The sun rose on yet another day of carnage in the war-torn realms of Eregion. Obsidian hued ships neared the shore laden with unholy warriors of the Blacklands. The black invaders stormed the boulder-strewn coast with weapons drawn. The men readied themselves for the brutal attack that was coming. When the ebony horde reached the outer markers, they opened fire with the monumental cannon entrenched deep within the granite fortress. At the battles end, a hundred thousand corpses lay mutilated in the rocky draws at the base of Argent De Fael, the silver mountain. The battle had been long and bloody, the rich loam that skirted the mountain was turned into a thick black mud by the awe-inspiring quantity of blood spilt. New-born craters littered the landscape, many still smoking from the violent explosions that had rocked the mountain to its very core. Amidst the wreckage lay the broken weapons of the invading mass in ebon. From a stoney outcrop two figures stood silhouetted in the ashen sunrise.
Delan Sunaki, lord of the mountain hold, stood looking out over the broken horde of dead and dying Moragii invaders. He surveyed the waste with an eerie calmness in the aftermath of battle. The whole of the vast mountain range of Al-Ilum was cast in a fittingly red sunrise. To Delan's honed senses the land very nearly spoke to him with the untold horrors of the Moragii's relentless assault. The attack had been well planned, of the three holds attacked only Argent De Fael still held out. Nearly two-hundred Milae to his east lay the sprawling mithril mines of Morian. They held out valiantly, only to be over taken by the shear numbers of the blood thirsty invaders. Three-hundred and fifty Milae to his west lay the antiquated stronghold of Paelia. Unfortunately the crumbling walls were no match for the Moragii's brutal bombardment. Needless to say, none lived to tell of the ordeal.
Delan turned to the pale woman beside him and sighed.
"Aikawa, shall Eregion ever see peace?" He asked with a certain sadness that indicated he did not think such a thing was possible anymore. Aikawa answered him after a deathly silence.
"Selan Milo, selan. All is not lost. The land still belongs to the Miyallae. Peace is not impossible."
"You may be right, but in these times one is not so sure." Delan answered slowly. They turned and followed a winding path down into the mountain. The twisting halls were filled with the labors of repairing the days damage. Along the spiraling passageways were vast caverns and rooms, some filled with strange treasures, others filled by nothing more than a spectral mist. Living quarters intermittently broke the curious monotony of storage. One of them belonged to Delan and Aikawa. It was their little sanctuary in the dark. The meager furnishing told of many years of habitation by the couple. Many memories were etched into the walls by the passing of time, some happy, some sad. It was here that their children were born, and where the occasional soul passed into Valthaen. Delan, weary from the long morning, let his mind roam to distant fields and ages long gone. His wandering eye fell on Aikawa's slender frame. Ebony hair was offset by pale white skin. He let his gaze continue its age-accustomed view. Her hair fell freely over small shoulders and traced the curves down to the middle of her back. Delan chuckled gentle to himself content in the knowledge that she was his and he was hers. Who was the master in the equation? He didn't care, and neither did she for that matter. Aikawa turned and caught his eye, just as she had done so many times. Her wry smile told him all he needed to know. They met in the middle nearly in the longed for embrace, when a messenger knocked on the door. They both laughed, knowing that they would have their fun later. Delan spoke.
"Report!"
The messenger, a young boy noted for his swift agility which may have aided him in securing his job, stood before the pair and told Delan that the inventory was complete and awaiting his inspection. The lower guns were in desperate need of repair to their firing mechanisms, they had fired so many shells that the heat of the repetitive shots had fused the inner workings together. The armory was nearly depleted of both ball and shot for the behemoths. The upper level artillery was, while badly damaged, still functional. Finally, the dragon riders were nearly ready for immediate redeployment to seek survivors in the other holds.
It was a long moment before Delan gave his answer to the lad. He carefully weighed his rapidly dwindling options to try and find the best path for his people and to try and bring this century-old bloodbath to a culminating head.
"Very well lad. Selan alta sarthelya. Go and return to your post. No! Wait, belay that, you've earned your rest, go home and rest for today, tomorrow there will be much need of you." The boy was shocked by Delan's generous offer, needless to say he accepted readily.
