Eons before man, there was a golden age, the Age of Gods. This age, when
it ended, ended violently. Falaris, the supreme god of Darkness, led an
army of one thousand ancient dragons and gods against the massed host of
Falis, the supreme god of light. It is said that in the millennia of
conflict, the very oceans boiled, the skies fell, and the earth wept. God
after god and dragon after dragon fell, until only two were left; Marfa,
the goddess of creation, and Kardis, the goddess of destruction. Theirs
was the last battle. In the end, they had splintered the land, forging a
new continent. And in this act of both creation and destruction, the life
forces of these ancient deities flickered and died.
Now, in our age, this land that was baptized by the blood of the divine has come to be known as Lodoss... "The Accursed Land."
Chapter One A Blazing Departure
In the far northeast of the Continent Lodoss stands the great temple of Marfa, on White Dragon Mountain. Though she had supposedly died to save the rest of Alecrast, her worshipers remained. Her altar was set far in the west and north, in the mountains with Bramd, the ice dragon, oldest of the five remaining Ancient Dragons.
The altar could be reached by a shallow incline of thirty steps carved in the gleaming white marble that defined the temple's construction. At the top of the altar, an older woman raised her head from her prayers to look down at the man, er dwarf before her. Roughly four feet tall, he looked to weigh around two hundred pounds despite his lack of height. Stocky and muscular, his tanned face was framed by short white hair and an equally trimmed white beard. Dressed in gray and dull green, a huge backpack and double-blade battleaxe were his only equipment.
Neese, priestess of Marfa, swallowed nervously. "You're truly going?"
Ghim nodded. "Yes. I swear to find her and bring her back."
She hung her head. "You needn't go...we both know she's..."
"Neese!" Ghim frowned at her. "No one should give up hope of another's life. Especially not your own daughter." He grinned. "Besides, I'm still good enough to drag back a wayward daughter or two." He burst into hearty laughter as he turned to leave the temple. "Relax."
This incidentally did little to ease the high priestess's worries. "Ghim..."
Deeper in the temple, even past the shrine, Neese stood before the mirror of truth, her head bowed. "Marfa...please give Ghim your divine protection. Help him find my daughter." Images danced in her mind of a young fourteen-year-old girl, slender and willowy, pale-skinned and black- haired. A gigantic, pale gray dragon lowered its head next to her. She gratefully accepted his support. "Thank you Bramd."
--------
One of the only constants that all agree on is that darkness and light can never exist without creating the other. So it is that there are creatures of light and creatures of dark in all worlds. Goblins were among the creatures of Lodoss that were of the dark. Still, other creatures always exist.
Deep in the Alanian forests, if you listened very carefully, you could hear flute music twisting and weaving among the other sounds of the forest. It would have been nearly impossible to find the source of the strange, haunting music just by listening, but if you did, you would find a curious sight.
Sitting in the branches of a nearby oak tree was one of the rarer of the races of Lodoss, a dark elf. Elves in of themselves are extraordinarily rare on Lodoss, at least as far as humans know. Most live within lands closed by the gates in the mystical Forest of No Return; the only ones regularly seen outside of there are dark elves, usually in the service of those who are...less than pleasant.
Trent, as he was called, was not one of them. For all that he was hardly the nicest of people imaginable. He looked a bit strange for an elf, as he stood almost five foot ten inches; at least half a head taller than your average elf. Aside from that however, he was a pretty typical dark elf male; long, shocking white hair, skin deeply tanned, long pointed ears, ethereally handsome features.
He idly looked up from his piping as snarls and panting became apparent elsewhere. Sighing, he slipped the pipe under the long, black coat he wore, and leapt towards the noises, seeming to fade in and out of sight as is the wont of elves.
--------
We will now rewind to a different time and place, though not very much so. Perhaps a mile away, a young woman had been bathing in one of the forest springs. She was a human female, about sixteen years old. Middling height and slender, she had long, black hair and fairly pale skin. No, we won't indulge your disgusting fantasies in what she looked like naked; the not- quite omniscient author only knows that she was attractive, but cannot provide any details. Sorry.
Anyway, said young woman realized at one point that she was being leered at by goblins, who most likely would have taken liberties she would have disapproved of had she not grabbed her dress, leapt out of the pool, and started running like hell. (As this is Lodoss and not Nerima, she won't be manifesting large, wooden mallets to punish all perverts.)
The problem with goblins is that while they're not particularly smart, like most animals who travel in packs, they have enough instinct for tactics that they will generally chase their intended prey either into a dead end or into the arms of their brethren, so to speak. It's not really hard to believe; wolves and such do it all the time, despite a human's bigger cranium.
In this case, she was chased into another group of goblins. She was sensible enough to run, but she also lacked any kind of fighting abilities, meaning that all she could really do was cower, and pray they wouldn't kill her.
That of course, is when Trent chose to arrive. After all, the hero always conveniently shows up in the nick of time to save obscure damsels in distress. It's a literary must.
