IV. Tales from the Shadowlands....

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Aicanor
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#121 Post by Aicanor »

So very true, Nagarathi are back. Yes! :D
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Elithmar
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#122 Post by Elithmar »

Of course Rufus is Tim's son! What does Tim think Anna'lis is like? :lol:

I don't like the sound of this regent. I have a feeling I know him. ;)
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#123 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

I like where this is going, raise the banners, there are still Asur who will fight for justice! Ignore this Regent, for the Phoenix, and the Everqueen!
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#124 Post by Elithmar »

Elessehta of Yvresse wrote:I like where this is going, raise the banners, there are still Asur who will fight for justice! Ignore this Regent, for the Phoenix, and the Everqueen!
No, don't ignore the regent! He's a nice guy, honest! ;)
"I say the Eatainii were cheating - again." -Aicanor
"Eatainian jerks…" -Headshot
"It was a little ungentlemanly." -Aicanor (on the Eatainii)
"What is it with Eataini being blamed for everything?" -Aicanor
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#125 Post by Malossar »

Malossar the Dread will march to war for the Glory of Ulthuan at Tim's side! Damn the Regent! Damn the Alliance!

Let it be so!

Less RP now...

Ahh this story has made me want to dust off my Nagarathi army once more.
Ptolemy wrote:Im not above whoring myself for a good cause. ;)
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#126 Post by dangit »

Poor, poor Rufus.
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#127 Post by Headshot »

Part 16 – A Yard in Saphery

In the morning Trian sequestered himself to the yard behind the cottage. He had found a woodsman’s axe – long hafted, and broad bladed – and though it was a poor fit for the great axes of Chrace, as he swung it about, feeling the old pulls and strains upon muscle and sinew, he once again felt as if he was in the mountains surrounding Tor Choi, training with his uncle. It was like being home.

Yet then he would open his eyes and he would see out of the corner of his eye a glint and a sparkle… of black and gold.

He stopped his exertions and he turned and stared; his mouth a thin, bitter line. Strange. Despite all the claims of importance the Nagarathi had laid upon the suit, after its retrieval they had mentioned it no more and left it in his care. Now it lay draped across the top of the split-rail fence that formed the back of the enclosure. Beside it, leaning against the fence, was the great sword Spite.

He turned his back on the weapon and armor and returned to swinging the axe.

“You are holding the haft too low. It gives you greater reach, but you throw your balance off with that grip.”

Trian looked up: it was the scarred prisoner from Tel Golgoth. This…Narrin’Tim, of Nagarythe. He was already changed from what they found in that Asuryan forsaken place. The rags were gone and he wore the Nagarathi cloak and black leathers provided by Rast. And the mangy long grey hair had been cut and shaved: now there was only a single braided strip, from forelock to long queue in the back. The face that had seemed so ancient, so sallow, in the dungeons of the fortress, now had a light to it, and the once dead grey eyes looked upon him with a warmth, a kindness even.

Still… the face around those eyes was riddled with scars. From the tip of the ear, missing, to the nasty gash next to the mouth. It was unmistakably, a face produced by centuries of war.

Trian ignored him, and continued swinging the axe. The Nagarathi warrior wandered across the yard and leaned against the fence. He watched the boy for several minutes, then said,

“At first dark, we will be leaving here and heading into the mountains. I would like for you to join us.”

“Why?” Trian stopped and glared.

The northern warrior shrugged. “We need all the help we can get.”

Trian scowled in disgust. “Is that the reason? Not because of who I resemble? Who my father was!” The boy shook his head. “A father I don’t even remember…. You don’t want to try to convince me to take up the mantle? To become a…a, Shadow Prince??”

Despite the boy’s outburst, the Nagarathi warrior looked calm and thoughtful. “Nagarythe does need a Shadow Prince,” he agreed.

“Then you do it,” the boy grunted, and took to swinging his axe again.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the elder warrior shake his head sadly. “I cannot,” the Nagarathi said. “I was a Shadow Prince. Then my power was taken from me. I cannot be a Shadow Prince again. Things… do not work that way.”

The older elf sighed, and then shrugged. “Besides… I was a terrible Shadow Prince.”

It was such a surprising thing to say, that Trian stopped his exertions. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Oh I was brave enough, I suppose,” the Nagarathi said with a sad smile. “And I fought hard. I was willing to die a hundred times over for Nagarythe, if need be. I still am. But it takes more than courage and strength to be a Shadow Prince.” The elf shook his head. “A Shadow Prince… a good Shadow Prince… needs a certain…hardness inside. A willingness to make the cruel decisions. Many times, the kind of decisions that mean who will live, and who will die. Entire villages sometimes. I never could do that.” He said and swallowed, his eyes haunted. “But indecision is often worse….” The elf sighed. “And he needs education. A knowledge of the history and people of Ulthuan. Of the way things work in Lothern. Because we cannot stand alone. I was terrible at politics. Hated it. Couldn’t understand it. And I couldn’t command the respect in the room as Spite once had….”

The elf took a deep breath. “You. You on the other hand…might be able to. You have the education. And you have the noble blood. You might make a good Shadow Prince.” The Nagarathi quickly held up his hand when Trian opened his mouth. “But! But no one is forced to be a Shadow Prince. It is an office with few privileges, and many responsibilities. You do not become a Shadow Prince because you want to, or are made to. You do it out of a sense of duty. And love. Love for the People.”

The elf stopped and rubbed his arms against the morning chill. “Yet we were not talking about becoming the Shadow Prince. I was asking if you would join us when we leave this evening.”

Trian turned away, and started swinging the axe again. His head a whirlwind of thoughts.

“You are still holding the axe wrong,” the older elf commented after a minute, infuriating Trian.

“You are some expert on axes then!?” Trian snapped.

The elf shrugged. “I am Nagarathi. We use whatever is handy.”

Trian ignored him then. Narrin’Tim studied the boy for a minute. “Let us make a deal. We duel, you and I. Here. Now. If I win, you come with us and see this to the end. If you win, you are free to go, and no Nagarathi will bother you again. I swear it. The White Tower is just a short walk away.”

“Fine!” Trian exclaimed, not sure what to think. He gripped the axe firmly in hand. “Take up the sword!” he gestured towards the fence.

The Nagarathi shook his head. “I am not worthy.” He walked over to the fence and pulled a plank from it. He gave it a testing swing. “This will do.”

Trian’s blood began to boil. The arrogance! He came at the northern warrior swinging with all his might…. And missed. The Nagarathi stepped to the side, and Trian’s axe bit into the soft earth. The older elf stood there, a small smile on his face. Trian freed his axe and attacked again, in a more concentrated fury of attacks. Left and right. Breaking the pattern so as to throw the opponent off. Just as his uncle had shown him. Yet each time his axe finished its arc, surely to land a telling blow…the older elf wasn’t there. He would stand just inches to the side, that annoying smile on his face!

After a minute Trian stopped. He panted from his exertions. “You are too fast,” he gasped.

The Nagarathi shook his head. “It is not speed. It is distance. An awareness of space and reach. And thinking ahead.” His smile broadened. “My old teacher showed me that….”

Trian snarled. With his free hand he made a sigil. The world seemed to submerge within an amber fluid. The birds slowed in their flight, as time responded to his summons. He could see the elf standing before him, his breathing now slowed to a crawl. Trian hefted the axe and moved within that space between time. He brought the axe downwards….

The plank was there, slapping the side of the blade! Throwing him off balance, the boy staggered, and lost sight of the piece of wood. Suddenly he felt a stunning blow on the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back as his mouth filled with blood. The world returned to normal; a swallow passed overhead in full flight. But the boy’s eye was fixed on the jagged point of timber hovering just a half-inch inch above his pupil.

“Yes. You remember this,” Narrin’Tim whispered in his ear. “You and I were both there…laying upon the cold stone floor of that sepulcher. Our life blood, black and thick, ran together on that floor. Do you not remember? You and I are blood-brothers, son of Vaal. Bound together that day. As your father lay there and died, to protect the one he loved. Loved more than Nagarythe. More than his oaths. He who traveled an ocean and a continent…to die for. You.”

The Nagarathi stepped back, and tossed the stake upon the ground. “We leave at first dark,” he said, and turned back towards the cottage. Trian watched him depart in silence.

At the gate, the elf warrior stopped.

