Chapter 1:
High above the forest floor, in the leafy green canopy of ancient trees, nestled the sprawling treetop Elf city named Kelethin. It was a clear and sunny morning on the catwalks of the city, a gentle breeze blew from the East bringing with it the delicately sweet fragrance of springtime blossoms and a slight hint of rain. Tucked away on a secluded platform far from the bustle of the main lifts and the crowded merchant halls, a small cottage lay in the crown of an elder oak.
Firien awoke to the cheerful chirping of sparrows upon his bedroom windowsill. A warm sliver of sunlight broke through the leaves and alighted gently upon his face. Stretching luxuriously upon clean linens in his comfortable oversized bed, he thought to himself that life simply could not get any better, but something simmered in his veins this morning. For some reason he felt… restless.
Springing out of bed, he slipped into fur-lined slippers and made the short journey across his room to the washbasin in the corner. Noisily he splashed as he quickly washed his face and grabbed for a nearby towel. The chillingly cold water was quite refreshing and made him gasp slightly with exhilaration. He smiled to himself briefly in his expensive glass mirror, then turned to the closet and set about deciding which soft cotton robe he would wear on this day.
Having selected an appropriately conservative brown and green robe, he opened the door of his bedroom and stepped out into the narrow hall.
His senses were assailed by the heavenly smell of warm apple cider, blueberry pie, and freshly made oatcakes coming from the small kitchen below. Taken a bit off guard by this welcome surprise, he hurried down the narrow stairway to see who was there.
Entering the kitchen he saw a cup of steaming cider next to a fresh cut slice of pie and a haphazard stack of oatcakes piled on a simple wooden plate. Over by the open window, his young niece stood gazing outward upon the new morning with a cup of warm cider in her hands.
Wasting no time at all, Firien popped a whole oatcake into his mouth and took a small sip of the steaming brew.
"Gmmmph Mormmphing" he greeted Dianna happily.
Dianna turned away from the window with a smile on her face but it quickly turned into peals of lighthearted laughter. She laughed exactly the same way his mother used to when she'd caught him with his hand in the muffin box, it sounded to him like delicate silver bells touched by the wind.
"Oh Uncle! Don't eat like that or you'll burst your poor cheeks!" She laughed and held up a shiny pot for him to see.
Gazing at his reflection, he saw that it was true, his cheeks were full to the point of bursting and he couldn't help but smile a goofy grin that exposed some of what lay within.
"Hahahahaha!" Dianna's laughter became more uproarious and quite a bit less dainty as she gazed upon her uncle's silly grin.
Valiantly he struggled with his food as he half-choked, half-laughed, and half-swallowed the huge oatcake down and washed it away with more cider. Luckily he'd managed to accomplish the task without killing himself.
Once he was again fully under control, Dianna spoke.
"Pleasant morning dear Uncle. Mother sends me with these good tidings and has bid me to ask if you would join us this eve for a meal?"
"Certainly Dianna." He replied with a smile. "How could I refuse such a wonderful offer as this? It is by far, a much more appealing thought than to return yet again to the tavern this night to brave their common fair."
"Aye, tis true." Dianna nodded at him. "Mother knows full well that ye take your evening meals at the tavern and feels that it be unhealthy for you to eat alone quite so often."
"Done then" She smiled and walked over to the back doorway. As she opened the door she turned once more to him and said. "I shall inform mother that you will join us at sunset, I bid thee good day until then Uncle."
Firien sat at the table and listened as Dianna's soft footfalls made their way around the side of the house and away. How nice it was to have someone at home in the morning, he mused. He wondered how much longer his good wife Dyrlia would be away.
Once again alone, he sat in his empty and silent home. He listened to the faint noises of the world moving busily outside and resolved to get himself moving again as well. He spent the rest of the morning with chores around the house and errands close to home.
By noon he was back in his home and resting in his favorite chair.
Firien's eyes were drawn toward the mantle above the fireplace where his sword was hung for display. It rested upon an expensive platinum rack inside of an even more expensive gold and glass case. The sword itself was three feet of gleaming razor-sharp steel with a golden leather-wrapped hilt at its base.
Over years of hard use the old wrapping had become stained with blood, sweat, and tears for fallen companions. Like an old friend, the sword had served him well, in the best and the worst of times. It had conformed itself to fit perfectly in his iron grip, they were as one when they danced together, their frenzied dance of death.
When the sword had first gone into the case, Firien had considered redoing the old bindings but decided against it. This was a sword that had seen much of the world. A weapon of incredible beauty and terrible pain, to hide the darker of its aspects was just not right.