"Of course Milo, selan alta sarthelya." And at that he took off as a shell from a cannon. Delan turned back to Aikawa.
"Well, my love, it looks as if we'll have to find time to play later. Come, we have work to do." Aikawa replied with that same sly grin that had captured Delan so many years ago.
"Most certainly, Milo. Lets not leave them waiting for us."
"You are trouble my dear, you know that?" She laughed, a soft sound that warmed Delans' heart to hear. It had been too long since he had last heard that sound.
In the bowels of the mountain, something stirred. A darkness thought long dead opened its eyes in the depths of the ebony shadows. Somewhere between life and death the monster lay in a death-like stillness. Faint vestiges of memory flowed into his long undead mind. Memories of moonlight hunts on the plains of Altama, the blood of innocents feeding his hunger. He smiled, the parted to reveal his curiously white fangs. It was true he was a vampire but not so foolish as to try and feed on every soul that so happened to cross his path. After all thats no way for a gentleman to act now is it? His name he struggled to recall, but with each passing breath he regained more and more of his fragmentary mind. Then it came to him, sliding silently through the pitch of the night. Tamorae, that was it, Tamorae Miyalne. He was the last of his kind, at least to his knowledge.
He stood and looked about him, his night eyes seeing clearly in the obsidian void that surrounded him. Seeing a possible way out of this stony prison he began to walk along a faint path that seemed to lead upward. He did not know the year or how long he had lain in the caves, hell for what it was worth he didn't even know where he was. But he didn't care, he just knew he was free. And that was all that mattered.
Off on the plains of Altama, a young girl wandered alone through the gore-soaked wreckage of a new-founded battlefield. She was looking for anything that might be of use or value to her. The day had proved fruitful so far. A handful of silver here, a pinch of gold there, assorted arms and munitions, the mammoth shells for the now twisted artillery pieces, et cetera. Her pack was nearly bursting at the seams from todays bounty, yet she continued her methodical hunt. What she was looking for, she hadn't the slightest clue. Only that she would know it when she found it.
In her twenty years away from home, she had perfected the art of the hunt. None escaped her be it man, mer, or amale. Saralye allowed herself a smile. An black billowing cloud passed over the sun. The sudden shift in light made her stop and scrutinize her present surroundings. Off in the distance she could make out the smoke on the mountains where her mother and father were. Even at this distance she could see the majestic spires of Argent De Fael, her ancestral birthplace. Saralye Sunaki spoke softly to herself, little more than a breath, but in the silence of the plains she may have well shouted.
"I think its been far too long since I was last home. Maemi, Paepi I'm coming home. This time its to stay." And at that she took off at an easy pace towards the now smoldering mountains of Al-Ilum, and to the crown of Eregion itself. A few milae into her journey home, some game presented itself. Saralye was quick on the draw of her ashen long bow. She took a breath and steadied her aim. Slender fingers loosed the taut string and sent the arrow flying toward its mark. It goes without saying that it found its target.
Collecting her harvest, she resumed her trek across increasingly rugged terrain. Since she had started her journey home at noon, she had covered approximately fifty milae. Seeing a small cluster of trees, and noting the dwindling light, she stopped and made her camp for the night. The black of night moved swiftly, Saralye had barely begun to make a small fire to cook todays game when the ebony darkness set itself firmly on the nearly barren plains. The nocturnal movements were nearly second nature to Saralye, so when she felt a distinct disturbance in the otherwise peaceful void, she was automatically on alert. Her hand found its way around the hilt of her sword, ready to be utilized in her defense. After tense moments of waiting and nothing happening she relaxed slightly, still ready to deal what ever threat may present itself. None materialized, but the long night was spent on a razors edge.