In all honesty, she didn't actually see him for quite a while. All she realized was that she wasn't being murdered, eaten, and/or raped, and looked up, to see thirty or so goblins, a good seven or eight of which were in multiple chunks while the rest looked around wildly, trying to figure out who was perform the vivisection.
Trent sighed, banishing his concealment spell. "God damn goblins; if these people would just hurry up and fight on their own it wouldn't BE such a problem." (Gee, a nearby village that Trent seems to despise, and now another one comes up. You don't suppose there's a connection?)
"That was rather well done. Though I thought that goblins only came out after sunset."
Trent turned to take a good look at the newcomer. Priest of Falis, he noted; the gold-trimmed white silk robes and the monk's bowl-cut were a dead give-away. The boy...no, young man couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen at most; his face still managed to retain some actual innocence.
He shrugged. Normally priests of the god of light had problems with Dark elves, but if he wasn't going to try and blast him, Trent wouldn't try anything himself. "Normally yes. But when certain pig-headed villagers remove any reason for them to be cautious, they tend to ignore trifles like the time of day."
It was at this point that said obscure damsel in distress recognized the new-comer. "Etoh!"
--------
As the girl had scampered off upon reaching the walls of the village, Etoh and Trent were left alone in the hut as Etoh began heating up some kind of herbal tea he'd grown fond of in his monastery. "So, you're a priest of Valis, eh?"
Etoh nodded. "Hardly a priest. I'm still only a novice, though I have learned quite a bit." He set a second mug across the table. "How long have those goblins been a problem?"
Trent sighed. "Define problem. You're what, sixteen?" Etoh nodded curiously. Trent sighed again. "Then you've had to deal with them before you went to your monastery. If you mean when did they start coming out in the day in force, well that's been going on for about the past year and a half." He nodded appreciatively at the tea. Some kid of chamomile blend. "These villages don't realize that they're not going to go away. If they ever put their minds to it, those goblins could wipe out this entire village pretty easily. The only reason they haven't so far is because they don't really have any good reason to do so."
Etoh shrugged. "They're farmers, not soldiers or mercenaries. They're purpose as they see it is to farm, not fight."
Trent shook his head. "It won't work, and the sad part is that I know a lot of them realize it. The goblins will keep fighting, keep pillaging, until eventually they decide they want the whole village. Then, bye-bye Zaxom."
Etoh gave him an appraising look. "I'm somewhat curious as to what you're doing here. You're a dark elf, aren't you?"
Trent nodded. "Mm-hmm. Incidentally, you're taking this rather well. Dark elves aren't exactly welcomed with open arms in most places."
Etoh laughed. "I've been taught for quite some time not to arbitrarily judge people. Besides, you were trying to save the mayor's daughter earlier; not exactly the mark of evil."
What was quickly moving towards a friendly conversation was interrupted by the abrupt banging open of the door, courtesy of a certain irritable Angry Mob(TM). "All right, where's the elf?!"
Trent ignored them, taking another sip of the tea. "As you can see, not everyone has your 'live and let live' attitude in regards to my people."
One of them tried to grab him by his coat, only to find himself facing the business end of a single-edged tanto dagger. "Y-you...damn it, why did you kill those goblins?!"
Trent quirked an eyebrow as he withdrew the blade. "Am I to understand that your preference would have been my letting her get raped and devoured? If so, you can always drag her back to their den."
A slightly more moderate member of the Angry Mob(TM) yelled from the back, "you didn't have to kill them! They run off if you scare them enough! Now they'll be angry and try to get revenge for their fallen comrades! What do you think will happen to this village?!"
"Honestly? I think it will remain the same. Those things know a dark elf killed their brethren. You'll probably continue to be raided and such, but for that, they'll most likely start coming the forest to try and find my scent."
The one who'd narrowly avoided being stabbed snorted disdainfully. "Hmph! Fucking dark elves; I don't know why we're bothering with the traitorous, murdering bastards."
Trent didn't rise to the taunt. "I've killed before, but I can't seem to recall having anything to betray."
He laughed. "Good, little elf! That's all your kind is good for anyway; talking and dying."
Laughter fell short as Trent exploded into action, grabbing him by the throat and hurling him headfirst out of the house. Incidentally through a hole that didn't exist in the three inch oak wood. "That...was uncalled for. Especially from a barbaric, idiotic human who most likely laughed his ass off when my family was burned alive in their home by Alanian soldiers."
"That's enough," came a new voice.
"The mayor!"
The mayor (as no one bothered to give him a name beyond that), proved to be a tall, muscular man who looked to be in his early to mid forties, sporting black hair and a thick, bushy mustache. "I for one would like to thank you."
"What?!" the mob exclaimed as one. "Mr. Mayor, weren't you the one who told us not to harm the goblins?!"
Another piped up from the back. "Now they'll want revenge for their man, and we'll all pay for it!"
"What happens then, huh?! What happens to us?!"