“Know this Trian,” he said without turning. “I do not ask for your aid lightly. It was your father’s dearest wish that you have a life outside of war. Beyond Nagarythe if need be. And though you may not remember this…upon your parent’s deaths, it was Shadow Warriors that bore you to Chrace and Tor Choi. But now I have no choice but to demand your aid.” The old warrior sighed at that. “It seems that necessity is more powerful than even my old teacher….”

***

Three days later they had crossed the mountains (using paths that Rufus had never heard of) and entered into the forested wildlands of Yvresse. The Nagarathi moved at a brisk pace, chewing up leagues with long strides. They seemed driven with purpose now. And also a certain lightness of being. The return of Narrin’Tim seemed to have lifted all of their spirits. Especially, Lilean. The grim Shadow Walker from the north appeared to have been replaced by a younger, more light-hearted version of herself. She smiled more now, and made jests with the siblings. Occasionally, she would send Rufus a slow, suggestive wink. And he would flush.

Still, he would be having the time of his life if it wasn’t for the fact that the latest addition to their party was his mother. She had insisted on coming with them. She sent a short note to the Tower, and then went upstairs and opened a dusty old chest. From its contents she pulled forth stained travel robes of white and green, and soft Nagarathi boots.

Rufus guessed it was good to see his mother looking so cheerful and energetic. She smiled more now too. And he would often see her walking with the grey haired Nagarathi warrior, with her hand upon his arm. Both their faces glowing; sharing secret smiles. It was like she had returned to her girl-hood too.

But then his mother would return, and remind him to wash the tips of his ears and brush his teeth. All in front of Lilean as well! And it totally destroyed the mood. How could someone go off on a great adventure, to save all of Ulthuan, with his mother in tow?! Telling him he should eat more?? Rufus was certain that he never had read any epic tales of heroes and their mothers going off on a quest to save the world!

That nonsense certainly never happened to Tyrion….

Rufus sighed and fixed his attention on the trail once more. Yvresse was thickly wooded with pine, oak, and ash, just like Nagarythe. But from what Rufus had seen, Yvresse was a much damper clime. At least now in late spring. It rained every day since crossing the mountains. And one day, for the entire day, from the morning dark, to evening’s last light. Lilean had explained to him that the trade winds came from the east, and bought moisture from the great ocean, much of it to be dumped upon Yvresse before it passed the mountains and into the mild countries about the inland sea. Whatever the explanation, the trail was nothing but slick mud and clay, intermingled with damp piles of leaf and loam. The forest reeked of wet and decaying wood. And all about grew large stands of brightly colored mushrooms, intermingled with thick growths of bright green moss upon the trees, both fallen and standing.

He had yet to see any of the fabled mists of the land. Just the unpleasant rain falling hour after hour, under low skies filled with fat grey clouds. Still, as he thought about it, it became obvious where the source of the mists lay.

“How much farther?” Rufus asked.

Narrin’Tim smiled at him and said, “Almost there.”

That was the other thing that lessened his enjoyment of the journey. He had heard what his mother had told the Nagarathi commander that night. But he was unsure what to make of it. He had been fatherless for so long that he had gotten used to it. As a little boy he had asked his mother about it, and she had said he was dead. He had stopped asking because of the obvious pain it caused her, and tried to just become used to being the child of a single mother. Sure he had been teased about it by the other children. But they teased him for his size just as much. He just hadn’t given it much thought.

And now… he still didn’t know what to think. Narrin’Tim kept sending him looks, the occasional smiles. He looked like he wanted to speak to Rufus, but didn’t know what to say. And as Rufus didn’t know what to say either… nothing was said. At least about that.

Still, the elder warrior had always been kind to Rufus. Polite and soft spoken. Even before he knew about their relationship. Rufus thought that if he were to have a father… well, Narrin’Tim wouldn’t be such a bad sort.

“I still don’t understand how we are going to reach Tor Yvresse. No one has been there and told the tale for over fifty years!” It was Trian. He spoke with concern, not irritation. Something about the older student had changed. Softened even. Rufus wasn’t sure what.

Rufus’ mother also looked at Narrin’Tim with curiosity after Trian’s comment. Though there was an unshakable faith in her gaze.

Narrin’Tim smiled at the older student’s question. “A Shadow Prince is privy to many secrets.” He said no more.

In a quarter hour they stopped at a cluster of old growth. Narrin’Tim looked about, and then ducked between the roots of one. He stuck his head back out. “We are here!” he said in triumph. Rufus and the others got on hands and knees and followed.

Under the tree was dark and hideously damp. Every move brought the slurping sound of wet soil on hand or knee. And the boy had to be careful not to ram his head against the tangle of roots overhead. Then just ahead, in the light of a blue glow lamp, he saw Narrin’Tim seated next to a flat stone upon the ground.

“I just need to find the right runes,” he muttered as he traced the edge of the stone with his fingers. “Aha!” he exclaimed. The stone parted in the center. A grinding sound filled the hollow, as the edges of the stone receded into the ground. Narrin’Tim took the blue lamp and tossed it into the hole. Rufus looked: he could see a tunnel, lined in fine stonework and columns, leading off into the darkness underground.

“It is well known,” Narrin’Tim explained, “That Eltharion the Grim once used a secret passage to enter the city of Tor Yvresse at the height of the goblin siege.” The old Nagarathi looked at them with amused eyes. “What isn’t as well known is that a Shadow Prince was with him!”

“Then this tunnel?” his mother started.

Narrin’Tim nodded. “Will take us straight into the heart of Tor Yvresse.” He chuckled. “We will not need to pass through the mists. We will go under them!” The other Nagarathi chuckled.

“Let us hope that some semblance of the city waits for us at the other end,” Trian said grimly.

***

A stone stood in front of them. They had followed the underground passage for many hours, until it ended here, at this blank piece of marble. Narrin’Tim once more studied the runes about its edges, before finding the set he was looking for. He traced their outlines with his fingertips. The stone rumbled to life, and slowly withdrew before them.

They stepped outside. It was midafternoon and so outside of the tunnel should have revealed a bright, bustling day. Instead what Rufus saw was a thick grey mist; as dense and clingy as any fog he had seen atop Saphery’s many rivers. It created a gloom and grey that was everpresent.

“Well, we are in an Asur city at least,” Raith whispered beside him. She pointed to her right: Rufus saw a line of fine columns decorated in elfish runes. Behind them a stone veranda of a sort. He noticed that the steps beneath his feet were not earth, but made of a fine ivory-hued marble.

They moved a few feet further into the mist. Rufus could see buildings now, towering up through the grey fog. They were mighty affairs of bright marble, often with broad steps before them, and rows upon rows of column lined walkways and gardens. A fountain bubbled nearby.

“This is Tor Yvresse,” Tim muttered. “I have been here before.”

“But where are all the people?” Lilean asked.

She was right. They hadn’t seen a soul. No guard. No merchant. No passing traveler. And as Rufus thought about it, he realized the city was deathly quiet. There was no echo of conversation, laughter or song. No fair Asur voice called from any of the building balconies. There was no bartering in the streets; no sound of children playing. And the more Rufus thought about it, the more concerned he grew. For other than the sound of the water in the fountain, there was no sound of movement or life at all. Not even birdcall.

“Tim,” his mother said in concern.

“Wait! I see someone,” Raith exclaimed, and ran off. The group moved in a hurry after her.

Suddenly his mother halted. “Stop! Everyone stop!” She fell to her knees and fumbled with her belt pouch. She drew forth a silver tipped quill and began to trace a sigil upon the stone, chanting as she did so. After a minute the sigil flared to life. His mother stood.

“It’s the mark of Vaul,” she explained. “It will protect us from the magic. As long as you do not stray too far.”

“What magic?” Raith asked suspiciously, her hand on her sword hilt.

“The one in the mists!” his mother exclaimed. She pointed towards where they had been running to before. Rufus peered into the mists: he saw a cluster of elves, a man and a woman, and a small child. They lay upon the marble street, completely still….

“But…but they are not dead!” he exclaimed. He watched them carefully. All three, unmoving at first, he thought. But then he saw just the slightest of lift in their chests. A breath! But one taken only once a minute!

“Yes, they are not dead,” his mother said. “They sleep an enchanted sleep.” She looked about them, at the mists wafting throughout the city. “It is in the mists. Somehow an enchantment has been laid upon them. The enchantment places all those who take the mist into the lungs into a deep, supernatural slumber.”