Normally one to avoid the direct light of day, Saralye welcomed the dawn with open arms. She smiled as the early light played amongst the little foliage on the plains. The gentle warmth touched her stark white skin and eventually found its way across the land that stretched for milae before her. The rise of the sun also brought forth a light breeze. It seemed to urge her onward as she made for the still distant mountains. As the day wore on the mountains loomed ever taller as she approached. Soon the land became more and more rugged as Saralye neared the rolling foothills. There was a small mountain pass that would lead to the main gates of Argent De Fael that started at the base of the mountains. It was this path that Saralye was searching for as dusk neared. Soon the cool night was set in the rocky crags at the base of the towering walls of granite. Seeing that she could make no further headway today, she made her camp for the night.
Dawn brought with it renewed vigor for Saralye. She worked quickly in the draws, looking for the antiquated path to the mountain hold of Argent De Fael. It was soon located in a small valley littered with the remains of wars long forgotten. A rusted blade here, a shell crater there, old bones over there. The path was faint, it was quite evident to Saralye's attuned senses that it had not been used for aeons. Setting her resolve, she began the arduous assent up the mountain. Gentle slopes gave way to ever steeper ones, steep slopes turned to cliff faces. Soon she found herself scaling near vertical walls of rock. The path was rough, but she was making progress. There were already signs of habitation etched into the stone. By her estimation she should reach the main gate by nightfall. Taking a breath, she continued her climb.
Delan was hunched over a table. His skilled hand manipulating the pen to finalize his latest contraption. If it could be feasibly carried out, it would dwarf all other machimelya. The only conceivable problem was providing sufficient power and torque to the main drive gears. Nevertheless, he continued to draw out his monstrous juggernaut of war.
Aikawa was fast asleep in the bed behind him. The day had been especially trying on her. There had been artillery that needed repairs desperately, and Aikawa, besides Delan, was the only one who could manipulate the mechanism back into working order. She also had to help oversee the implementation of a dedicated artillery supply team. She had had to show the younger ones how the complex machines were loaded, aimed, and fired. All this she had to do by herself. Delan had been preoccupied with helping the others repair the labyrinth network of corridors that fed the holds defensive array.
Both were tired from the long day, yet they still somehow found some time to dedicate to each other. It had been months since that had last had time to themselves so when the chance came they both jumped at it. Afterwards, Aikawa lay down to rest. Delan, being something of an insomniac, sat at the drafting board and conceived a sea of gears, levers, and pulleys to power a juggernaut the likes of which had never been seen before. If constructed, it could very well be the crucial piece that the Miyallae needed to win this conflict. His silent reprieve was broken by a knock on the ancient oaken door. "Milo, I hold news from the main gates!" The messenger said breathlessly.
"What is it! Another attack? No, it can't be it's too soon for a follow up. Well come on man out with it!" Delan said hurriedly.
"Milo, your daughter Saralye has come home!" Delan staggered into a nearby chair. It had been twenty years since he had last seen Saralye. When she left she had swore that she would never return to the mountain caves that had been her birthplace and childhood home. The news of her return shocked him to the core. It was a long moment before he spoke again.
"Well, what are we waiting for? Come bring me to her." The messenger nodded assent and led Delan through the winding halls. Along the route they passed spires of twisted ruby and obsidian that gave the evening a somewhat melancholy mood. It was about half an hour before the pair arrived at where Saralye stood waiting. Each was overjoyed to see the other. It was Saralye that broke the deafening silence and closed the small gap between herself and Delan.
"Paepi!" She said as she rushed towards him. Delan was momentarily frozen as the realization finally hit home. Saralye was home. For years he had thought of this day, hoping for but never really expecting it to happen. Eventually he managed to speak.
"Saralye, my how you've grown! You remind me of your mother more and more. Goodness I'm glad your home, but I must ask why?" Delan fired off in rapid staccato fashion. Saralye just laughed.
"Paepi, calm down, I'm home and I'm here to stay this time." Delan looked at her with a soft smile, a rare expression for him in these troubled times. He spoke after a few moments.
"Come Saralye, your mother will be dying to see you after all these years." And at that they set off back down the spiraling corridors that comprised Argent De Fael. Saralye noted that, in her absence, the mountain hold had acquired a solemn note that she didn't remember from her youth. It seemed as if even the mountain was aware of the consequences of a successful Moragii invasion. Saralye shuddered to think of it.
