Hey Fan fiction! I am Blizzard Quill, a new author to this site. First of all, I would just like to let you know that I am an aspiring author, and this is my first story. I would also like to ask you to review my story if possible. I do not care if you think it is total garbage, or if it is an amazing story, I would like to know your opinions. With that said, let the story begin! Enjoy!
"A Lord's Tale"
Chapter 1: Tracks
An eerie breeze whistled through the everlasting shade of Sildhenor forest. Aeolin smiled to himself, as his clever eyes quickly found the heavy, burdened tracks of his quarry, embedded in the musty forest trail. From the imprints he discerned that his target had been in the area only a few hours before. For days he had relished the idea that a particular nasty cave full of Hessant would soon be demolished. He and a small group of fourteen other elves had tracked a home-bound tribe of them through the great forest, hoping to discover their refuge.
The Hessant had taken to raiding Elven supply lines, taking valuable provisions that were needed to support the Elven war effort against the creatures. In anger he mentally cursed the beasts who had made his once quiet, peaceful life in Sildhenor a collection of twisted fate and mourning. Squinting into the heavy mist that lay ahead, Aeolin examined his surroundings. It can't be far now. With luck, in a few more hours we will happen upon their cursed den.
Aeolin listened wearily to the wails of the ravaged forest around him. The Hessant spared no mercy upon elves or trees alike, taking what they needed and more from the forest in which the elves now struggled to survive. The beasts lavished anguish, and sought out sorrow.
It had all begun a year and a half ago, when tribes of Hessant from the Far East had discovered Sildhenor. They had wandered deep into the forest only to meet a strong nation of elves who had slaughtered the creatures without any trouble. Amongst the fighting, many Hessant chieftains had been slain. In outrage, the remaining Hessant had bonded together, called for reinforcements from their ancient cities, and repeatedly hammered the elves' ever weakening strongholds. Where the elves had succeeded in skill, the creatures had made up for in the form of overwhelming numbers and pure, unrelenting tenacity.
The elves had watched, terrified, as their outmost towns were overwhelmed, and their mighty defenders were demolished under sheer force of numbers. Many Hessant were slain, but they seemed to have unconquerable numbers. For the Hessant were no ordinary foes.
The Hessant was a species as old as time itself, a species that had always existed in the Far East, living thousands and thousands of miles beyond the borders of the Hadarac Desert. While Sildhenor itself was also a fair distance eastwards from Alagaesia, the beasts had not been discovered before now. A large species of hunch backed, dull creatures, they had multiplied to great numbers in times of old. As food sources began to exhaust themselves in the attempt to feed the many creatures, tribes and clans had begun to form, over the basis of who controlled which sources. They had destroyed themselves, quarreling over the most trivial arguments, and starting wars on whims. Only now, as the Hessant began to spread West in search of new food sources, had they discovered the Elves.
Of course the terror-stricken elves had sent many pleading calls to their kin in Du Weldenvarden, asking for weapons and reinforcements, but the elves there had their own problems. Most of the weapons in Du Weldenvarden were being commissioned in the war against Galbatorix, the evil ruler of Alagaesia. The same went for the Elven armies, and no reinforcements could be spared.
And now, whatever supplies could be sent to Sildhenor through the spacious deserts were intercepted, and used against the Elves by the Hessant.
Now, only a few battered fortifications and strongholds stood before the Hessant as they forced their way ever closer to Sildhenor's capital, Eldiana. If the elves could not find a way to stop the Hessant, all would be lost.
Aeolin shouldered his bow, and addressed his companions, "It will not be long now. With a few more hours, we will fill their camp with our arrows." He turned and began to trudge his way along the beaten path.
Aeolin's second in command Reinon jogged to Aeolin's side. "Sir! The men can not be expected to keep this pace for long. They have not slept for a two and a half days! They can not go on!"
"They can, and they must. We are only a few hours from their camp. Let us locate it, and then we will rest. Sildhenor is depending on us Reinon. We must place our duty above our comfort." And with that Aeolin turned and marched into the enveloping mist.