“So if we had of continued….” Raith thought out loud.

“In a few minutes we too would have been placed in the same enchanted sleep.” His mother said and nodded.

Lilean cursed. “That must be what happened to everyone that was sent to investigate! Whether by ship or land, to reach the city you had to pass through the mists!”

“I fear you are right,” Tim agreed. “They must have succumbed to the same enchantment. But who put it there… And more importantly, how do we break the spell?”

“Well, I’m not going around snogging everyone,” Lilean grumbled. At the other’s looks, she said, “What? Isn’t that what people did in the old tales?”

His mother frowned. She closed her eyes and made a sigil in front of her. She whispered.

After a minute she opened her eyes. “There is a source of great magical power, not far from here. But…” she shook her head. “It is too far. Too far to get to before the enchantment takes you. There is so much of the curse in our lungs now…even if we moved together, by the time I scrawled Vauls’ sigil we would be accursed. And trapped like all the rest.”

Lilean scowled. “And the mists of Tor Yvresse have always blocked magical flight. Phantasmancy is useless here!”

Narrin’Tim looked into the mist. “Which way?” he asked.

“Tim, it’s too far. Even for you,” Rufus’ mother said, shaking her head.

“I have to try,” he answered. “Or we die here. Or go into the same eternal slumber, which may as well be death….”

“Tim, it’s impossi-“ she started, angrily.

“I’ll go,” Trian interrupted. Everyone looked at him. “I can use my magic to bend time about me. It will allow me to travel much faster than anyone else. At least for a little while. Hopefully, that will be enough….”

His mother pursed her lips, still looking disapproving. The Nagarathi looked grim. But finally Narrin’Tim nodded. “You have the best chance,” he agreed, though the reluctance was clear in his voice. He pulled a mask from his satchel and soaked it in water. “Here. Put this on. It should help a bit.”

Trian did so, and then stripped himself of his cloak and gear; only taking the great sword Spite with him. “Which way?” he asked, voice muffled by the rag.

Rufus mother pointed. “I can’t be sure of the distance… But it’s at least a half mile…”

Trian nodded. He turned, and ran. The others watched him disappear into the mist.

As the minutes passed his mother and father’s faces were twisted by anxiety. (Rufus blinked in surprise at himself when the word ‘father’ came so easily to mind). Lilean walked over and stood next to him. She put her hand in his and squeezed reassuringly. Though a glance at her face showed her staring off into the mists with the same dread he felt in her eyes.

They waited. Rufus had never felt so trapped in his life. Even in Tel Golgoth! Here the mist, the very air they breathed, sought to imprison them! And he was afraid. It was magic, and magic was something he never could do, and scarcely understand. He wondered, not the first time, why Asuryan had put it into the world. And why He had made some Asur have the talent, and others like him to be talentless…. To not know of these secret winds and colors that permeated everything about them. The very world itself. It seemed as if he had been born color blind, while his mother lived in a world of rainbow hue. And…Lilean too! The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. She had the talent as well….

Why would someone like that even be interested in someone like him?

He shook his head. No. Trian is in danger now, at this moment. I must think of him.

And then he saw it. A shadow in the mist. It was moving towards them. It staggered and fell.

Without thinking further Rufus dropped Lilean’s hand and ran towards the slumped figure. He could hear his mother calling to him, but he did not stop. He came on the figure. It was Trian! He was lying on his back. Rufus went to scoop up the older student’s head into his lap. “What’s wrong?” he gasped, and looked about. He could see a pool of blood collecting around the older boy. A small, gnarled arrow was buried into his side; just under the ribs. The blood trickled from the hole in the leather.

“Trian!” he exclaimed. The other boy looked up at him and smiled.

“I did it,” he said weakly. He raised his hand. The head of a gruesome goblin, with bone ornaments thrust through its nose and jaw, came into view.

And the mist… The mist about them was fading!


***
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Elessehta of Yvresse
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#128 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Welcome to Tor Yvresse, in just a moment the fog will disperse, and you can all wonder at it's beauty.
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#129 Post by Headshot »

Elessehta of Yvresse wrote:Welcome to Tor Yvresse, in just a moment the fog will disperse, and you can all wonder at it's beauty.
Haha! :D

Ok, ok. Today, a double posting! In recognition of T's patience...

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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#130 Post by Headshot »

Part 17 – The Shadow Conclave

“I feel like I have traveled back in time,” Rufus mused.

“It does look a lot like Ulthuan from a century ago,” Lilean agreed.

The two stood upon the balcony of one of the mighty palaces that graced the slopes of the ancient city of Tor Yvresse. Before them they could see the city as it fell in a gentle curve to the harbor below; magnificent marble houses, and avenues lined with shining gold statues, as far as the eye could see. And fountains! Cleverly constructed fountains which shot forth giant streams of water from stone dolphin mouths, or the maws of eagles and swans. The outflow of the fountains would form streams and canals connecting the various levels of the city, and between palaces white wood gondolas drifted, full of elves in shining ithilmar armor, or clad in the finest of robes.

For Tor Yvresse was alive again. The city bustled with activity. All about elves moved here and there with a purpose. Cohorts of militia bustled to their duties. Students hurried to libraries. Levy trained in courtyards. And below it all, in the great harbor of the city, stretched a Navy the like of which Rufus had never imagined! Row upon row of hawkships sat along the quays. And between them the much larger, more fearsome man-o-wars of Ulthuan’s fleet, the gigantic eagleships. Each one so large as to shadow the tall masts of the hawkships. They sat among them like orca among porpoises.

And in the inside reaches of the harbor, dwarfing even the many masted eagleships, a pair of colossal dragon ships. The sun gleamed off their massive bladed rams.

For in the days after the spell was broken, it soon became apparent that it wasn’t just the Yvressi that had been under the foul shaman’s magic, but all the vessels that had been sent to investigate over the years. Their crews, like the Yvressi, had been placed in the magical stasis-sleep: their bodies unharmed, as their souls were forced to slumber. Upon awakening the ships and crews had made it to the harbor. And now there was a force at dock which included ships from nearly every country of Ulthuan: from Eataine in the south to Cothique in the north. They all were gathered here.

Even Nagarythe. The hawkship, ‘Harvest Moon’, once the flagship of the small Nagarathi fleet was accounted amongst the ships below. Rufus had learned that when a handsome captain had come up to Lilean and gave her a bawdy wink and familiar hug.

He hadn’t liked that. Not one bit.

He shook his head and tried not to remember. Looking back to the harbor, he realized that the bay was even more crowded than the day before. For not only were representatives from all across Ulthuan to be found in Tor Yvresse after the spell had been shattered, more arrived with every passing day.

He remembered: after the spell was broken the hurry and bustle about the city. His mother and father frantically tending to Trian at first. But then warriors and militia arrived from all about. Messages were exchanged. Explanations offered. And after that the Nagarathi had gone in search of an ‘old friend’.

There, in a Yvressi palace, the Nagarathi had met with a High Lord of Yvresse, and explained the situation to him. And he had agreed….

Though there was that one moment, Rufus could still remember….

“I will send the magical missives,” the handsome lord had said thoughtfully, “and we will call a Conclave here. Of all those that can be trusted. And… we should send an envoy to the Prince of Spires.”

All the Nagarathi had turned dark at that suggestion.

Lilean had said, “Sure. You can invite him. As long as I get to take my knife to his….”

“Lili!!” his mother had shouted and put her hands around his ears so that Rufus couldn’t hear the interesting middle parts.

Though Lili had finished, “…and stuff it down his throat.” Then smiled sweetly.

Even the level-headed Narrin’Tim seemed to be seriously considering her suggestion.

The Yvressi Prince had shaken his head. “Spires has always had great influence among the Colonial Lords. And we will need their votes to attain quorum.” He had looked at the Nagarathi with a sincere curiosity. “Or have things changed while I slumbered?”

“No,” Tim had reluctantly agreed.

“And what’s more,” his mother had said, “He still has much of his army. A full two eagleships at dock in Lothern. We will need his support.”

Lilean had snorted in disgust. “Funny isn’t it? How the Prince of the City of Spires, otherwise known as the City of Cats, always manages to land on his feet.”

“No one ever said that Spires is stupid. If anything he is gifted with an excess of cunning,” his mother had continued. “And he is no coward. Even Spite respected that about him.” She shot a glare at his father, who once again, reluctantly nodded. “He will see the way the wind is blowing. He’ll come around.”