The mayor managed to insert himself in between Trent and those who had almost instantly forgotten his little stunt with the other villager currently hanging out of the wall. "That's enough! This is a matter for the entire village to decide, not something to be fought over on a whim."
Trent's eyes narrowed in disgust. More talking. More democratic decisions that would get squat done. More debates that ended with everyone deciding that just dealing with things as yet was the best course of action. More idiots making sure that more people would slowly die because of their fear and unwillingness to fight.
--------
Deeper in the forest, one could find large cliffs and sheer-walled chunks of light tan stone. Inside of one, wind, rain, and other storms had carved out a large warren. Within, the large horde of wild goblins slept, caroused, fought, and got themselves drunk on plundered ale and mead.
All save one. Taller and more humanoid in appearance than the others, he stood commandingly on a raised boulder, watching over his minions. Unlike the rags of the others, he wore almost-fitting black garments, a cutlass thrust into his broad leather belt. He snarled to himself. Twelve dead, all over one meddling outsider. He seemed to remember it being described as an elf of some kind, but he felt a lot more anger towards that human village the woman had come from.
Had he been a human of high intelligence or an elf, he might have wondered why he seemed to have no trouble desiring to murder and slaughter the humans when none of them had particularly done anything to him.
--------
Not everyone had chosen to come to Etoh's house and try to start a witch hunt against the dark elf. One of the houses on the outskirts in particular was host to some almost normal happenings. A tall, slender man was quietly and sedately preparing a meal. Tall and slender, he wore his blond hair in a short, almost monk-like cut while he wore a plain brown robe tied with a similar brown sash.
"Got a cup of that for me?" came a rough, deep voice.
Slayn turned to the doorway, smiling slightly at the grey-haired dwarf standing there.
In minutes, the two were seated around the rough-hewn wooden table sharing mugs of some strange tea. The house when you took a good look, was noticeably less normal than original impressions would give. The walls were lined in bookcases and other shelves, all crammed full of old leather- bound tomes and grimoires, a small astrolabe, and all other manner of paraphernalia that most self-respecting wizards find absolutely necessary.
Slayn shook his head at his friend as he sat down. "I have no intention of going out on some trip with you. Swords and lances are far too heavy for me." He looked longingly over all of his books. "And my magic is not yet what it could be. I still have many books to read."
Ghim snorted in good-natured irritation. "Huh. Spend all your time in here and those powers of yours will molder away."
Slayn chuckled at that. The two turned curiously at a knock on the door. "A veritable flood of customers. That's a first for me."
The mayor cracked the door enough to slip his head around, then entered the rest of the way. "Master Slayn, I need your advice for the village..."
--------
Not everything in the forest was dark and gloomy. At one point, a large river of babbling, clear water ran through a clearing near some cliffs. Trees remained, but they were far enough away from the rest of the water that it stayed bright and well-lit.
Standing on one of the stepping stones was a sight far rarer than a dark elf such as Trent Shadowlight. Standing perhaps five foot five, she looked almost frail from her slender, willowy build. Pale skinned and with pale, platinum blond hair, she was startlingly beautiful. She wore a short tunic and dress of leaf green silk, a lighter shade than her brilliant, emerald green eyes. Over her tunic she had a kind of half-breastplate that stopped above her stomach, the massive shoulder guards holding a cape the same dark, lapis-lazuli blue as her armor.
She smiled as she leapt from the rock towards the short waterfall, landing on a new stepping stone. Cupping her hands, she caught some of the water and splashed it across her face, laughing and smiling.
Unfortunately, it didn't last. Her eyes abruptly hardened, banishing the image of frailty. She leapt through the air, landing in the branches of a nearby oak. She frowned as a large horde of goblin warriors marched beneath her. Goblins in force in the daylight?
--------
Trent silently padded down the stairs of Etoh's house. He was a dark elf, and more than that he was trained as an assassin and ranger; silence came to him naturally. He slipped into one of the chairs, staring into the fire.
He was nearly one hundred and thirty years old; young for an elf, but adult none-the-less. If he'd been a farmer or a carpenter or anything else that had a normal life expectancy, he could have well lived to be six hundred before he died. The price of that, at least when he lived in a world dominated by short-lived humans, was that he had far more memories, far more skeletons in his proverbial closet.
He groaned quietly to himself as he rubbed his forehead. Not again. The memories, always the same, returned. The memory of over ten years ago, of his father leaving for a quest that he'd never understood. The tall, straight-backed and proud dark elf warrior striding away for adventure. Never returning. Then, less than a year later, the young hunter that Trent had grown to be coming home to find his family dead; mother and two sisters, burned alive in what was left of their cottage.
Anger can be a terrible thing. The loss, the pain; in some it leads to Hyuri, the spirit of Rage and Berserkers. In others it can kill, destroying a person's will to live from the inside. For Trent, it was something else entirely. He first learned of and feared his own terrible, frigid anger; the cold hatred and rage that sent him on destruction's path with mind and cunning intact.
