Author's Note: Well ladies and gentlemen, I suppose I've branched out quite a bit; D&D if you could believe it. This is going to be a new venture for me, not only in subject but in the fact that this is going to be chaptered, not another oneshot like I'm used to. This is going to largely be a sort of writing experiment. I want to see if I can write fantasy, write in chapters, and maintain quality over time. Anyway, that's enough rambling from me, hope you enjoy the first chapter of "The Treasure of Saarlos."
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dungeons and Dragons, that honor belongs to the Wizards of the Coast. There is homebrew in this section that you are free to use. The characters Uruvion, Erulisse, Lady Aranel, Auctor, Jorisse, Norim, Colloniel, Saarlos the Red, Greshkan, and any other original characters belong to me. Do not use them without my explicit permission.
She was dying. He knew in his heart that she was dying, and it was all his fault. His wife cried out in pain, gripped his hand, and he frantically tried to hopelessly reassure her that everything would be okay. She was dying. She was one step closer to the grave than before, holding her newborn child in her arms. The squirming, wailing, despicable creature cried as the cool air of the night hit him. She comforted him, humming a lullaby that her mother had sung to her on fitful nights. She was dying. The lullaby grew quieter and quieter, her arms dropping slowly to the ground, her eyes growing dull. She looked up one last time to her husband and attempted to speak, but nothing came out. A maelstrom of emotions took hold of him, rapturing his sense from his mind. Sadness, despair, anger, rage, and hate swirled within him like an inferno. He glared down with eyes ablaze with fury at the squirming child. He could kill him, right here, right now. He reached to his dagger, withdrew it from its sheath, and held it to the babe's tiny neck. However, just before he drew it across his neck, something took hold of him, some sense of compassion, if it could be called that. He bowed his head, tears freely streaming from his eyes as he picked up his wife's body and walked away from the crying infant, never to return.
Two sets of orbs glowed as bright as the day in the night, reflecting perfectly the light of the moon, one pair blue, and the other violet. A young Eladrin couple walked hand in hand in the woods. They enjoyed this so, being alone in each other's presence in the beauty of nature. A gleaming whitesteel short sword hung at the man's side, a symbol of his status as a Fey Knight. They were both expensively garbed in hues of green and gold, the Maavik family colors, a noble couple if there ever was one. Their hair was long, wispy, and loose, a sign of their Fey heritage.
"Arutor?" The woman inquired of her husband.
"Yes, my dear?" The gold-haired man replied.
The woman hesitated, worried of how to properly ask the question, but decided to simply say it.
"When shall we bear a child?"
The man slowed his pace a bit and introspectively blinked. The thought had occurred to him as well late at night while she meditated.
"Well," he slowly began, mulling over every word mentally. "I suppose we could start now if you so desired."
She blinked at the scandalous thought. "You mean here? Now?"
"No!" The man blushed and nervously ran his free hand through his hair. "When we return, of course. Decency, wife!"
She laughed jovially, pleased at the success of her jest.
"I was merely jesting, husband."
"I, ahem, yes, of course I knew that."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Of course you did, my brave knight."
"Speaking of babies," Arutor began, stopping and intently listening to his surroundings, "I think I just heard a cry. Jorise, did you hear that?"
Jorise listened and knelt, using her nature magic to locate the source of the wail. At first, nothing but trees, animals, the stray owl, but there! Off to their right about fifty meters away lay a lone infant.
"Husband, there!" She pointed and dashed off, the foliage and branches bending out of her way as she ran. Arutor, unimbued with the powers of a Druid, was not as lucky, branches smacking him in the face and tangling his ankles and shins as he ran. By the time he managed to muscle his way through the foliage, he saw Jorise knelt in a small clearing, swaddling an infant in her cloak. She looked to her husband, frantically searching for the parents.
"They must have gone somewhere, maybe there was an accident, there's blood!"
"Nobody leaves a baby in the woods, Jorise, not even Orcs! We can solve this tomorrow, this little one will freeze if we don't get him to safety." He knelt and took the child, scanning for threats as his wife stood again by his side. He gently rocked the child in his arms, noticing instantly that he was human.