“Then it is settled,” the Yvressi Prince had said. “I will send out the summons tonight.”

Two weeks later, come they had. Lords and Ladies from all over Ulthuan had responded to the unexpected, thoroughly shocking, summons from what was thought to be the Lost City. What had been inconceivable became real. And when High Lord Elessehta the Bold summoned them, come they did. More and more ships arrived on the hour.

Rufus turned and looked across the balcony. Lilean was sitting on the balcony banister. She was scratching at her jaw. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“It just…itches,” she groused. At Rufus’ raised eyebrow, the woman sighed and said, “I let your mother practice her witchcraft on me. Stupid me, huh.”

“Huh? What? Why?” Rufus frowned.

“Oh, she’s been on me about healing my scars. I finally gave in, ok!” She held her hands up looking helpless. Then she flushed, “I just thought… well, that maybe it was time to let things go. And start anew.” She finished and sent him a shy look.

He nodded thoughtfully at that, not sure what she was talking about. “Ummm… then you really shouldn’t scratch it,” he said. “I used to do that when I was a child. It only makes it worse. And then she yells at you.”

“She already did.” They shared a laugh.

Just then a pageboy came to the balcony. “You are summoned my lord and lady,” the young elf said. “The council is about to begin!”

“We are no lords,” Rufus said.

“Nor ladies,” Lilean interjected with another wink.

“But we will come right away,” Rufus finished.

***

The council chambers the Conclave was to meet in were a massive affair, occupying an entire floor of the palace. The walls, floor, ceiling, and rows of columns were all covered in gold plate, giving the room a warm luster in the light of its many braziers. Rows upon rows of cushioned divans sat in tiers above the central speaker’s floor.

And every seat seemed filled with Lords or their attendants.

From his studies at the Tower Rufus recognized most of the heraldry. All of the Lords of Tor Yvresse were present of course, forming a quiet group about Prince Elessehta in the center, and a young dark haired beauty who sat at his side. But besides them, seven of the thirteen High Lords of Caledor were in attendance, seated about the unmistakable armored form of Prince Malossar, of Tyr Caledra. The warrior prince was seated there in full battle array, tapping his foot upon the marble floor, and gripping the pommel of his sword in obvious impatience. Past the Caledorians, more than half of the Horse Lords of Ellyrion had gathered. And past them… Rufus did a quick head count. All! All of the Twelve Lords of Tiranoc sat in attendance!

He looked about more, and saw a familiar face. Headmaster Tiralya sat with a beatific expression on his face, amongst the Saphery representatives. As headmaster of the White Tower, he carried the rank of honorary High Lord by custom. But he was not alone: many of the Saphery Lords were in attendance. The Green and Red Wizards from the north, as well as the Prince of Tor Ilthan, were there. Even the Princess of Tor Irian was present. Rufus had never seen her before, but he had heard legends about her bewitching beauty: her pale white skin, and ebony hair were known to turn the heads of many a young hot-blooded noble. And come to think of it, he had once heard a rumor whispered over cups at The Lost Swan about how she was the result of a secret love affair between her mother and a dashing Nagarathi rogue!

Hah! He thought to himself. Another story about Nagarathi I know. He smiled.

Besides the Sapherians were many of the “Lords in Exile”. Princes and Princesses from Cothique and Chrace, those who had lost their lands to the Northern Alliance. He knew his father was counting on their support…

And near to them sat a small contingency of Lords and Ladies. They were dressed in browns and greens, and were clustered about a single lady, clothed in veils of white and amber. The Lords of Avelorn. And it was even rumored that the veiled lady had come from the Court of the Everqueen herself!

Then in one corner, a large block of stern faced lords sat. The colonial lords. All were clustered about a tall figured in gleaming silver mail: the Prince of Spires, dark haired and white eyed, the elf lord sat there with an unreadable expression on his face; his eyes slowly turning about the room.

Rufus saw his father and Trian – his injury now recovered thanks to his mother’s ministrations – standing in an alcove off to one side. He and Lilean moved over to join them. His father saw him and greeted him with a small smile; though his eyes were filled with anxiety. It was clear that the Shadow Warrior did not feel comfortable among the many High Lords and Ladies of the Asur.

Yet he greeted Rufus with a hug, before saying, “I just hope Spires doesn’t make trouble for us.”

“Well, if he does,” Rufus answered, “We can always try Lili’s plan.”

The Nagarathi woman’s face lit up and she flashed the smile of a well-fed cat. His father chuckled. “I was like you once,” his father said. “Brash and fearless. I suppose age has taught me otherwise.”

“I don’t know,” Lili said, “You still seem pretty brash to me. Look what you’ve done here.” She gestured towards the room.

“As long as it works out.”

“We will just have to trust Prince Elessehta,” Trian said softly.

***

Finally, after what seemed ages, the Yvressi High Lord stood and moved to the speaker’s floor.

“Lords! Ladies! My brothers and sisters, I have called you here today because Ulthuan is at a crossroads.” His voice rang out across the hall. Slowly he turned so that his gaze could pass over all in attendance. “We stand upon the brink of our own destruction. We all know that the power in the north is slowly, but certainly, bleeding us dry. Like a parasite, the armies of the Witch-King intend to siphon our strength and treasure until naught is left!” There were murmurs of agreement about the room. “And while we weaken his armies only grow, bolstered by the iron warriors of the Four Powers, and from traitors within our own ranks!!”

There were shouts and hissing at that remark. One of the Ellyrion lords stood up and shouted, “They are Asur no longer! How dare they turn their backs upon Asuryan!!”

“An excellent point,” a calm and commanding voice called from across the room. The room fell silent. Rufus looked to where the others stared. Of course, Spires was looking about, still seated upon his divan, but clearly the center of attention. He rose. “And if I may, Lord Elessehta, I would ask that if we speak of betraying Asuryan, why it is that we… we Lords and Ladies of the Asur meet here in secret? What is it we are ashamed of? I notice none of our brothers from Eataine are present, though they control the majority of the Fleet. And the Phoenix Guard, the sacred defenders of the Flame, do not guard these chambers. Yvressi marines do. Why this breach of ancient custom?”

“You should talk about ancient custom, you blood tick!” Prince Malossar bellowed from across the room.

Cries went up throughout the council chambers. Many lords were shrieking, “How dare you??” or “Uncouth!!”. Others were calling for an honor duel.

Malossar leapt to his feet. “If it’s a duel he wants, I’ll give it to him. Gladly! And if any of you other toadies want a taste of my blade, then stand up!!”

Narrin’Tim sighed, and whispered to Rufus, “This brings back memories….”

“Peace!!!” Elessehta’s voice rang across the hall. “There will be no duels this night. Our circumstances are too dire for us to be spilling each other’s blood.” He looked at Malossar, who only nodded with a smirk, but sat down. Then Elessehta looked to the Prince of Spires and said, “This Conclave is held in the ancient custom. No laws have been broken. Excepting that of notifying the Phoenix King. As there is no Phoenix King, ergo… we are not in violation of tradition.”

Spires nodded, still smiling slightly. “I will recognize this point on procedure.” With that he sat down, still looking unperturbed.

“What’s he playing at,” Narrin’Tim muttered beside Rufus.

“More importantly,” Elessehta continued. “There are enough lords and ladies here to form a quorum in the Conclave.”

“Yes! But only if it is unanimous!” a Tiranoc prince groused.

“True,” Elessehta conceded. “But how can we be divided on this? For I present a singular motion to the Conclave today – we must strike against Malekith’s armies. We must strike them together! And we must strike them now!”

Shouts and cries once more rang about the room. It took several minutes for Elessehta to regain control.

“Friends! My fellow Asur! Brothers and Sisters,” he cried. “Do any dare doubt the severity of our situation? No? Then it is obvious that we must move now, in concert, our forces together focused on a single point, like the tip of a spear!”

There were nods at that. “We must hold nothing back. We must mobilize all forces not needed to hold the walls of Tor and Great Gate, and move them north to force battle upon the Witch-King’s so-called ‘Alliance’,” the Yvressi lord continued.

More nods. “We risk much by such a venture. If it should fail…” an Ellyrion lord began.

“Risk?! What about those of us who have already lost?! Our people! Our lands!” a lady in a gown of pale blue shouted. Rufus recognized her as being one of the princesses from Cothique.