Aikawa met the pair at the door. She had awoken and found Delan to be missing so she had started to go looking for him when the duo very nearly ran her over. Aikawa looked from Delan to Saralye and back before she took Saralye in her arms.
"Saralye! I can't believe its actually you! But last time you left you said you weren't ever coming back, but yet here you are! Just one question, why?"
"Maemi! Paepi! Slow down a bit and give me some time to speak. After all my years away, I guess that theres a void that only home can fill. Besides I don't think I'm of much use picking through the smoldering remnants of battle fields. Ever looking for that one thing that would make the perpetual isolation worth while. At this point I don't think I'll find my answers in the echoes of the rolling aeons." Saralye replied. Her tone, though warm, was distant and thoughtful. Delan gazed absently into the shadows of the cavern lost in though. His mind was working in overdrive. Calculations and solutions flowed through the vast seas of thought, every now and then sparking a tidal wave of possibilities to be explored. Machines, people, war, and just a touch of madness coursed through on the rip tides of memory.
The answer to Saralye's question was indeed not to be found in the past they saw on the surface. No, the answer was deeper, much deeper. Ancient powers had locked away many of its secrets. But just enough survived for the Miyallae to learn some of its forgotten magics. Delan himself did not possess much skill in it. But Aikawa had show a fair degree of prowess in its use. Maybe, Delan thought to himself, just maybe.
Aikawa sat in a silent brooding mood, a rare instance for her. Her mental train was following much the same path as Delans. Her intense concentration was focused on finding either an answer or a path to the solution of Saralye's problem. Her mind turned to her small collection of skills in magic. If the lost arts couldn't give the answer, then maybe they could help point the way to its discovery. But that was for a later time. Their only living child was home, and for the moment, thats all they cared TWO: ANCIENT SORROW AWAKENS
Tamorae wandered through the antiquated caverns actively seeking the gateway to the surface world. It seemed to him that every turn was met by a dead end or more twisting tunnels. He had walked steadily onward for a couple of day now and the end that he sought was still no where to be found. But progress was being made. With each passing hour there were more and more signs of life. Ancient perhaps, but life nonetheless. He wend onward through the labyrinthian corridors of stone. The crumbling remnants of a civilization long lost appeared out of the enveloping shadows. Even in their advanced decay Tamorae could still feel the ancient traces of power that resonated in the twirling cavern. The songs of millennia still echoed in the depths of the encroaching abyss.
After some time of both walking and reflection, he came to stonework that was quite foreign to his senses. The delicately woven lattice that was etched into the face of the stone was unknown to him. Further on he saw a slight lightening of the oppressive shadows that cloaked his tall frame. Realizing that he had at last found his entrance to the outside, he quickened his steps and soon found himself in the ashen light of dusk.
Stepping out of the ruins of the temple that encircled the caves entrance, he breathed his first breath of fresh air in centuries. The night air was crisp and revived Tamorae's senses. The moons shone high in the black sky. Before him stretched the vast rolling plains of Altama. In the distance he could make out the jagged outline of the Al-Ilum mountains. A few flickering lights dotted the plains here and there. Seeing this, his hunger was rekindled. With a dark grin he set off for the nearest of the small villages.
The few inhabitants were no match for the outright ferocity of the master vampire. His bloodlust sated for the time being, Tamorae wandered off to find some information to put his mind at ease. The principle questions on his mind were related to his location and the era in which he had awoken. Nevertheless, none in the small farming village remained to give hime the information he sought. Coming to this realization, he began his trek to the next village on these forsaken plains of shadow.
Off the jagged coast of Eregion lay the black fleet. The ebony ships numbered in the thousands. They all hailed from varying clans normally at war with one another, but for now they were united in a common goal, the capture of Eregion. The mass of invaders were a gruesome looking bunch, with knotted flesh and hideous scabs that showed their rather belligerent lifestyle. They had long since burnt through their native countries resources and turned their eye overseas in the hunt of more. So far, for the last century or so, the well trained troops of Eregion had stayed the bulk of the invasion, but the strains on Eregion were starting to show.