"We can find them tomorrow, yes? Let's just get home."
She slowly nodded and took the child back into her arms, cradling him expertly, a natural mother. She began to sing an elfish lullaby to the babe, hoping to soothe him. Strangely, the language calmed the boy, and he was soon fast asleep.
"Come," he put his arm protectively over her shoulders. "Let's go home."
The young man backed up slowly, three blade-wielding Eladrin teens approaching him. This was far from optimal, his two partners had already been eliminated early on, taking none of the opposing team with them. He chanced a look at the balcony above to view his family. His mother looked with on with worry, certain that her Uruvion was far too young to be engaging in competitive fighting. His father, however, couldn't disagree more. The Eladrin knight was proud of the capable swordsman that his adopted son had become. Of course he knew he was adopted, he was a human amongst high elves. Dark brown eyes and hair, pupils, comparatively short hair and even stubble that he had begrudgingly shaved at the request of his parents. He was of a slightly more muscular and athletic build than his parents, though not by much. Lean, one might call him, unlike the lithe Eladrin. His little sister, a mere ten years old, watched with wide sky-blue eyes, eager to see every move that her human brother made. She had golden hair like her mother, but kept it shoulder length, only slightly longer than Uruvion, something Jorise and Arutor simply couldn't understand. What little high-elf girl would ever want to cut her hair?
The Eladrin were almost upon him, and he readied his blade, an Eladrin short sword.
"Come on, Uruvion, afraid to lose to the better race?" The teens taunted him incessantly, but this was where he dominated.
"I should ask the same of you," he grinned wolfishly as he picked up a longsword from the ground, swapping his short sword into his left hand and tossing the longsword into his right. The three red-armored fighters paused and reevaluated their situation. Uruvion was known for having a natural talent when fighting with two swords, to the point where even if he was outnumbered he would come out on top. He shed his blue-plated helmet, painted in the colors of his team, and stood at the ready.
"Come on you bunch of cowards," their leader proclaimed, "There's one of him and three of us!"
The three members of the red team, invigorated with their leader's confidence, advanced once more. Their leader, ever the glory hound, swung his sword first. Uruvion's blades snapped up faster than lightning, crossed in front of him to catch the blade. Using this leverage, he forced the sword caught in his two to the ground and lashed out with his foot and connected with the pinned swordsman's head, causing the leader to stumble back and drop to the ground, thoroughly unconscious. He looked at the remaining two and flipped his hair out of his eyes.
"Who's next?"
The two fearfully looked at each other, and then decided against all logic to charge screaming. Uruvion caught the first blade with his longsword, stepping forward and sliding it up the length of the edge to close the gap before slamming the pommel of his short sword into his helmet with enough force to dent it. He heard the telltale swish of a blade being drawn back to strike and ducked instinctively under the blade, mule kicking backwards into the offending swordsman's gut before whirling around and stopping his short sword mere centimeters from his throat.
"Yield," he ordered sternly.
The terrified Eladrin teen dropped his sword and shakily raised his hands.
"I yield, I yield!" He said, his voice shaking with fear.
"Wise move." Uruvion lowered his sword and sheathed it, helping up his formerly "Dead" allies at his feet.
"Yay!" His little sister, young Lady Aranel, ran to her big brother and hugged him, in awe of his swordsmanship. His father also approached, patting his shoulder with pride.
"Well done, son."
The young human smirked and looked to his mother, sitting with her unusually pale face buried in her hands.
"Are you alright, mother?"
"Yes, son," she muttered through her hands. "Just give me a moment."
"She'll be fine, she's just worried that you'll get hurt one of these days."
"But father," Aranel began, "Who could hurt Uruvion if he didn't want them to?"
"Nobody, daughter," he smiled with fatherly affection and ruffled up her hair.
"Father," Uruvion said, a much more serious countenance overtaking his features, "Shall we speak now?"
The joy once present in Arutor's face drained as quickly as it had arrived. He nodded solemnly and ushered Aranel to her mother before walking back to their house, Uruvion right on his heels. Arutor opened the door to the grand entrance, and walked gracefully to the family hall, sadness apparent on his face. He came to a stop in front of the family painting, gazing at a happier time. Jorise held the infant Aranel in her arms, Uruvion, a child of seven at the time, stood next to his father, a serious gaze on his young features. He sensed his adopted son behind him, silent as usual.