He'd spent just enough time to bury his family's ashes; elves cremated their dead and buried the ash to enrich the natural world they loved, then left the bones in trees. He'd then taken to the towns of Alania, listening and waiting. It hadn't taken long for him to find and overhear the drunken soldiers laughing and congratulating themselves on getting rid of the elven scum. There had been six of them; the first three were found dead in their beds, their hearts removed. The next two were crucified and left in disreputable alleys, their hearts gone as well. The last, the commanding officer who had ordered it, was never found. Trent had knocked him unconscious one night and dragged him deep into the forests, leaving him chained in a gully. Wolves had devoured him alive within two nights.
The faces of the dead blurred around him. He regretted his actions to a small extent; not the killing, but his actions. He wasn't the kind to delude himself into thinking that they deserved something, that they didn't really mean it. He had no regrets about killing them, he only regretted that he'd left them as gristly warnings. The last troubled him most of all; he'd let the man die a torturous death. That he had lowered himself to prefer suffering over simple payment was the only thing that he honestly regretted.
Trent continued to stare into the fire, the images of the villagers coming to mind, their petty little complaints, their fears. Fear he could understand to a degree. They weren't soldiers, but they were a lot stronger than they thought themselves to be. They could have dealt with the goblins, but chose not to. So he was all that was left.
He slipped a slender four foot long bundle of black cloth from over his right shoulder and unrolled it. As an assassin and ranger, he understood just how important weaponry was, and had long since mastered concealing a large number of deadly little surprises around him. These however, were more than just weapons, they were his legacy, a gift from his mother and father.
He reverently lifted the three weapons in their black, lacquered wood sheathes. The longest, a katana, was a weapon his father had owned. The others, a wakizashi short sword and a tanto dagger, had belonged to his mother.
Slowly, almost ritualistically, he began to arm himself; katana across his back, short sword at his waist, tanto across the small of his back. Black leather bracers/gloves were added to each forearm, six scalple-like throwing blades concealed and sheathed in each one. Four more of the scalpels were sheathed in each upper-arm of his long coat, four star-shaped throwing knives in pockets set near the kidney area of his jacket.
The last item he removed from his bag was an eight-inch long cord of leather; three thongs braided into a single strand, one black, one silver, the last forest green.
He grinned tightly as he tied his hair back. Elves normally wore their hair loose and flowing, with forehead ornaments or bands. Tying back one's hair like this meant one of two things; you were either a raving deviant (true in this case, but not the main reason), or that you were going out of your way to distance yourself from the normally joyous, carefree, and most importantly life-respecting elves.
Checking the catches on his knife sheahes, he stood and invoked shadow- walking, one of his more unorthodox abilities. Fading into pure darkness, he slipped through the shadows towards a large enclave of goblins.
--------
Deeper in the forest, two goblins gazed across the clearing in front of their caves. Their only warning was a slight whisper of cloth, followed by a hissing sound of steel against flesh. The two fell almost instantly, their bodies in multiple pieces.
Trent sheathed his katana, his hand creeping towards his knife. In the closer confines of the cave, he'd be better off with the shortest, lightest blade. Keeping to the shadows, he frowned as he entered. It appeared deserted; old armor and the rancid leavings of a hasty meal were all that greeted him. Letting his spell taper off, he slipped outside.
His eyes widened as he left the cave to enter a world of blazing wind and light. It was as though he had stepped into the eye of a cyclone. His hand darted into his jacket for his spikes as he spotted the cause of the storm; a slip of a girl, but a high elf.
Deed ignored his species for the most part. He was a dark elf true, and thus his kind was generally a servant of Falaris and Kardis. Still, he was fighting goblins, and thus more likely to be neutral. "You might want to try that village." With that, she faded out of sight, back into the greenery.
Trent frowned as she faded away. The village? His eyes widened in horror. "Zaxom!"
--------
Said village was at the moment besieged by goblins. Ruthless shock attacks sprung up as small groups of goblins climbed the houses only to drop through the relatively unprotected thatch of the roofs. The generally peaceful villagers were being cut down bit by bit; even with surprise on their side, the goblins were still fighting desperate people.
As several drew in from near the village's perimeter, a tenor cry of "BY THE GLORY OF FALIS!" could be heard. Contrasting sharply with the eager young voice was the shock wave of brilliant white light slamming into the goblins. Etoh smiled as he hefted the small mace that all of his order were trained in the use of. This at least he could do something about.
Farther away a woman tripped in her running, falling to the ground as they drew nearer. Clutching her child, she cringed from the imagined blow.
It never came. A heavy, double-sided battle-axe came whirring through the goblins, cutting down the first wave. Ghim and Slayn appeared between the mother and goblins, Ghim's face a grim smile, Slayn's pondering.
His hand went out to forestall the dwarf as they drew nearer. "Wait a moment. They seem to be under the influence of some darker power."
Ghim shrugged. "Can you do something about it?"
Slayn raised his staff to his shoulder, his eyes closing as he began chanting. "You, who's hearts have been clouded by darkness, cast off these false garments and let your minds free."
