Thank you for taking the time to read my first story, I'll keep it brief, all comments and criticism are appreciated.
Read, review, enjoy
The day began like any other, the cool morning air whispered through the deep green of the forest, the fallen leaves blew gently with the breeze, as the sky turned pink with the coming of the dawn. The beautiful colour of the sunrise reflected upon the slow moving river, the water glinting like diamonds where the sun touched its frigid surface, river birds dipped their graceful heads, searching for a meagre breakfast, their legs creating small ripples that gently lapped against the small riverbank.
A small home rested on the hill, a plume of smoke rising from its chimney as the scent of wood smoke washed over Dorian, a hunter by trade, his skill with a bow unmatched by any in the land, hence his appointment as senior scout for the Varden. However guilt lay heavy on his mind, the people he had killed kept him a lonesome man, no time for fickle things such as love, or excitement. He sat on the riverbank and looked upon the glistening water with a feeling of emptiness filling his eyes, a dreadful calm settled upon his land, the tension became thick in the air, almost palpable. He skipped a single stone along the water and the graceful waterfowl took flight, unhappy with their meal being disturbed. He felt for the birds, as he to had been disturbed in a moment of peace.
He glanced at his hand, within which lay a immaculate piece of paper bearing the Varden's Sigil. It read
Scout the way forward for the main force through the mountains of Farthen Dur, do not contact us directly, we wish to keep the enemy unaware of you and your actions, contact us by messenger eagle at any post office, we have agents in place to send us your messages
-Jormundur
"Bloody pampered lords, ordering me about", he muttered with barely concealed anger entering his voice,"I have no need for the blood of more innocents on my hands"
With a sigh of a man defeated, he walked slowly to his cabin, a sense of dread falling about his shoulders.
The door opened with the creak of unoiled hinges, the sound resounding through the empty cabin, a deep silence suffused the home, until the soft tread of Dorians boots could be heard, the only sound in lonely abode, he continued his journey to his room, where he lay open a beautifully crafted oakwood case, inscribed with elvish runes. He slid the silver key into the keyhole with a practiced precision, and removed the latches. He was still for a moment, a grimace crossing his scarred face, the importance of his next action disturbed him, his life could go two radically different ways based on his decision.
A faint whispering could be heard, "Open it Dorian, your road will be hard but you will triumph in the end, use it to fulfill your destiny"
With a heavy sigh, he opened the case and gazed upon one of his oldest possessions, a beautiful yew recurve bow, with a string made from the hair of a Feldûnost, and the power of a single gem held the bow's magical potential , it was unmatched by any human bow, and the power behind its limbs could launch an arrow farther than any seen. This bow was a heirloom from a different time, when the elves still travelled among men, and humanity seemed poised to join them, this bow was his birthright, his source of guilt and regret, but also a source of hope. He had remained at peace for too long, his hunter blood urged him to grab his bow and follow his orders, and in that moment he made his decision.
-A week later in the untamed wilderness of Farthen Dur-
The horse galloped at a furious pace, the braying of hunting dogs behind it urging it on, sweat ran down its flanks and the ripple of muscles played across its hide like a wave cresting across the shore, foam dripped from its muzzle and a measure of bloody gashes ran along its side where Dorian's spurs had left their cruel mark.
"HYYAAA" he goaded his horse as he violently whipped his reins and dug his spurs further into the poor beast, its lathered muscles and parched throat unable to provide the energy or stamina to keep itself going, its master long since given up trying to keep the horse alive, knowingly riding it to death. He felt the change before he saw it, a lowering of the muzzle, a shortened stride, and a wheezing breath akin to a howling wind racing through a forest, death was close to this horse and Dorian knew it.
One last hug and a brief goodbye, and the horse fell to its knees, than, like a graceful giant, rolled onto its side where it breathed its last, death took his prize swiftly as Dorian collapsed from the strain of his ride, the hunting dogs forgotten in the haze of fatigue and grief over the loss of his horse, he looked skyward and his eyes drifted closed and unconsciousness took him.