Already several of the antiquated strongholds that dotted the coast, and made up the bulk of Eregion's coastal defense, had fallen under the brutal siege engines of the Moragii. For the conquest of Eregion, the Moragii had enlisted all of their vile machines of destruction. Thankfully the artillery defenses of Eregion had destroyed most of these black concoctions of magic and machine. But, the ancient cannon were showing their age, with many of them becoming exponentially more inaccurate with each passing year.
The troops of Eregion were well trained, but the mechanical prowess that had built the monstrous guns was not to be found in the world today. Few possessed the skill needed to maintain the iron behemoths of war. Of the thousands that filled the ranks of Eregions' military, perhaps a handful had working knowledge of how to repair the complex weaponry. It took nimble fingers to properly assemble the mechanism that ignited the 200 pound charge that hurled the proportionally large shells a range of up to 15 milae. The defensive lines were receding at an alarming rate. Each passing day brought more and more invaders onto Eregions' soil. Fortunately the invaders progress was slowed to a near standstill by the sheer cliff faces of the Al-Ilum mountains. The only way to feasibly move troops into the plains was through a network of bottleneck valleys. The first inhabitants of Eregion had saw the importance of placing defensive embankments in several key locations along the valley walls. It was by these bunkers of granite that much of the Moragii advance was halted. The natural bottleneck provided by the valley plus the implementation of the monumental cannon of Eregion made for a deadly combination.
Tamorae was making quick work of covering the milae that separated the small farming villages. As the dawn neared he slowed his fanatical pace down to something a little less suspicious. The sun broke the jagged peaks of the mountains as he came to the outer fringe of the village. Within the hour there were signs that the village was awakening. Tamorae sought out the local elders to inquire of the land and age in which he had awakened. He found them easily enough. The basic layout of the many small hamlets that dotted the plains was the same as it was when he previously walked free on the surface of the world. He respectfully asked the elders of the land and era. He was shocked to find that the region still held the name that had been bestowed upon it aeons before his own birth. The date in which he had risen was the 12th of Alta in the 3rd era year 1123. He had slept in the caves for over two thousand years. Thanking them for their time and knowledge, Tamorae departed and began his life anew as a wanderer. About thirty milae from the village, he was stopped by a stranger who told him that the lord of the mountain silver was in need of men to help defeat the threat posed by the invading Moragii. He also told Tamorae that if he was interested that he could find the lord Delan in the heart of Argent De Fael, the highest peak of the Al-Ilum mountains. Tamorae's interest was piqued and seeing how he was in need of a shelter from the harsh light of the day, he set his course for the obsidian gates of the silver mountain.
By nightfall he reckoned that he had about two hundred and fifty milae to go before he reached the jagged edge of the mountains. He figured that it would take him about three days to reach the rolling foothills. Once he was there he would have to find a way up to the stronghold. From his youth he seemed to recall visiting the capital hold of Eregion. But with the passing of time he was unsure wether the path that he and his father had used was still there. Tamorae stopped for the night to rest and reflect on what he had become before he had been stopped so many centuries ago. Even in undeath, he still managed to find shreds of his shattered humanity. When the night was young and the silver moon hung overhead, it came to him. The return of remorse and sorrow came upon him, sliding through on the whispers of the ebony night. He cried for the first time in over two thousand years that night, loathing himself and the creature that lurked within him. As dawn neared he settled his resolve to change what he had become. He tempered his resolve by making the decision to see of what material this Delan was made of. If he found Delan to be honorable in his word and actions, he would carry a sword or banner for him to the end of time, lest till his trust was betrayed.
The day proved to be a very long and uneventful one. The only positive note that came to Tamorae was that with each passing step, he was coming closer to the mountain and, on some deep inner level, he was leaving the monster behind. Armed with this knowledge and his uncanny skills as a scout, he forged onwards, toward redemption and glory, or to damnation and recession.
Noon brought with it a heavy overcast that threatened to open into a torrential downpour at any moment. This shift in weather was welcomed by Tamorae. The sun was not particularly fond of him, and the light gave him a migraine anyway. That afternoon was spent wandering about gathering some meager supplies, ever nearing the towering Al-Ilum mountain range.