The light began glowing around his staff's crook as runes appeared engraved in it. Abruptly, a strange golden light flared in each of the goblins' eyes, only to fade out as their eyes returned to their normal dull brown. Slayn breathed a tired sigh of relief as the goblins collapsed.
Ghim's eyes widened at the sight. "You really have been practicing, eh?"
Cue the shrill scream of a Damsel in Distress (TM).
The mayor came running out to them. "Liara! Liara!"
It was not earlier noted, but this is his daughter's name. And of course, she is being menaced by the large, ugly, and generally unpleasant individual that led the goblin horde at the moment.
Cue the not-so-righteous-or-Just-but-still-pretty-cool-hero (TM). (Zelgadis is a good example of this).
Just as the goblin's cutlass was about to bisect her, Trent managed to shoot out of a nearby shadow, grabbing her with a rolling tackle. It didn't hurt as much as you'd expect; he was able to absorb the impact quite well. As most of the other goblins were either dead or running, he was able to devote all of his attention to the leader. "I killed your men, not them." He shoved Liara to the side and out of the way before joining the fight.
Goblins by and large are tough brutes; little discipline, training, or intelligence, but a lot of power and they take a while to die. Excellent for faceless minions or cannon fodder. Elves are almost the total antithesis of this; light, graceful, intelligent, and skillful. That wasn't helping Trent all that much.
He grimaced as he dodged another bone-cutting slash, parrying the next one. He was a lot stronger than his build would make you think, but he was still an elf; nowhere near as strong as some could be. So, he had to use his own advantages as much as possible; his speed, his agility, and most importantly, tricks.
He stumbled under a vicious overhead slash that knocked him into the base of the village fountain. He gasped, swallowing as the tip of the goblin's sword came near.
Ghim sighed, shaking his head. "Idiot. Ah well, may as well keep him alive."
Slayn's hand again fell to his shoulder. "Wait. He's planning something."
The goblin leader grinned maniacally for a moment, just before he rammed the sword through the dark elf's chest. His smile didn't have time to fade as Trent's katana chose that moment to pierce his throat from behind, only to be yanked upward viciously, bisecting the head.
Trent smiled grimly as he levered himself out from a patch of shadow, his 'corpse' fading into a lump of dead leaves that blew away. "You know, my kind is always stereotyped as evil, deadly, traitorous, untrustworthy, and inveterately sneaky. Though I have to admit that the sneaky part is both accurate and warranted."
--------
That night, a markedly different group surrounded the mayor's home. A group bearing torches and pitchforks and complaining. Hands up, who doesn't think this is going to go well?
"This is all that stupid elf's fault! He's the reason for this attack!"
"We have to do something about him this instant!"
The mayor held up his hands for silence, which miraculously he got. "It has become clear that something has occurred which is darkening the spirit of all Lodoss. Therefore, I have asked Trent to leave our village as a representative to find out the cause."
THAT didn't sit well with them.
--------
About half a mile outside of the town, Trent shook his head, a small smile playing across his lips. He wondered how the people of Zaxom were reacting to his leaving. They'd probably be ticked for awhile that they hadn't been able to 'exact revenge' or some other nonsense, but he imagined that they would be celebrating good riddance within a week.
"So, off on your own adventure?"
Trent raised an eyebrow at Etoh. He'd heard him in the woods, but had assumed he was just gathering herbs or something. "You could say that."
Etoh grinned. "Looks like we're both going to be on our own little adventure."
Trent's eyes widened at that. The spawn of Falaris, and the now I'm traveling with a priest of Falis? The gods do have a sense of humor.
From further down the road came Ghim's gruff voice. "You youngsters could use some older, wiser advice." He gave his companion an odd look. "Don't know why, but even lead-foot Slayn here has decided to join us."
Trent shook his head rapidly a few times. Oo-kay. This is getting strange.
In the trees above, Deedlit smiled. She'd left the world of the high elves for her curiosity, almost half a century ago. This strange dark elf, with his honor and respect of life intrigued her. It would be well worth her while to follow him. Besides, he was kind of cute.
to be continued...
Now, in our age, this land that was baptized by the blood of the divine has come to be known as Lodoss... "The Accursed Land."
Chapter One A Blazing Departure
In the far northeast of the Continent Lodoss stands the great temple of Marfa, on White Dragon Mountain. Though she had supposedly died to save the rest of Alecrast, her worshipers remained. Her altar was set far in the west and north, in the mountains with Bramd, the ice dragon, oldest of the five remaining Ancient Dragons.
The altar could be reached by a shallow incline of thirty steps carved in the gleaming white marble that defined the temple's construction. At the top of the altar, an older woman raised her head from her prayers to look down at the man, er dwarf before her. Roughly four feet tall, he looked to weigh around two hundred pounds despite his lack of height. Stocky and muscular, his tanned face was framed by short white hair and an equally trimmed white beard. Dressed in gray and dull green, a huge backpack and double-blade battleaxe were his only equipment.