Firien leaned back slowly in the plush and comfortable chair he sat in. Closing his eyes, he thought back and remembered the feeling of drawing that mighty weapon from the weighted holster upon his back. The satisfying hiss of sword sliding from sheath rang like an exhilarating song of battle, lovingly, softly, in his ear.
***
"This way!" he hissed under his breath in the oppressively dark catacombs called Chardok, far beneath the surface of the world.
His breath came in ragged gasps and his shoulder was aflame with pain from a wicked gash he had suffered earlier in the day, but he paid it no attention because more pressing matters were at hand. Around him in the utter darkness, the dull reddish outlines of his companions was all that he could see.
"I think… we've lost them… for now." Alsymaya whispered, just loud enough to be heard by all. The Dark Elf warrior maiden moved like a cat in the total darkness, finding footing as surely as if she walked in the light of day.
"We need to rest Fir." Beaumont said as he doubled over, gasping for breath. Unanimous sounds of the group's agreement echoed the spell caster's words.
They had been trying to get out of this god-forsaken place for the better part of two days now. A simple scouting mission deep in the heart of the Sarnak's homeland had gone terribly wrong somehow, and they had been fighting for their lives ever since. Their struggle to evade capture had forced them to fight many minor engagements and flee into unfamiliar tunnels.
They were now completely lost, miles underground.
"Ok." Firien called out to them softly and nodded his head wearily. "It Looks like we have time for a brief stop. Lets take 10 minutes to rest."
Almost everyone took the opportunity to sit and groan and massage aching muscles. Alsymaya leaned herself back against the wall and propped her sword up against her. In a few moments, she was breathing heavy, evenly measured breaths… asleep.
Flak was the only other person besides Firien still standing in the darkness, he began to intone a prayer to his patron deity.
"Oh Great Marr, Keeper of light! Please send me your blessing. My companions and I are in need of food and water to assuage our hunger and our thirst."
A soft green glow came into existence before the cleric named Flak and he held out his arms to encompass it. When the glow faded 4 loaves of sweet black bread and 4 flasks of fresh cool water lay within his arms. "Thank you Lord Mithaniel for the kindness you have bestowed upon your faithful servant."
The bread and water were passed around the party and everyone thanked Flak for the welcome feast.
Firien broke off a third of a loaf with his hands and stuffed most of it into his mouth at one bite. He then drank ravenously from his wine flask and walked a ways back down the tunnel to stand guard. The others wolfed down their food with similar vigor, for they knew the 10 minutes would be come and gone in no time.
Firien sat in the darkness, finding a comfortable place amongst the rough stones. He leaned back and stretched his legs, ignoring the tingling pain that now pulsated from them. His breathing was now slower and his muscles ached greatly but he knew he could push on for another day if need be. He'd pushed himself much harder than this before.
Behind him, he could hear the deep breathing of several others in the party. Apparently more of them were able to nod off and catch a brief slumber. Although, a short nap would have been wonderful, Firien resisted the call of sleep and remained alert.
It felt like he'd only just sat down when the faint glow of torchlight caught his attention from far down the open corridor. He propped himself up on one knee and waited a moment to see if it would move on, but it stayed in the same place far away.
Suddenly, he became aware of dim reddish outlines crawling slowly along the floor. They were still a good 50 yards or more away down the corridor, but their stealthy approach betrayed the fact that they knew what they would find here.
Slowly Firien reached over his shoulder and began to draw his sword.
Sssssssssshhhhhhiing
Alsymaya was at his side almost before the blade was free.
"We are discovered." She hissed harshly, more a statement then a question. Her own sword was at the ready, resting lightly in her hand.
*CRASH*
Firien was startled awake by a commotion outside on one of the catwalks nearby. He found himself on his feet and in a defensive fighting stance with his hand hovering over his shoulder, grasping for the sword he no longer wore.
Outside he could hear a fierce wind billowing and the bustling of many people as they worked to secure loose items. "A storm must have come up while I was napping." He thought to himself as he worked hard to calm his breathing.
Once again he sat in his comfortable chair, but now it seemed too comfortable for someone accustomed to the out-of-doors, it's enfolding warmth was almost stifling. Slightly agitated, he glanced around his peaceful home and at all of his expensive things. He began to feel choked and uncomfortable in his tiny home, like a wolf within a cage he needed to be free.