The Ellyrion lord nodded politely towards her. “Forgive me Princess Allexia. What I was going to say is that we risk much, but we have much to gain if we can indeed defeat the Witch King’s main force in the field. Much territory could be regained, and more importantly, the spirits of the Asur would be lifted.”

There was a general mumble of agreement to that. Finally, another lord stood and said, “Well then, if we are agreed to the need, whom then shall command this army?”

A silence spread about the room. Lords and ladies looked to each other.

“Very well. I’ll do it,” Malossar grumbled from his seat. A chorus of shouts and exclamations of ‘never!’ rang about the room. Malossar glared.

“Who has more experience than I?” he challenged back.

“But what forces shall you contribute Lord Malossar?” a lady from Saphery challenged from across the room. “It is well known that the forces from Tyr Caledra are… diminished.”

“Why one of my knights is worth a thousand of your spears!!!” Malossar roared back. The room once more descended into bedlam.

Strangely, it was the Prince of Spires who cut through the din. Once the room had quieted he said, “My lords and ladies, may I make a proposition…” All eyes turned to him. “Since Prince Elessehta has been so careful to note how we are following ancient custom, might I suggest that we turn to the First Age for precedent in solving this dilemma.” His eyes swept about the room. “We shall nominate Co-Consuls, to lead the combined arms of the Ever Empire in the absence of the Phoenix King. And, as in ancient custom, these Consuls be selected based upon their contribution to the army….”

Conversation once again broke out about the room. But most seemed in favor of Spire’s suggestion. Only the Caledorians glowered. However when it came time to consider the contributions by kingdom it soon became apparent that the bulk of the forces, in both silver and swords, were to be provided by Yvresse… and the colonies.

“Ah Khaine’s Teeth,” Narrin’Tim sighed. “That’s it! He just moved to a heartbeat away from the Regency. Or even the Phoenix Throne!”

The vote was made. And the Grand Army of the Ever Empire was placed under the joint command of High Lord Elessehta of Yvresse. And the Prince of Spires.

In the quiet that followed the vote, the dark haired beauty that had sat silently next to Elessehta’s chair all evening, stood and took the floor. Elessehta nodded to her, and said aloud, “I will surrender the Speaker’s position, to Lady Nevernili of Yvresse.” He sat down.

The young elf woman stood in the room center. She took a few moments to breathe deeply and calm herself, before saying, “My lords and ladies, there is one more matter that I wish to place before this Conclave.” The hall quieted further. Rufus could feel the curiosity burning in the room.

“I wish to put forth a motion to restore the House of the Shadow Prince of Nagarythe! And to recognize it as one among the Peers!”

Instead of bedlam, the room quieted even further. There was a thoughtful look on many of the Lords’ and Ladies’ faces. Spires looked irritated though. He said, “Lady Nevernili, any motion to overturn a passage of an earlier Conclave must be seconded by at least two kingdoms.”

Rufus stomach tightened into a tight ball. He could see his father watching the proceedings, jaw clenched. Lilean’s fingers dug into his arm.

“Yvresse we clearly have, but does anyone sec-“ Spires started.

“Tiranoc!” one of the Lord’s of Tiranoc cried. To general acclaim from the others of his kingdom.

“Well, that’s two,” Spires conceded. “But not enough. And while I appreciate the obvious sentiment of the lords of Cothique and Chrace, there are not enough of you here to represent a quorum of your kingdoms, so…” his voice trailed off.

Eyes moved about the room. Finally, one of the green robed lords from Avelorn stood. “I am Dalyth, and I would have this motion pass with Avelorn’s support.” He glanced to the veiled woman who gave a short nod. “And if it pleases the Conclave, I would have it known that a message was delivered from the Gaean Vale itself….” He paused.

“The Everqueen said that she is ‘very interested’ that the Shadow Prince be restored!”

A silence filled the room. Dalyth turned towards the Prince of Spires. “Would that be... what did you say? ‘Enough’ for you?” A chuckle broke out in parts of the room. Spire’s face showed no emotion.

Elessehta stood. “Opposition to the motion?” he asked, and looked inquiringly towards Prince Malossar.

The Caledorian sat stonily for a minute. Finally, he said,

“Nah. Bring the bastard back! Caledor can handle him!”

His voice was harsh, but Rufus could swear that he saw something in his eye. Almost like a twinkle of joy. Though he could never be sure with the light.

Elessehta looked to Spires, who merely looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “In that case, I call for a vote….”

***

“I can’t believe it,” Narrin’Tim said in a voice exhausted of emotion. “After all these years… the House of the Shadow Prince is… restored!” There were tears of joy in his eyes.

“I didn’t fail… I didn’t fail…” he mumbled to himself. Rufus’ mother went up to him and held him long in an embrace.

The Nagarathi had gathered together at a rooftop garden. It was quiet here, and dark. Just a few flowering plants and a tiny fountain for company. Rast and Raith both looked equal parts relieved and stunned. Lilean sat upon the rooftop edge, and simply smiled.

“I called for a meeting of the Clan Council before I left Nagarythe,” she said. “Just in case. We can take the Black and Gold back and see about having a proper Shadow Prince ordained.”

“Yes,” the old Shadow Warrior agreed. “But you won’t be going, Lili. I need you to travel to Avelorn and wait there for the Shadow Warriors to arrive. Coordinate them with the army.”

Rufus frowned, “But how will we get to Nagarythe in time?” There was no way that he was being left behind. “The army leaves soon.”

“We will go by wing,” Narrin’Tim said and smiled. The others look surprised. He laughed at their confusion.

“Yes! I spoke to Elessehta earlier today. He said the aviaries of the city are still full of wing brothers!” The news brought a deep joy to the listeners. The Great Eagles were the oldest, most dear allies to the Asur. Losing them had been a blow to more than just the practical; it had hurt the Asur soul.

***

The next morning Narrin’Tim, Trian, and Rufus gathered at the aviary landing. Prince Elessehta was there to see them off. As were several others, including the lord from Avelorn and the veiled woman; who even in the early morning kept her face covered. Though there was something about her eyes that seemed… familiar, to Rufus.

There was little time to consider it though; the Great Eagles were called to the waiting grips.

As he saw one of the mighty birds descend, Rufus looked to his father and said, “I really don’t like heights.”

“Me too,” Tim agreed and smiled.

His mother was there too. And the three Nagarathi Shadow Warriors. His mother came forward and gave him a kiss on his forehead. Then she turned and gave a decidedly more passionate one to Narrin’Tim.

Rufus turned his head in disgust. But then was surprised when Lilean strode forward, grabbed his face, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She held him there for several long seconds. And the kiss just kept getting warmer and moister. Then she released him and said, “For luck!” with a wink, though her face was scarlet.

Rufus looked about, not sure what had happened. He noticed his mother and father sharing a look. Narrin’Tim looked stunned and simply shrugged to his mother. She was looking thoughtful though, and watching Lilean with narrowed eyes.

“It’s time to go,” Tim said.


***






I kept waiting for Malossar to leap to his feet and scream, "I'll take on all you b----es!!!!" :lol:
Last edited by Headshot on Mon Jan 21, 2013 6:25 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#131 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Heh, I read the part about the dark haired beauty and knew who it was ^_^
I can imagine Ele and her, dancing in circles at one of the great balls, both wearing elaborate masks.
A grand army sweeping north from Yvresse, depending on the time of year perhaps getting support from the knights of the storm god, if the shrine of mathlann happens to have risen from the sea.
HaHa~ I just realised why ulthuan was in financial trouble, no taxes from Yvresse for 100 years!
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#132 Post by Malossar »

Aww i was hoping for a reunion between Tim and Mal!

Fantastic two-parter, made my day!
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#133 Post by Larose »

Nagarythe is restored ! This news will surely make The witch king doubtful. Like an ancient curse coming back to haunt him haha
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#134 Post by Aicanor »

You update do quickly I am not able to keep up! What did that goblin shaman do that for? Don't tell me, he wanted to conquer but forgot to add a compass to his supplies?
I loved the way you handled the council meeting and the little stories within. So that's what they say? :mrgreen:
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#135 Post by Headshot »

Elessehta of Yvresse wrote:I can imagine Ele and her, dancing in circles at one of the great balls, both wearing elaborate masks.
I always suspected they had a thing! :D Elessehta Silverbough, the Bold. And Nevernili Morningstar, the Beauty of the East!
thelordcal wrote:Fantastic two-parter, made my day!
Glad to hear it! :)
Aicanor wrote:You update do quickly I am not able to keep up!
Yeah, sorry about that. I only have a couple more days before I'm outta here again. Trying to finish the story before I disappear.... :(
Aicanor wrote:So that's what they say?
Ah don't worry what the peasants say about their betters! I'm sure I believe your version of events.