Neese, priestess of Marfa, swallowed nervously. "You're truly going?"
Ghim nodded. "Yes. I swear to find her and bring her back."
She hung her head. "You needn't go...we both know she's..."
"Neese!" Ghim frowned at her. "No one should give up hope of another's life. Especially not your own daughter." He grinned. "Besides, I'm still good enough to drag back a wayward daughter or two." He burst into hearty laughter as he turned to leave the temple. "Relax."
This incidentally did little to ease the high priestess's worries. "Ghim..."
Deeper in the temple, even past the shrine, Neese stood before the mirror of truth, her head bowed. "Marfa...please give Ghim your divine protection. Help him find my daughter." Images danced in her mind of a young fourteen-year-old girl, slender and willowy, pale-skinned and black- haired. A gigantic, pale gray dragon lowered its head next to her. She gratefully accepted his support. "Thank you Bramd."
--------
One of the only constants that all agree on is that darkness and light can never exist without creating the other. So it is that there are creatures of light and creatures of dark in all worlds. Goblins were among the creatures of Lodoss that were of the dark. Still, other creatures always exist.
Deep in the Alanian forests, if you listened very carefully, you could hear flute music twisting and weaving among the other sounds of the forest. It would have been nearly impossible to find the source of the strange, haunting music just by listening, but if you did, you would find a curious sight.
Sitting in the branches of a nearby oak tree was one of the rarer of the races of Lodoss, a dark elf. Elves in of themselves are extraordinarily rare on Lodoss, at least as far as humans know. Most live within lands closed by the gates in the mystical Forest of No Return; the only ones regularly seen outside of there are dark elves, usually in the service of those who are...less than pleasant.
Trent, as he was called, was not one of them. For all that he was hardly the nicest of people imaginable. He looked a bit strange for an elf, as he stood almost five foot ten inches; at least half a head taller than your average elf. Aside from that however, he was a pretty typical dark elf male; long, shocking white hair, skin deeply tanned, long pointed ears, ethereally handsome features.
He idly looked up from his piping as snarls and panting became apparent elsewhere. Sighing, he slipped the pipe under the long, black coat he wore, and leapt towards the noises, seeming to fade in and out of sight as is the wont of elves.
--------
We will now rewind to a different time and place, though not very much so. Perhaps a mile away, a young woman had been bathing in one of the forest springs. She was a human female, about sixteen years old. Middling height and slender, she had long, black hair and fairly pale skin. No, we won't indulge your disgusting fantasies in what she looked like naked; the not- quite omniscient author only knows that she was attractive, but cannot provide any details. Sorry.
Anyway, said young woman realized at one point that she was being leered at by goblins, who most likely would have taken liberties she would have disapproved of had she not grabbed her dress, leapt out of the pool, and started running like hell. (As this is Lodoss and not Nerima, she won't be manifesting large, wooden mallets to punish all perverts.)
The problem with goblins is that while they're not particularly smart, like most animals who travel in packs, they have enough instinct for tactics that they will generally chase their intended prey either into a dead end or into the arms of their brethren, so to speak. It's not really hard to believe; wolves and such do it all the time, despite a human's bigger cranium.
In this case, she was chased into another group of goblins. She was sensible enough to run, but she also lacked any kind of fighting abilities, meaning that all she could really do was cower, and pray they wouldn't kill her.
That of course, is when Trent chose to arrive. After all, the hero always conveniently shows up in the nick of time to save obscure damsels in distress. It's a literary must.
In all honesty, she didn't actually see him for quite a while. All she realized was that she wasn't being murdered, eaten, and/or raped, and looked up, to see thirty or so goblins, a good seven or eight of which were in multiple chunks while the rest looked around wildly, trying to figure out who was perform the vivisection.
Trent sighed, banishing his concealment spell. "God damn goblins; if these people would just hurry up and fight on their own it wouldn't BE such a problem." (Gee, a nearby village that Trent seems to despise, and now another one comes up. You don't suppose there's a connection?)
"That was rather well done. Though I thought that goblins only came out after sunset."
Trent turned to take a good look at the newcomer. Priest of Falis, he noted; the gold-trimmed white silk robes and the monk's bowl-cut were a dead give-away. The boy...no, young man couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen at most; his face still managed to retain some actual innocence.
He shrugged. Normally priests of the god of light had problems with Dark elves, but if he wasn't going to try and blast him, Trent wouldn't try anything himself. "Normally yes. But when certain pig-headed villagers remove any reason for them to be cautious, they tend to ignore trifles like the time of day."
It was at this point that said obscure damsel in distress recognized the new-comer. "Etoh!"
--------
As the girl had scampered off upon reaching the walls of the village, Etoh and Trent were left alone in the hut as Etoh began heating up some kind of herbal tea he'd grown fond of in his monastery. "So, you're a priest of Valis, eh?"
Etoh nodded. "Hardly a priest. I'm still only a novice, though I have learned quite a bit." He set a second mug across the table. "How long have those goblins been a problem?"