"Is this truly what you want?"
Uruvion nodded, but then remembered that his father had his back to him and couldn't see his usual silent gestures.
"Yes, father. I need to discover myself, my heritage, who I am-"
"And what will you do with that knowledge?" Arutor interrupted. "Will you be some greater citizen for it? A superior knight? Your heritage matters not, you're my son, you have been from the day you were born."
Uruvion bowed his head. He knew well that he had been abandoned on the day of his birth, and fully understood that he owed his life to his adoptive parents.
"And I will be forever grateful. However, I do not feel that I belong here. I'm a human among Eladrin, just look at Aranel. She's been getting bullied for her hair, she shouldn't have to endure that at her age, she's only ten."
"And she'll grow out of it, but you won't grow out of your humanity. I care not what race you are!" He turned suddenly, emotions plain on his elegantly young face, deceptively so for a man of sixty years, appearing as though he was in his early twenties.
"Father, I'm a man-"
"You're seventeen! By all fey standards, you're a child!"
"But I'm not of the Feywild!"
"You are! You were born in the Feywild, you've lived here for your entire life! You do belong here!"
"No father! No, I don't!" He stopped and closed his eyes, inhaling slowly and exhaling, calming his human temper.
"Father, just let me go for a few years. I promise I'll write, I'll keep you informed of my doings. As Aranel said, who can hurt me if I don't wish them to?"
The graceful high elf bowed his head and clasped his hands on his son's shoulders, looking him directly in the eye as he uttered an ancient Eladrin blessing.
"May the Feywild keep you safe. May you satisfy your soul. May you return at peace."
Uruvion respectfully bowed his head and responded in Elven.
"Thank you, father."
The two men embraced for the last time, and Uruvion went to his room to retrieve his pack and cloak, his father's short sword already strapped to his side.
"Your mother will be worried," his father called to him as he walked to the door, ready to embark upon his journey of self-discovery.
"I promise I'll write."
And with that, he left.
Uruvion awoke slowly, blinking a few times before sitting up and standing upon the dew-coated grass, observing the rising sun. Strange, he'd never been a morning person, but ever since he started sleeping outdoors, he'd been rising synchronously with the sun. It had been a week on the road. According to his map, he should be arriving in a mixed race town in another three days. He yawned, stretched, and rolled his shoulders, easing out the stiffness of sleeping against a tree.
Perhaps being a morning person has its perks, he mused to himself, admiring the golden-red hues of the rising sun.
Snap.
He started and quickly surveyed his surroundings, his hand on his father's whitesteel sword.
"Whoever you are, I suggest you come out, or this will not end well for you."
His knuckles whitened at the unnatural silence. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels chattering, nothing.
"'Ands off the sword, boy, and me and me mates just might let ya live."
Uruvion snapped his head around to witness three men step out of the woods, all burly individuals armed way past their teeth. For once, Uruvion was actually nervous. Yes, he'd fought the Eladrin teens of his home city, but these weren't envious teenagers, these were thieves, hardened killers.
"I've no wish to injure you gentlemen, but if I must," he drew his father's blade and assumed a defensive posture, "I will kill you."
The three looked at each other briefly and then burst out laughing.
"This li'l runt thinks 'e can take us?"
"Alright boy, ye've got two options. Put yer sword down and take yer beatin', and me and me mates can go on our merry way. Option two, you give us a li'l bit 'o fun and get a ten second head start. Then we track you down, kill you, and take your belongings."
Uruvion glanced back to his pack on the ground, noting the small family gem sticking out of the side, a white and green diamond. Seeing no better option, he snatched up his pack and took off running into the woods. He could hear the bandits laughing behind him.
"Got a li'l spirit, eh?"
"Run boy!"
Uruvion smashed through branches and leaves, running with no real destination in mind. He toyed with the idea of climbing a tree, but one of them had a crossbow, if he was spotted he'd be dead, elevation wouldn't mean a thing. So engrossed in these thoughts was he that he smacked into an oak tree, almost knocking himself out. He struggled to his feet, his head swimming. He fought off the sense of vertigo and the splitting headache, shakily drawing his sword to fight up the bandits who were now almost on top of him.