Well, maybe... :wink:
Larose wrote:Nagarythe is restored ! This news will surely make The witch king doubtful. Like an ancient curse coming back to haunt him haha
I couldn't have said it better myself. :twisted:

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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#136 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Ele would be one of Yvresse's most desirable bachelors, young, handsome, wealthy, and a warrior mage.
I may have to keep an eye out for a pretty elf maiden model for Nevernili...
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#137 Post by Malossar »

Just reread the conclave. I'd like to point out that Vaal challenged Malossar in the last documented conclave hahaha.


Lets get some more action headshot! Lets get an epic duel!

I think i'm most anxious to know who the new phoenix king will be and who the hell is messing with our Shrine of Asuryan!
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#138 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Heh, I'm pretty happy how it is, an epic battle is on it's way.
I doubt we'll see a new Phoenix King until the druchii are dealt with, or maybe a small party will go to the temple to investigate the issues with the flame of asuryan.
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#139 Post by Aicanor »

Headshot wrote:
Aicanor wrote:You update do quickly I am not able to keep up!
Yeah, sorry about that. I only have a couple more days before I'm outta here again. Trying to finish the story before I disappear.... :(
The Harvest Moon is departing our shores again? Well...
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Aicanor wrote:So that's what they say?
Ah don't worry what the peasants say about their betters! I'm sure I believe your version of events.
Well, maybe... :wink:
Heheh, should I forget gloom and darkness and try my hand at a secret Nagarathi love story? What are all those blooming creepers growing over the tower for anyway? :D
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#140 Post by Elithmar »

Fantastic! It's great how you bring everyone's characters in, and all those little stories you make...

But really, the Eatainii are not evil! :lol:

By the way, how old is Lili compared to Rufus?
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#141 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

She would have been less than 200 the last time we met her, maybe as young as 100-150, and this is maybe another 100-150 in the future, so she's probably 200ish, still quite young.
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#142 Post by Elithmar »

Is 100 supposed to be about when an elf becomes an adult, like 18 or 21 in human terms? Rufus is maybe 75?
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#143 Post by Headshot »

Elessehta of Yvresse wrote:Ele would be one of Yvresse's most desirable bachelors
Yeah, but the 'Morningstar' is widely considered the most beautiful elf maiden in the East! A wealthy merchant princess whose beauty is only matched by her grace and wit.

Just saying that Ele better stop sitting on his hands, and get up and ask her to that ball... :wink:
thelordcal wrote:Lets get some more action headshot!
Man, you give and give of your time, and they just keep demanding more! Ingrates.... Grumble. #-o

:wink:
Aicanor wrote:should I.... try my hand at a secret Nagarathi love story?
Ah, I knew you'd come around. :D You know, Shadow Warriors are good climbers. Thats not only useful for the occasional assassination, or stealing of ancient evil artifact, but can be applied to climbing tall towers and discreetly entering the lonely bed chambers of young Sapherian maidens....

Psst. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone else that the princess of Tori Irian is an illegitimate love child! :-6
Elithmar of Lothern wrote:By the way, how old is Lili compared to Rufus?
Drat. You caught me. You remember that conversation about age from a couple of pages ago? Well I was planning on exploring something of that through a cross generational love affair. And I figured that it would be more interesting to look at one between an older elf maiden and a younger elf guy (given the gender biases of 'our' cultures! I mean who cares if most of Elithmar's floozies are a quarter of his age?!).

Anyways, lets see. Rufus just turned a 100 before the story so he is about 101 or 102 ish. Most of the other elves like Tim and Anna'lis are in the 300-400 range at this point. Though someone like Ellesehta is a bit older at 500 (however, the long enchanted sleep starts to play havoc with aging issues...). Lilean is of the same age as Tim and Anna'lis. That would mean that Rufus is into someone that is his mom's age! (And readers around the world shudder!).

The tricky bit is if we say that Rufus is the 'human equivalent' of 16 or 17. What does that make Lilean? Older yes. But I figure after a while it is really hard to make the 'human approximation' to elf aging. I mean what do elves think of the difference between someone 2000 years old versus a 'youngster' of only 1200? Plus there is the experience factor: Tim is still relatively 'young', but centuries of constant fighting coupled with decades of imprisonment (thanks Rod....) have taken their toll. So a real argument of 'mileage' over 'years'....

And then I just thought it would also be nice if the houses of Narrin and Palin were joined for some measure of happiness and support after all they've been through. Especially thinking how clan Narrin has been basically wiped off the map! (Thanks to Cal providing a ready-made air force to the Witch King! :evil: I swear Ulthuan needs a truth and reconciliation commission.... grumble).

However, sadly this is one of those subplots that I have had to mostly cut out because of time considerations (was just cutting a bunch this morning actually).

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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#144 Post by Aicanor »

Headshot wrote:
Aicanor wrote:should I.... try my hand at a secret Nagarathi love story?
Ah, I knew you'd come around. :D You know, Shadow Warriors are good climbers. Thats not only useful for the occasional assassination, or stealing of ancient evil artifact, but can be applied to climbing tall towers and discreetly entering the lonely bed chambers of young Sapherian maidens....
Psst. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone else that the princess of Tori Irian is an illegitimate love child! :-6
Sure you won't. :twisted: Not sure I should ever write love stories... :lol:

EDIT: Although, how do you think Aicanor's forefather got to marry a princess of Saphery?


Age-wise, I'd say there are several levels of maturity (and majority) instead of the one (or two) we have, both physical and mental. I am looking forward to see your take on it. :wink:
Last edited by Aicanor on Mon Jan 21, 2013 9:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
dangit
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#145 Post by dangit »

Elithmar of Lothern wrote:Is 100 supposed to be about when an elf becomes an adult, like 18 or 21 in human terms? Rufus is maybe 75?
Really? I was sure that Headshot mentioned that he recently turned a hundred right at the beginning.
Member of the [url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=32214]Mage Knight Guild[/url]
Headshot
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#146 Post by Headshot »

Part 18 – The Forests of Avelorn


Lilean stood alone in the wood and took a deep breath. The scents of wildlflower, pine, ivy, earth and loam, all filled her nose. The forests of Avelorn were the oldest in all of Ulthuan. And they were untouched; no Asur dared to bring scythe or plough into the sacred wood, the very birthplace of their race. The forest was left to grow and flourish as it had done from time immemorial. All about her the forest floor was dense with undergrowth – flowering vine, red berry bramble – and the small creatures that made the growth their home; from blue crystal moth to the predatory white martens…the forest was alive. None more so than the trees themselves. Here the oak and pine towered over even the tallest growth found in Nagarythe, and the canopy above formed a dark shield between earth and sky; only pierced here and there by a slender ray of sunlight. The beams would fall to the forest floor making golden columns among the moss-covered stands.

The Nagarathi woman turned away from the wood a bit reluctantly, and began to retrace her steps. Gradually the forest began to thin. And she could see small groups of elves moving between the trees. Avelornians, dressed in hunting leathers and carrying tall longbows carved from white birch; for days they had been drifting into the camp, coming from far across the ancient wood. They were a welcome addition to the army: the only Asur the Nagarathi grudgingly recognized as their equal with the bow….

Well, almost their equal, Lili corrected her thoughts.

She passed the last tree trunk and the forest opened before her. In the near distance she could easily see the trunk of the great Bodhi tree – one of the giant ‘birth’ trees of Asur legend – the ancient plant spread its roots far and wide, and its trunk climbed up hundreds of feet to the sky, before spreading out into a wide canopy of branch and limb that stretched out in all directions for hundreds of feet. Up in the limbs of the tree she could make out the white carved manor of Lord Dalyth’s people; and even though it was early morning, the lanterns burned in the windows and covered bridges of the tree fortress. Hundreds of elves made their home in the boughs above, and even from here she could see them moving about the limbs with remarkable agility. All were busy with the preparations for war: supplies were moved from manor to ground below – buckets of tar for patching woodwork, iron ingots for fashioning arrowheads, coils of string for bows, and unfashioned wood for spear or stave. All would come down by line from the tree above, like bundles of spider webs dipping in the breeze.