Trent sighed. "Define problem. You're what, sixteen?" Etoh nodded curiously. Trent sighed again. "Then you've had to deal with them before you went to your monastery. If you mean when did they start coming out in the day in force, well that's been going on for about the past year and a half." He nodded appreciatively at the tea. Some kid of chamomile blend. "These villages don't realize that they're not going to go away. If they ever put their minds to it, those goblins could wipe out this entire village pretty easily. The only reason they haven't so far is because they don't really have any good reason to do so."
Etoh shrugged. "They're farmers, not soldiers or mercenaries. They're purpose as they see it is to farm, not fight."
Trent shook his head. "It won't work, and the sad part is that I know a lot of them realize it. The goblins will keep fighting, keep pillaging, until eventually they decide they want the whole village. Then, bye-bye Zaxom."
Etoh gave him an appraising look. "I'm somewhat curious as to what you're doing here. You're a dark elf, aren't you?"
Trent nodded. "Mm-hmm. Incidentally, you're taking this rather well. Dark elves aren't exactly welcomed with open arms in most places."
Etoh laughed. "I've been taught for quite some time not to arbitrarily judge people. Besides, you were trying to save the mayor's daughter earlier; not exactly the mark of evil."
What was quickly moving towards a friendly conversation was interrupted by the abrupt banging open of the door, courtesy of a certain irritable Angry Mob(TM). "All right, where's the elf?!"
Trent ignored them, taking another sip of the tea. "As you can see, not everyone has your 'live and let live' attitude in regards to my people."
One of them tried to grab him by his coat, only to find himself facing the business end of a single-edged tanto dagger. "Y-you...damn it, why did you kill those goblins?!"
Trent quirked an eyebrow as he withdrew the blade. "Am I to understand that your preference would have been my letting her get raped and devoured? If so, you can always drag her back to their den."
A slightly more moderate member of the Angry Mob(TM) yelled from the back, "you didn't have to kill them! They run off if you scare them enough! Now they'll be angry and try to get revenge for their fallen comrades! What do you think will happen to this village?!"
"Honestly? I think it will remain the same. Those things know a dark elf killed their brethren. You'll probably continue to be raided and such, but for that, they'll most likely start coming the forest to try and find my scent."
The one who'd narrowly avoided being stabbed snorted disdainfully. "Hmph! Fucking dark elves; I don't know why we're bothering with the traitorous, murdering bastards."
Trent didn't rise to the taunt. "I've killed before, but I can't seem to recall having anything to betray."
He laughed. "Good, little elf! That's all your kind is good for anyway; talking and dying."
Laughter fell short as Trent exploded into action, grabbing him by the throat and hurling him headfirst out of the house. Incidentally through a hole that didn't exist in the three inch oak wood. "That...was uncalled for. Especially from a barbaric, idiotic human who most likely laughed his ass off when my family was burned alive in their home by Alanian soldiers."
"That's enough," came a new voice.
"The mayor!"
The mayor (as no one bothered to give him a name beyond that), proved to be a tall, muscular man who looked to be in his early to mid forties, sporting black hair and a thick, bushy mustache. "I for one would like to thank you."
"What?!" the mob exclaimed as one. "Mr. Mayor, weren't you the one who told us not to harm the goblins?!"
Another piped up from the back. "Now they'll want revenge for their man, and we'll all pay for it!"
"What happens then, huh?! What happens to us?!"
The mayor managed to insert himself in between Trent and those who had almost instantly forgotten his little stunt with the other villager currently hanging out of the wall. "That's enough! This is a matter for the entire village to decide, not something to be fought over on a whim."
Trent's eyes narrowed in disgust. More talking. More democratic decisions that would get squat done. More debates that ended with everyone deciding that just dealing with things as yet was the best course of action. More idiots making sure that more people would slowly die because of their fear and unwillingness to fight.
--------
Deeper in the forest, one could find large cliffs and sheer-walled chunks of light tan stone. Inside of one, wind, rain, and other storms had carved out a large warren. Within, the large horde of wild goblins slept, caroused, fought, and got themselves drunk on plundered ale and mead.
All save one. Taller and more humanoid in appearance than the others, he stood commandingly on a raised boulder, watching over his minions. Unlike the rags of the others, he wore almost-fitting black garments, a cutlass thrust into his broad leather belt. He snarled to himself. Twelve dead, all over one meddling outsider. He seemed to remember it being described as an elf of some kind, but he felt a lot more anger towards that human village the woman had come from.
Had he been a human of high intelligence or an elf, he might have wondered why he seemed to have no trouble desiring to murder and slaughter the humans when none of them had particularly done anything to him.
--------
Not everyone had chosen to come to Etoh's house and try to start a witch hunt against the dark elf. One of the houses on the outskirts in particular was host to some almost normal happenings. A tall, slender man was quietly and sedately preparing a meal. Tall and slender, he wore his blond hair in a short, almost monk-like cut while he wore a plain brown robe tied with a similar brown sash.