The evening followed the pattern set by the rest of the day, walking and scavenging for something to eat. The pull of the mountain was steadily growing stronger as he came to the crater-strewn hills at the base of the mountain. Nightfall came rapidly, the peaceful greens and golds of the Altama plains were shadowed by both the mountains and the fall of the sun. Tamorae spent the night by a small fire lost in thought.
CHAPTER THREE: A FATEFUL MEETING
Delan rose early, far earlier than he normally did. His rest was interrupted by strange visions that he could not quite decipher into a logical sequence. He could feel that something was drawing near, but he could not place what it might be. A certain darkness was present, but he knew that it was not Moragii, it had a sadder touch to its bleak sorrow than that of the horrid invaders that sat a scant few milae off the coast of his beloved Eregion. That breed was wholly evil in nature, whereas the darkness that was nearing maintained some faint vestiges of light.
Aikawa lay on their bed, lost in the embrace of her dreams. Delan looked at her soft expression fondly. In the predawn hours of the morning, before he began his daily routine, Delan sat and thought back to his and Aikawa's early days together. Those were happier times indeed. They were near inseparable, even more so then than they were now. He thought of the carefree days spent on the grasses of the plains under the sun and sky. Delan smiled as his memory wandered to the star filled nights the pair had shared on the peaks of mountains with no other company than themselves.
Delan rose from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting, careful to not disturb Aikawa as she slept. He quickly changed his clothing and fixed a small breakfast. He ate his meal in silent thought. He was slightly disturbed at the feeling that had come over him this morning. He finished his meal and set some food on the fire so that it would be ready for Aikawa whenever she awoke.
In the predawn hours the mountain was already bustling with activity. The many inhabitants went on about their daily activities formed from long habit. Children ran about playing in the numerous caverns that comprised the bulk of Argent De Fael. The troops readied their battle stations for the day watch. Messengers ran to and fro bringing vital updates to the officers in charge of the defense. One approached Delan.
"Milo, the hold defenses are prepared. Your orders." Delan thought for a moment and then gave his reply to the young lad.
"Are the riders ready?" He asked.
"Yes Milo."
"Then tell them to saddle up for a recon mission. I want to know in what condition the black fleet lies." The messenger nodded assent and took off for the upper caverns where the great dragons resided. Delan was anxious to see how much more he and his men would have to deal with before this bloodbath was over. Alas, it would be at least a day before he had a full report on the enemy situation. When they returned with the information that he needed he would begin planning for an offensive against the hordes that threatened his people.
Tamorae spent the day on the hunt for the route to the main gates of Argent De Fael. The path was not to be easily found for it seemed to him to have been unused for centuries at least. If his memory served him correctly it was nestled at the foot of the sprawling mountain near the ancient gem mines that at one point had furnished much of Eregion with ruby and emerald. The old cobblestone road was long gone, but faint traces remained to show that it had indeed been there aeons ago. Tamorae found the remnants of the path and began to follow it towards the mountain. With luck it would lead him to the trail that he so desperately sought. The hours passed by with little to note. Tamorae still had not found the pass that would lead him to the gates as dusk neared. Seeing that further effort today would prove fruitless in the twilight hours, he made his camp for the night.
Night came and set its blackened curtains upon the land sealing away the last faint vestiges of sunlight. Tamorae welcomed the dark. The silver-tinged moon hung high overhead. With its ashen glow it brought that same self-loathing that Tamorae had come to accept as his own. He fervently hoped that dawn would bring with it the route that so desperately needed to the gates of the mountain silver. The day broke the jagged peaks in an aura of pale-golden yellows that brought with them a certain warmth that eased away the deathly chill of the night. Tamorae stirred the faint embers that remained of his fire to prepare a small meal for himself. Within the hour it was ready and he ate his breakfast in a brooding silence. While on the outside he was solemn, on the interior of his being there was a battle raging on between the darkness of his heart and the fleeting light of his new found humanity. Each threatened to overcome him completely.