For beneath the boughs of the Bodhi tree clustered the Grand Army of Ulthuan. Thousands upon thousands of tents and pavilions spread out as far as the eye could see. Huge tracts of the forest floor had been cleared and staked off to form makeshift pens for the Ellyrion steeds. Stone and earth huts rose in scattered clusters among the tents and shot forth streamers of black smoke as the smiths within busied themselves at crafting the weapons of war. Soldiers in their hundreds trained in the campground: drilling with shield and spear; or standing in lines, while the twangs of bowstring attested to the hundreds of shots flying forth towards straw targets. It was an army to dwarf anything she had ever seen before.

Except of course… the Northern Alliance….

Lilean frowned at the thought. The memory of the many fortresses of the Alliance that she had scouted… and some raided. Only they, the Druchii enemy, had a force to compare to what spread about her.

But no! They are not Asur. We will triumph. We must….

Just then a familiar figure walked towards her. It was Aaryn’Flynn, the rogue-like captain of the Harvest Moon. He smiled at her and said, “It reminds me of old times. Though having slept through much of the last century I probably don’t have much call for nostalgia.”

She knew what he was talking about: the armies of the kingdoms and diverse princes, all coming together, working together, training together, laughing and singing together… It was something that she remembered well from before. When the Phoenix sat upon the throne. And the army of Nagarythe - the Host of Nagarythe – fought side by side with their brothers from across Ulthuan…. She felt the pang of loss most deeply then, and sighed.

“I wish Spite were here,” she mumbled.

Flynn laid his hand upon her shoulder. “I miss him too,” he said softly, and looked at her gravely with understanding. But then the twinkle returned to his eye, as well as the long familiar smirk on his lips, and he said,

“Though this Narrin’Rufus seems quite the acceptable compromise. Dashing, that fellow is!”

“He fights hard, and is brave beyond anything! I saw him slay a drake!” Lilean snapped, her anger quickly bubbling to the surface.

Flynn covered his head with his arms. “Please don’t hurt me.” He peeked out from between his fingers, the sly smile still on his lips. “I just wanted to see if all those trips into the woods these past few days have all just been about ‘looking for arriving Shadow Warriors’,” he said mimicking her explanation from this morning. “Or if there might be something more specific you were hoping to see arrive from the north.” He paused dramatically. “And… now I know.”

“What are you talking about?” Lilean scowled. “He’s just… And I am… I…” Her temper flared again. “Just leave me alone you Eatainian barnacle! Can’t you go clasp onto someone else more willing?”

“Ah, I was doing that all last night,” Flynn responded while adjusting the tail of his long blonde hair. “Had to make up for lost time, as it were. And did you know that Avelornian girls are quite flexible. Remarkably so, really.”

“Flynn! I don’t need to hear that!” she said exasperated.

He shrugged. “But if we are talking about ‘clasping’, you might want to have a talk with our dear friend Anna’lis. I’m sure she would like to know your intentions towards her only son….”

Lilean glared at him. She thought of a half-a-dozen things to say, but bit them all back. It was true, she knew it. Anna’lis had been watching her with a wary expression for days now. She knew the Saphery mage was worried. And despite the fact that they had been friends for centuries, Lilean had started avoiding her. The problem was, she just didn’t know what to say. He was so young! And she, so…. It was all foolishness, she knew it. And yet she couldn’t help but worry about him…. Flynn was right, her trips into the woods had been just as much about finding solitude for her thoughts and worries – always drifting to the north – as it was about scouting for new arrivals. She just hoped he was okay….

What is wrong with me?

She shook her head. “Is that all?” she challenged Flynn.

He smiled and played with a lock of his bangs. “That and our Consul-General, Prince Elessehta, would like a report on where all of our promised Shadow Warriors are.”

Lilean sighed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

She left the Eatainian’s side and moved along the avenues of the camp until she spied the large pavilion of the Yvressi prince. A dozen silver-mailed Yvressi knights stood at attention around the tent. The captain at sight of her nodded and held open the tent-flap. Inside she could see Elessehta hunched over a table. He was not much older than she, but the responsibilities of his life granted him an…aura of experience. He exuded a calm authority.

“Any news?” the prince greeted upon her arrival. She sighed inside, remembering not too long ago that she was the camp leader and had that responsibility of accounting for the soldiers and planning their movements. Though on a much smaller scale then what the prince faced. She did not envy him his position.

“Not yet, Prince Elessehta,” she said with a shake of her head.

Without looking up the prince said, “We have been at camp here for three days, Lilean. Every day we tarry means that there is a greater chance that the Alliance nighstalkers or witches will spot our movements. And ruin our element of surprise. One of the few advantages we have on our side at the moment.”

“I know, Prince,” she said with a heavy heart. “But Tim will not let us down. We just need to give him more time!”

Elessehta sighed. “I do not doubt Narrin’Tim. But there are others that I do not hold in such a high confidence….” He shook his head. “Not all of the Caledorians have arrived yet. Malossar is still absent. Of course.” The prince stopped, looking like he had tasted of something bitter. He turned back to his map, and began tracing a finger along its contours. “From here it is two days march to the Anulii. And then another two further north….” He frowned. “The Shadow Warriors are the eyes and ears of the army, Lili. Without them out there scouting the tracks and passages, the army is blind. And soon it will be blind in enemy country.” He shook his head. “The terrain is too rough for Reaver patrols, and while I could send parties of rangers from the other kingdoms out to scout the approaches… I would rather not. I know the Shadow Warriors mettle, all too well.”

Lili only nodded, having fought beside the prince in the past.

The prince continued, “But we can delay no longer. It is high summer now and the passes of the Anulli are clear… If we wait even a fortnight more the autumn snows could start in the heights. And… we must protect our element of surprise. We must move now, while momentum is on our side!”

Lilean swallowed and nodded. Her stomach was tied in knots. She tried one last gamble, “Prince, please…”

He immediately shook his head. “One more night, Lili. That is all we can spare. We march in the morning.”

Lili felt like she had been punched in the gut. But she kept her face blank, and nodded. “Yes, Prince Elessehta.”

“Now,” the prince said while he folded a piece of parchment. He put a wax seal to the edge, and ground his ring into it. “If you could carry these marching orders to my Co-Consul….”

Lili winced. “Prince, please only send me to Spires’ tent when you want a knife buried in his kidney.”

“Lili,” Elessehta admonished.

“Yes, Prince,” Lili sighed and took the sealed parchment. She bowed and exited the tent.

The Nagarathi walked the short distance across the camp towards the scarlet and ivory pavilion of the Prince of Spires. His tent was surrounded by the eastern blademaster order; each warrior equipped with tall, plumed helms that completely covered their visages. And each wore a red lacquered banded mail. Unlike before Elessehta’s pavilion, the bladelord made her wait several long minutes before ushering her inside. Lili gave careful consideration to paying the captain an unpleasant visit later that night.

Well, unpleasant for him…. She would enjoy knocking his teeth out.

The interior of the tent was bright: several flaps near the tent roof were open to the sky, allowing the green forest light to stream inside. A warm brazier burned in the tent center, and several small stakes with torch heads, burned in the corners. The Prince of Spires sat at a tiny folding table to one side, his form silhouetted by one of the open flaps. The resulting view perfectly framed him and the table he sat frowning over with a swathe of the green and yellow canopy of the Bodhi tree.

Lilean came closer. She could see that a board was set before the prince, full of black and white pieces. The prince was studying these pieces intently.

“Tahjong,” the prince said without looking up. “It is a board game popular among the men of the distant east. It takes careful consideration. The moves are planned to a dozen places in advance….”

Lili frowned at the empty seat opposite the prince. “And it is played alone?” she asked, curious despite herself.

“No. But there is none here who is my equal,” he said without any touch of boasting in his voice; as if merely stating a fact. (Lili wanted to punch him anyways.)

“I brought orders…” she began, waving the sealed letter before her.

“Moving at dawn?” the prince said without turning. Lili nodded, frowning. “Yes, I suspected as much. Given the weather and the disposition of our supplies it was rather obvious, actually. Of course, I concur. You may leave the letter upon the table.”

Perfunctorily dismissed Lili flushed red. She bit back a few choice words and laid the letter upon the indicated table. Lili turned to leave when the prince suddenly said:

“Tell me, Nagarathi.” She turned back, irritated. The prince was still staring at the board in front of him. “What does ‘war’ mean to you?”