"Game over boy," their leader grinned, exposing his yellow teeth. He raised his battle axe over his head to strike, eagerly anticipating the spoils that Uruvion's corpse would offer them.
Mother, father, he thought to himself as he awaited his end, I was wrong. Forgive me.
He heard something zip through the air impossibly fast, followed by a sickening wet thwack, then a thud. He opened his eyes to see the leader fallen to the ground, an arrow in his throat. A half-elf dressed in green and brown leapt out of a nearby tree and rolled in front of Uruvion, rising with his bow drawn, two arrows nocked, one for each bandit.
"Retreat now with what honor you have, scoundrels, and harass this boy no further."
The two survivors complied, sheathing their weapons and running away like cowards. Uruvion felt something wet drip from his head onto his bent knee. He touched his hand to his forehead and withdrew it red. The green-cloaked archer replaced his arrows in his quiver and knelt by his side.
"Easy boy, you've got a nasty head injury there. Come on, I have some healing herbs, we'll get you right as rain. Come on now, up you go."
Uruvion weakly got up and followed the man for about four feet before blacking out.
He awoke dizzy, bandages wrapped around his forehead. Strangely, the pain was gone. He touched his fingers to the wound, but strangely felt no soreness upon contact. He observed his surroundings, noticing that he was indoors. It seemed to be a wood cabin, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a pot of something suspended over it.
"Awake at last."
He started at the voice and reached down to his side, only to discover his sword missing.
"Relax, boy, your sword's just fine. Remarkable craftsmanship too, Eladrin, I think. Looks to belong to a nobleman."
Uruvion turned to the man who had saved him.
"Did you steal it, boy?"
"No," he began, "It was my father's. He was Eladrin."
The man quizzically looked at him, noting the lean build and lack of pointed ears.
"You don't look like a half-elf to me."
"I was adopted, let's leave it at that."
The man reclined in his wooden chair adorned with buckskin. "Suit yourself, I suppose. As long as you didn't steal it, you can have it back. Greshkan!"
A hulking, six foot seven Dragonborn with golden scales and polished armor walked through the doorway. Uruvion was unsure of what to make of him. He'd heard that Dragonborn were honorable to a fault, so he could most likely be trusted, but what was he doing away from his clan?
"Your sword, young master." The large man-dragon knelt and held his sword out to him, newly polished and sharpened.
"Thank you," Uruvion hesitantly said, accepting the blade.
There was an awkward silence between the three until the green-clad half-elf clapped his hands together.
"Well, on with introductions. My name," he stood and bowed, "Is Auctor. I'm the Ranger of these woods, as assigned by the Emerald Council.
"And I," the Dragonborn rose, his gravelly, almost ancient voice reverberating throughout the cabin, "Am Greshkan, of Clan Arkos." He respectfully bowed deeply, aware of the fact that the young human before him was nobility, even if he didn't act or dress like it. "And before you ask, I'm on a quest from my clan, I have not abandoned them, and I shan't be hunted, bringing danger to you."
"Now the question," Auctor began, "Is what are you doing in these woods?"
"I…" Uruvion paused, collecting his thoughts. "I'm on a journey of self-discovery. I wish to explore and better myself. There's a mixed race town just three days of here, or so my map indicated. I wish to train to become something other than my father, something like," he trailed off, remembering what Auctor had said, "Something like you."
"Well my boy," Auctor smirked and sipped a cup of coffee he'd set on the table next to Uruvion's cot. "I suppose I could take on an apprentice. That is, of course, if you're interested."
"You'd be a fool to refuse," Greshkan stated. "Auctor is the finest Ranger I've ever met."
"Of course, you could always just try your luck in the town, but hey, it's your choice. So what do you say, boy?"
The young man of seventeen weighed his options. He could go into a city and take his chances, but he'd seen what Auctor could do, and he saw his nobility. He chose to intervene and save him, he chose to heal him. There was only one real option.
"I'm in."