The mercy of a dreamless sleep passed him by, he saw himself as a warrior of evil in a world of fire and ash, the scent of decay filtered through the air and the wailing of the dead and dying reached his ears, his sword radiated with a vile sickness, his armour surrounded him wards of fear and pain, turning all that opposed him into gibbering masses of flesh, incapable of even gripping a sword, much less fight him. All who stood in his way fell to his strange blade.
He stalked through this strange world killing all and sparing none, even women and children were not spared his wrath, blood soaked the earth beneath his feet and he reveled in the slaughter, he was not unchallenged however, a young boy walked up to him, the fear evident in his young eyes, but courage resided there to, foolish courage but enough to stand up and face him.
"You choose to die like a man, that I can admire" spoke the warrior
"You may have magic but I have something to fight for" the young boy shouted
"HAHAHAHA" the deep laughter boomed across the silent battlefield, disturbing the carrion birds who had come to feast, "you seek to fight me boy, know that I will show no mercy to you, your body will lay upon this bloodied field and rot with the rest of them, a fitting end for an upstart boy seeking to test me"
The duel began with the warrior on the offense, his runed sword glowing with strange magics, born of plague and death, his gaze bored into the boy with an almost bored look, he was going to play with this prey.
The Warrior darted forward with a slash, opening up the boy's right shoulder with a long, deep gash that pulsed with sickness, the boy countered with a weak thrust that glanced off the pauldron of the strange warrior.
"I thought you'd put up more of a fight, this is pathetic", he swung again this time cutting a shallow furrow through the boy's cheek, leaving behind a trail of oily black poison
"AHHHHHHHH" The boy cried out in pain
"Such a valiant effort wasted", The Warrior muttered disappointedly, "I thought this might actually be fun" he began to walk towards the boy, his towering form shadowed the young man's face and cast his features into a deep shadow
He stepped towards the now kneeling boy and prepared the final blow, the wails of the dying fell upon their ears
"Any last words?", he asked mockingly, knowing he'd receive no reply,"Well" he paused "with the formalities out of the way"
The Warrior pushed his repulsive blade through the boys young, frail body, The Warrior began to turn, thinking the fight was over, his unending boredom returning like a well-fitting glove surprisingly the boy planted his hands on the ground and starting rising to his feet, the sword piercing his gut being pushed deeper into his body with every movement, his body open to the air, his vitae running in rivers along the ground, and with a cry of pain he pushed himself to his feet and pulled a small dagger from his sleeve, the warriors face changed to one of surprise
"ARGHHHH" he bellowed, and the dagger blurred towards the weak spot between the Warrior's helmet and breastplate, moments before it hit the dream dissolved into a fine gray mist, and a voice spoke from the endless void, "You wish to forget your past, and your future is clouded, this shields you from petty things such as destiny, your actions alone will decide your fate, Dorian of Hearthkeep, choose well, for the world rests on your shoulders.
Drip...drip...drip, the steady and constant noise both annoyed and awoke Dorian, his eyes squinting in the dark of his cramped cell, filthy straw lay in one corner, a so called bed for him to rest on, he looked up and saw a small grate, through which his only source of light filtered through. The smell of an open sewer filtered into his cell and the muted sound of a market reached his ears, but a strange scent flowed in as well, blood and decaying flesh, as the tolling of a great bell echoed in the distance reaching his ears still bearing the discordant chimes tones from whence it came. Dras-Leona a city of decay and grime, no civilized person would choose to be here, and very few did, unfortunately for Dorian the choice was not his to make, shortly after falling unconscious he was captured by slave traders in the deep ravines of Farthen Dur, and taken to Dras-Leona in a deep sleep, plagued by strange dreams. The strange voice's prophecy rang through his head, and he was unsure of his future and what it held for him and the land he called home.
