him in the night, were still wrapped together in his cloak. As he lay there, looking up at the stars through the skeletal canopy of the trees he considered what had happened at the feast. It was apparent that the Asrai were far wilder than any Asur could guess, and Arduval could not decide if it was some strange wholesome wildness, that spoke of the ancient ways when all things were in balance or whether it spoke of some darker thing.

Where the Asur had found strength for the fight in their rigidity, in their unchanging and implacable nature against the forces of chaos the Asrai had embraced the spirit of balance in the forces of nature that dwelled there in the deep woods. There they had wholly embraced the sense of Yenlui that all the elder race valued, there they knew that life and death, order and disorder were part of the circle. Both were valid in the face of the enemy, but Arduval knew there would be those at home who would reel with horror at the circumstances of the feast.

The Eve of Departure was given service in both realms, but in Ulthuan the feast was formal, hierarchical and filled with abstract symbology. Admittedly, thought Arduval, it was still all one last chance for the departing warriors to sleep with their wives and conceive an heir but it was restrained and almost an unspoken reason behind the feast and amongst the nobility conducted only within marriage. But for the Asrai, the fertility rites of the feast were its entire focus, it’s every reason for being held and marriage and station seemed to hold little restriction on the proceedings, even worse the whole thing seemed like a genuine arcane ritual, drawing on the Winds of Ghyran to give blessing to the event.

Perhaps that was the point he mused; perhaps it was the best way of the Asrai making sure they would survive their constant battles, unprotected as they were by the Great Western Ocean, and best on all sides by beasts, men, orcs and the Enemy and perhaps it was the open face of some pleasure cult.

He turned himself to look at the maiden in his arms, to see if there was any clue in her sleeping form. As he looked at her she stirred and woke.

“Good morning” she said, sleepily. “It is still dark, my prince, is it actually morning, or does night still tarry a while longer?”

Arduval looked back up at the stars, it would still be some time before the sun would rise over the forest, and looking back at her he knew there was no evil in her.

“Perhaps night does still tarry a while longer, Talanessa …” He kissed her and embraced her again.

*

Talanessa refastened her toga over her shoulder an asked. “The host will soon depart wont it?”

“This day I should hope, we will be embarking.” Arduval buttoned his long cassock and reached for his belt. “But you knew this, so I sense there is more to your question.”

Talanessa smiled. “Take me with you. I wish to see more of the world beyond the woods, even if only for a little while.”

“And what of your family and your duty to them?”

“Am I not my own person? Perhaps things are different amongst the Asur, but my family do not own me and I am free to come and go as I choose.”

Arduval cinched his belt around his waist, and then reached for his hanger and sword. “Is that why you chose me last night?” he asked, his pride bristling at having been used.

Talanessa laughed. “No, Arduval, in that matter Isha guided me and I thank her blessing she chose well for me...”

“Then you may come along, and see the wider world in all its squalor and violence…and all its glory and splendour, but do not forget that you join a host of the Asur on the march to war with the forces of destruction and evil.” His tone remained serious.

“Do not fear my prince, I am not defenceless, and perhaps I may even be of use to your host.” She threw his cloak around his shoulders, circling her arms around him and whispered in his ear. “Even if it is to make sure my prince is kept warm in his tent.”

Arduval felt his passions rise again. Already this campaign had brought him fortune.

[Larose]

Ah Uther, my bad, never seen that movie before women always complicate things lol she may turn out to be a cool character though ... With all that wildness in her haha

[Oberon]

Well written. Arduval is quite a noble rogue, worthy of his bloodline.