Lili rejected the first few flippant thoughts that entered her head, and instead said, “It means fighting as hard as you can. Until you got no fight left in you…. And then fighting some more.”

The prince nodded. “So you would say.” He frowned, and then finally moved one of the black pieces. Then he turned the board, and stared at the white ones. “For the Nagarathi war has always been about elan,” he said. “About an esprit de corps.” He touched one of the pieces, just briefly, before withdrawing his finger. “But that is a crude, simpleton’s formulation.” Lili flushed. The prince ignored her. “War is about preparation, application, and efficiency. It is about judging the pieces, setting them in the most appropriate formation, and then moving them to the greatest advantage. Nothing more.”

The prince said no more, and Lili left the tent before she lost control and ran him through.

Though the thought of the Prince of Spires spitting up blood from punctured lungs, filled her with a strange satisfaction for the rest of the afternoon….

***

Evening found Lili walking the perimeter of the camp. She had been looking for Anna’lis, knowing that if for nothing else than the sake of their friendship, she needed to talk with the Sapherian. Though she still didn’t know what to say. When she saw Raith and Rast ahead, beckoning to her. She broke into a run and joined them.

It was immediately apparent what had attracted their attention. Two lines of horses were coming at a brisk trot down the forest road. Each horse was covered in the baroque, ornamental barding of golden ithilmar. And upon their backs sat knights in full armor! The high sheen to their shields and high-flanged helms, positively gleamed in the evening sun. The dragon princes of Caledor had arrived!

As they entered the camps periphery Lilean did a quick headcount. Ten. Ten riders. That was all.

Suddenly there was a booming of air! And the sound of tree limbs snapping by the dozen filled the forest canopy overhead. Small limbs, twigs, and piles of leaf fell all about the three Nagarathi. Only to be followed by larger limbs, that came down with a crash and showers of splinters. Lili went diving to the side.

Then with a thud that shook the forest floor, it all stopped. Lilean got up from where she had thrownt herself – noticing the massive tree limb that lay inches from her head – and swore, loud and long. She turned. Prince Malossar was seated atop a great black dragon. Both rider and beast were watching her with amusement. Lilean spent two seconds deciding whether to explode or control her feelings. She went with the former.

“You fool! You could’ve killed someone!!!”

Malossar was now apparently unaware of her existence. He removed his high peaked helmet, and patted the neck of the giant drake. “Thank you, Adder,” he said. Then he slid from the saddle strapped to the creature’s back and landed upon the forest floor. Lilean, head bowed as if ready to charge, stomped over towards him. Both Rast and Raith made grabs at her arms but she shrugged them off.

“I said, ‘You fool!! You could’ve killed someone!!’” she shouted to the Caledorian prince when she was only a step away.

Malossar seemed unperturbed. He looked at her calmly, with his shark-black eyes, and said, “It’s possible. I’ve killed lots of people.” Lili fumed. The prince raised a finger, “And I’ll forgive what you said before. For the sake of he who we both knew. But don’t utter it again and test my patience.”

Rast was holding her arm once more. Lili struggled with her anger. Her eyes went over to the line of Dragon Princes, all seated perfectly straight, lances held at the same ninety degree angle, atop their steeds. The horses alone would occasionally paw the ground, or snort the air. But otherwise, they like their masters, were perfectly composed.

She took a deep breath. The Dragon Princes did make for an impressive sight: at least as a display of discipline. Unlike so many others in the army. But…

“There are only ten,” she groused.

“Yes,” the prince responded. “One Dragon Prince for each Shadow Warrior once loaned to me… many years ago.” The prince nodded in a satisfied way while he inspected the line of knights. Suddenly he spun about and faced Lili directly.

“Yet never let it be said that Malossar of Caledor is as stingy as the Nagarathi,” he declared aloud, addressing the watchers who had gathered about as much as her. Then he looked at Lili with a sly expression. “For I have given you one better. Ten Dragon Princes for ten Shadow Warriors…. And beyond that…. One High Lord of Caledor! Me!!” He pointed to his own chest with a beefy thumb.

“Now… where is my tent?”

***

“I think I hate that guy,” Lili grumbled. She was sitting next to the small campfire the three Nagarathi shared. Night had fallen and they had just finished their meager supper.

Rast was shaking in silent laughter. His sister, Raith, muttered, “It seems your ‘enemies list’ grows ever longer, Shadow Walker….”

“Khaine’s Teeth, that it does!!” Lilean said, glared, and then started laughing.

She stopped when she saw Anna’lis walking towards them out of the darkness. Lilean got to her feet.

“Lili, can we talk?” the Saphery mage said without preamble.

“Of course.” The two of them walked off a little ways away from the campfire.

“Anna’lis…”

“Lili…”

They both started at the same time. Lili shook her head, “I’m sorry. You first.”

The Saphery woman walked a few paces in silence. “I just don’t want to see him get hurt,” she said at last.

Lilean thought about that. She realized that maybe the Saphery woman was right to worry. Asuryan knew that she had spent a lifetime doing stupid things, and cultivating a devil may care attitude. At least when she was younger. Before the war, and the responsibility of leadership had worn off some of her rough edges.

But maybe added one or two more.

She sighed. “Anna’lis, I don’t understand myself sometimes… And I know I’ve been plenty stupid in the past,” the Nagarathi woman said carefully. “But I promise you, I would rather cut my own throat than see him hurt.”

“He is young,” the Sapherian said.

“I know,” she admitted. “But there is something about him…. Maybe something of his father in him. A wisdom and kindness beyond his years…” She struggled to find the words. “I look upon him… and he gives me hope. And makes me feel…. Whole again.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I guess that sounds stupid.”

“No it doesn’t sound stupid. I know what you mean,” the Sapherian said with her own shrug. “Just… be careful.”

“I swear it.”

They continued walking around the camp’s perimeter together. Suddenly Lilean reached out and gently touched the Sapherian’s arm.

“What is it?” Anna’lis said softly.

“We are being watched,” Lili explained, with her other hand seeking out the hilt of her saber. “Someone has slipped past the pickets….”

“I think you are losing your touch, Shadow Walker!” a voice abruptly called out from the night. Suddenly a quintet of cloaked figures emerged from the trees. Smiles upon all their faces. “We have been watching you for near half a minute.”

It was Avyn’Pol. Lilean smiled and grabbed his forearm in the Nagarathi greeting. “What news?”

“The Shadow Warriors have arrived! I have forty bows at my back, and more should be coming in over the course of the night,” he said, still smiling. “And Lilean… the word from Nagarythe….”

“Yes?”

Avyn'Pol leaned forward and took both her hands. “The Shadow Prince walks among us….”


***
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Elessehta of Yvresse
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#147 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

That's a goodly number of shadow warriors, a question, is my griffon in the camp?
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#148 Post by Malossar »

I'm a bit disappointed in Malossar. A mere 10 knights? Those had better be 10 Princes or at least mount dragons by the time battle is joined ;)

Fantastic piece as always Lord Headshot.

I wonder if Malossar will finally fall and know the peace of the afterlife or will he continue to trudge on...
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#149 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

There is a big battle coming. many will fall, I don't mind losing blood for my people.
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: Tales from the Shadowlands....

#150 Post by Prince of Spires »

Headshot wrote:Tim is still relatively 'young', but centuries of constant fighting coupled with decades of imprisonment (thanks Rod....)
You're welcome. Always glad to help ;)

In a way I think level of maturity work a bit similar to humans, but in an extended form. What I've seen around me is that somewhere between 16 and 60 people peoples actions and ideas are mainly influenced by experience, reposabilities and environment. Below that they are generally imature and learning a lot about themselves and their place in the world (and dealing with changing hormones etc). Above 60-70 they slowly turn in on themselves a bit. Their world slowly becomes smaller and they become more distant from the everyday reality.

I suspect for elves it is a bit similar. They mature (in roughly those 100 years) and learn to be elves. After that they slowly start adding experience and responsabilities to the mix. And at some point they turn into grumpy old men...

For something completely different, I must say I do like the prince of Spires. He's everything you expect in a high elf. Calculating, political, slightly arogant, attention for the long run, powerfull. I can also see why a Nagarathi wouldn't like him... Looking forward to reading how he (ok ok, and the rest of them) bring victory to the HE.

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