The soft pat of leather boots hitting the cobbled floor betraying their presence to him, his hearing honed by years of living on the frontier as a hunter, the jingle of a coin purse followed by a wheezing breath gave Dorian the assumption of a larger merchant come to purchase a new slave, he rushed to the grime covered straw fleet as the arrows he so loved to fire, hiding his consciousness from his jailors, and would be master.
The smallest echo drifted down the corridor, followed by rambunctious laughter, "you sure you want one of these, they're just the strays, nothin special bout 'em" one of the guards escorting the heavyset man mocked, his voice laced with a disdain for those he guarded
"I just wished to browse the stock before they hit auction, make sure it's worth my time to attend" he spoke with the air of a man used to getting his way, "Lets see, what about this one"
He pointed vaguely in the direction of Dorians prone, sleeping form, a air of disinterest about his face
"Found him near Varden territory, probably a scout from the weapons he carried, mighty fine bow though".
"Hmmmmm, interesting", the man spoke, licking his lips, wetting their dry and cracked flesh,"you may escort me out gentlemen, I have seen all I wish" and with that he was gone, the pungent aroma of his sweat drenched form lingering behind, and the echo of his conversation with the guard became quieter and quieter, until silence fell upon the prison. After counting down from a hundred, Dorian slowly rose out of the hay, and stood, his shoulders shaking from barely contained anger, just the thought of slavery sickened him to his core, and to think he was to be bought and sold like a head of cattle frustrated him more. His mood only worsened when one of the other prisoners started talking.
A man spoke from the cell across from him, tall and thin, the robes he wore hanging off his wiry frame, his voice barely a whisper among the ambience of the prison, "hey, my name is Eskheart, I've been here for quite awhile, they keep trying to sell me, but no one wants half a man as a slave", he gestured down to his belt, the implied meaning behind his words sickened Dorian "but that merchant seemed pretty interested in you, so if you wanna escape count me in".
"I'll think about it" Dorian replied, a tone of dismissal entered his voice, clearly disinterested in whatever the man had to say
"I don't think you understand the situation friend, based on that merchants interest, I'd give you three days till you're on the block"
"Three days?"
"Yep, he did seem mighty interested, that'll accelerate his plans for you", Eskheart replied, "so we doing this or what?"
"Fine, you're in but you need to do something for me first".
"Goddammit, how'd I get talked into this, that sweet talking son of a bitch" Eskheart muttered to himself, "Just grab my bow, then my plan will come together" He mockingly repeated as he crawled down the dark hallway towards a door set into the solid stone walls of the prison, behind which was the prisoner storage, and within that room was one of Dorian's most prized possessions, his yew bow. As Eskheart got closer he heard the idle small talk of the guards conversation. He stood up momentarily and wrapped the threadbare blanket, given to him in his cell, around his shoulders and started faking a limp and then used the remainder of the hood to cover his face, He then mustered his confidence and limped straight in.
"Hey, stop right there" the guard on the right shouted,"what business do you have here old man"
"I am here on Lord Galbatorix's orders, which are not to be bandied about with the likes of you" he spoke, a small slip of his power entering his voice.
"Hmmph, fine go on than grandpa, go fetch your masters bone, I didn't want to get up anyway" The guard then sighed and went back to his chat with the others, using this time, Eskheart slipped into the dark interior of the storage room, a basket of torches, and a small flame burned next to the door, and the scent of unburnt oil filled the air, the darkness pressed against him, but a faint glow could be seen, under a pile of old tunics he found the beautiful elven-made bow, its sleek lines and graceful curves gave it a simple yet exotic look, it's simple yew construction was bolstered by elvish spells weaved into it when it was sung from the tree of its birth. Eskheart spoke a single word "Finna", a row of runes lit up in silver, a soft light flowed along the letters, giving them the illusion of a movement, the runes had a warmth to them, like the kiss of the sun upon your skin, along it read "thrífask onr celöbra un waíse du vercingetorix"
"Grasp the light, and become the warrior of kings" Eskheart spoke aloud,"This Dorian may be of more interest than I thought".