He stood and began his hunt anew. The path was found at noon. It was evident to him that it had not been used for aeons. But as looked closer there were signs that someone or something had used this forsaken trail within the last week. He wondered in the back of his mind who could have also taken this route that was otherwise untouched by civilized life. He put the thought aside and began his climb. The route was proving to be much more arduous than he remembered from his youth. The gentle roll of the foothills was steadily growing steeper. There were parts of the trail that a mountain goat would have had trouble crossing. The further he went along the trail the slopes turned into shear walls of granite. By dusk he was scaling vertical faces to maintain his bearing on the antiquated path. Signs of habitation came into view as he climbed ever higher. Here and there small holes in the otherwise smooth cliff face gave Tamorae a fleeting glimpse into the bowels of the mountain. They were, however, too small for his gaunt frame. So he climbed on. By nightfall he was nearly at the gates. He slowed his climb and soon found himself standing on a rocky outcrop just below the main gates. He stopped and made camp for the night. He decided that he would present himself before the master of the mountain hold in the morning.
The night was restless for him. For once Tamorae was glad to see the dawn break on the horizon. Settling his nerves, he began his path anew and covered the half milae that lay between him and the gates of Argent De Fael. A guard stepped out of the shadows and gave the order to halt and state his business. "I come to present myself before Lord Delan in hopes that he may find me worthy of serving under his banner." Tamorae began and then thought to himself how stupid he must sound to the man standing before him. The guard was eerily silent for a moment, then he turned and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. He turned to Tamorae and spoke.
"Very well, follow me and I shall take you to Lord Delan and let him see if you are fit for service as a warrior. If he finds you to be of use then you can expect to be treated fairly and well compensated. If he deems you unsuitable for the front lines, then he may have various tasks better suited to your abilities. Come." And at that the guard led Tamorae through the winding halls towards his fate.
Delan sat in the central cavern awaiting the return of the dragon riders with their report. A messenger came through the heavy oaken door. The young lad approached Delan.
"Milo," He said breathlessly. "You have a visitor who wishes to serve under your banner. Shall I let him in?"
Delan was startled at the news that someone had gone through the trouble of seeking him out to ask to serve under him. He thought for a long moment. Seeing that whoever was seeking him may well be that cold sorrow that he had felt in his dreams he told the messenger to bring the man forth. "Bring him forth. It is not taken kindly to leave a guest waiting to see his host." Internally Delan's mind was a minefield of questions and thought. But there would be time for that shortly. For the moment he had a guest to entertain.
Tamorae was led in by one of the gate guards. He gestured greeting to Delan in the way of his people. He bowed slightly and placed a closed fist over his breast. Delan returned the formality out of courtesy and motioned for the guard to return to his post. He then spoke to Tamorae.
"Welcome, my guest to Argent De Fael. I hope that you will find the accommodations to your liking. But I stray from your purported purpose for being here don't I? Very well though I find this sort of thing to be rather loathsome let us begin with the mild formalities. I, as you may already know, am Delan Sunaki. Some would call me Lord, others king. But, to most I am Delan. I am tasked with maintaining order and defenses to this hold. Being in the position I am, it is a privilege for me to be able to dispense with some small measure of responsibility to others better suited to the tasks at hand. But enough of that rant. I have but three questions for you. And at the risk of sounding crude I place them thusly. What is your name? What skills to you bring? And finally, why should I place my sacred trust in you? You may find that the last question is not one to be answered easily. Some have spent a lifetime trying to find the answer to it. But the answer is not cut and dry it is indeed quite fluid and unique to the individual is it not? Ah, but I again tarry on frivolous matters. Please be seated so we might finish part of this task before the noon meal is prepared. Have you eaten yet today? I apologize for not making the offer sooner my mind is elsewhere today."
Tamorae took a moment to reply. Delan's questions were indeed crafted to make one think about themselves. The first question could be answered easily. The following two posed a greater mental drain.
"To answer your first question, my name is Tamorae Miyalne. The following two, however, I do not have a ready answer for you. I can only speak for some small skill as a warrior and a scout. As far as why you should trust me, there is no reason why you should. I am but a lost soul in the night trying to find my way back into the light of day."
Delan smiled. Before him stood one who shared a kindred belief. They were few and quite far between. It was a long moment before Delan spoke again.