Not knowing where he was going or why, Firien left his home and took to the catwalks. The wind was blowing stiffly from the East and merchants on every landing were hurrying to close their shops against the gale.
Firien made his way to a nearby lift and down to the forest floor. As he descended, he was struck by the contrast of sound as the cacophony of wind faded. It was amazingly peaceful down below. He nodded at the Guards, stepped off of the lift and looked high above him. He could still see the treetops being buffeted but here, down below, it was calm… too calm… Deathly calm.
The hair on the back of his neck began to bristle as a feeling of unease overtook him. Something was wrong…
Following his instincts, he made his way along the forest floor to the next nearest lift. It was the one young adventurers used when they wanted to get near to Crushbone, a small neighboring tribe of weak bothersome Orks. He should have seen lots of young adventurers sitting around the lift being watched by 2 experienced guards, but when he got there he found no one.
Feeling the need for prudence, Firien began to cast a spell of camouflage and blended in to the foliage around him. Stealthily he made his way up the hill towards Crushbone, what he saw when he crested the rise shocked him greatly.
The field was littered with bodies, young people from all the neighboring communities lay dead on the ground before him, their pitiful eyes looking up to heaven as if seeking a final release. Amongst the bodies of young Elves he found the corpses of the two guards and several Ork bodies that had been stripped bare.
"I must warn the town!" Firien thought to himself but the need to know what had happened overwhelmed his common sense. Quietly he snuck onwards towards the Ork encampment.
Firien eventually happened upon a wandering Ork patrol of three. Quietly he studied them from the shadows. For the most part they looked nondescript but then Firien caught sight of what he was looking for. One of the Orks held a tiny magical wand in its hand. It appeared to be too intricately detailed to be something Ork made, "That must be something powerful" he thought to himself.
"Die monsters!" A young high Elven Paladin burst upon the three Orks and swung her two handed sword high above her head. Before she got within striking distance, the Ork with the wand had pointed it at her and activated it with an unusual command word. "Ffffroaaaak!"
A sickening yellowish ray of light flew fourth from the wand and enveloped the intrepid Paladin. To her dismay, her speed was slowed to a crawl and the Orks quickly overran her.
Bursting from cover, Firien lunged at the Ork with the wand and stripped it from it's grasp. Furious, the Ork drew it's sword and screamed at him, it's words almost indecipherable even though it spoke common, because of a thick guttural accent.
"YOU DIE OLD MAN!"
Firien adopted a defensive open hand stance and waited for the Ork to strike. When it came, it was a slashing downward motion with the sword in its right hand.
Deftly Firien stepped forward under the Ork's guard and grasped it's right wrist with his right hand. Using the downward momentum to his advantage, Firien spun 180 degrees and guided the sword downward and to the right, past his body and into the ground while his free hand grabbed the Ork at the elbow. Now that the Ork was bent over and off balance, Firien completed the move by pushing the Ork at the elbow, further forward and headlong into a tree. The Ork's neck snapped with a sickening crack.
Wasting no time, Firien recovered the Ork's long sword and stood at the ready. The weapon was surprisingly light and well balanced. Fine steel if he wasn't mistaken. "Where did they get this?" he wondered aloud to himself.
Realizing that they were overmatched, the two remaining Orks turned and fled, the poor Paladin tried to give chase but she was soon left far behind.
"You t…think y…you beat us?" Firien was surprised to find the Ork at his feet was still alive, albeit barely. Curiously he stood over the dying Ork, maybe he could get some answers.
The ork was fading fast but he was able to sputter one final thing. "T…T…Trak..k..a..anon will chew y…y…ou….."
"WHAT!?" Firien roared. "The Dragon is here?! SPEAK DAMN YOU!"
Firien shook the Ork viciously but it was too late, it was gone.
As fast as he could run, Firien made his way back to his home. Along the way he shouted warnings over the furious storm. Lightning and thunder and ice cold rain covered his shouts at times but he was eventually able to warn the guardsmen about the danger as he continued to run home.
When he finally made it back to his tiny house, Firien rushed up the stairs and flew open the top of his footlocker. Within the polished heartwood container lay his armor and a small fur lined bag tied closed. With all the speed he could muster, he donned his dusty treasures and raced back down the stairs.
Without a second thought, his fist went through the glass barrier and in the next second his magical sword was once again in his hand. A deft flick of the wrist and the bindings around the small bag were sliced cleanly through. A small almond shaped gem fell into his outstretched palm.
Slowly, his hand descended in the air and the jewel hung there suspended by magic.
He spoke a single word.
"KOBA!"