"Got a cup of that for me?" came a rough, deep voice.
Slayn turned to the doorway, smiling slightly at the grey-haired dwarf standing there.
In minutes, the two were seated around the rough-hewn wooden table sharing mugs of some strange tea. The house when you took a good look, was noticeably less normal than original impressions would give. The walls were lined in bookcases and other shelves, all crammed full of old leather- bound tomes and grimoires, a small astrolabe, and all other manner of paraphernalia that most self-respecting wizards find absolutely necessary.
Slayn shook his head at his friend as he sat down. "I have no intention of going out on some trip with you. Swords and lances are far too heavy for me." He looked longingly over all of his books. "And my magic is not yet what it could be. I still have many books to read."
Ghim snorted in good-natured irritation. "Huh. Spend all your time in here and those powers of yours will molder away."
Slayn chuckled at that. The two turned curiously at a knock on the door. "A veritable flood of customers. That's a first for me."
The mayor cracked the door enough to slip his head around, then entered the rest of the way. "Master Slayn, I need your advice for the village..."
--------
Not everything in the forest was dark and gloomy. At one point, a large river of babbling, clear water ran through a clearing near some cliffs. Trees remained, but they were far enough away from the rest of the water that it stayed bright and well-lit.
Standing on one of the stepping stones was a sight far rarer than a dark elf such as Trent Shadowlight. Standing perhaps five foot five, she looked almost frail from her slender, willowy build. Pale skinned and with pale, platinum blond hair, she was startlingly beautiful. She wore a short tunic and dress of leaf green silk, a lighter shade than her brilliant, emerald green eyes. Over her tunic she had a kind of half-breastplate that stopped above her stomach, the massive shoulder guards holding a cape the same dark, lapis-lazuli blue as her armor.
She smiled as she leapt from the rock towards the short waterfall, landing on a new stepping stone. Cupping her hands, she caught some of the water and splashed it across her face, laughing and smiling.
Unfortunately, it didn't last. Her eyes abruptly hardened, banishing the image of frailty. She leapt through the air, landing in the branches of a nearby oak. She frowned as a large horde of goblin warriors marched beneath her. Goblins in force in the daylight?
--------
Trent silently padded down the stairs of Etoh's house. He was a dark elf, and more than that he was trained as an assassin and ranger; silence came to him naturally. He slipped into one of the chairs, staring into the fire.
He was nearly one hundred and thirty years old; young for an elf, but adult none-the-less. If he'd been a farmer or a carpenter or anything else that had a normal life expectancy, he could have well lived to be six hundred before he died. The price of that, at least when he lived in a world dominated by short-lived humans, was that he had far more memories, far more skeletons in his proverbial closet.
He groaned quietly to himself as he rubbed his forehead. Not again. The memories, always the same, returned. The memory of over ten years ago, of his father leaving for a quest that he'd never understood. The tall, straight-backed and proud dark elf warrior striding away for adventure. Never returning. Then, less than a year later, the young hunter that Trent had grown to be coming home to find his family dead; mother and two sisters, burned alive in what was left of their cottage.
Anger can be a terrible thing. The loss, the pain; in some it leads to Hyuri, the spirit of Rage and Berserkers. In others it can kill, destroying a person's will to live from the inside. For Trent, it was something else entirely. He first learned of and feared his own terrible, frigid anger; the cold hatred and rage that sent him on destruction's path with mind and cunning intact.
He'd spent just enough time to bury his family's ashes; elves cremated their dead and buried the ash to enrich the natural world they loved, then left the bones in trees. He'd then taken to the towns of Alania, listening and waiting. It hadn't taken long for him to find and overhear the drunken soldiers laughing and congratulating themselves on getting rid of the elven scum. There had been six of them; the first three were found dead in their beds, their hearts removed. The next two were crucified and left in disreputable alleys, their hearts gone as well. The last, the commanding officer who had ordered it, was never found. Trent had knocked him unconscious one night and dragged him deep into the forests, leaving him chained in a gully. Wolves had devoured him alive within two nights.
The faces of the dead blurred around him. He regretted his actions to a small extent; not the killing, but his actions. He wasn't the kind to delude himself into thinking that they deserved something, that they didn't really mean it. He had no regrets about killing them, he only regretted that he'd left them as gristly warnings. The last troubled him most of all; he'd let the man die a torturous death. That he had lowered himself to prefer suffering over simple payment was the only thing that he honestly regretted.
Trent continued to stare into the fire, the images of the villagers coming to mind, their petty little complaints, their fears. Fear he could understand to a degree. They weren't soldiers, but they were a lot stronger than they thought themselves to be. They could have dealt with the goblins, but chose not to. So he was all that was left.
He slipped a slender four foot long bundle of black cloth from over his right shoulder and unrolled it. As an assassin and ranger, he understood just how important weaponry was, and had long since mastered concealing a large number of deadly little surprises around him. These however, were more than just weapons, they were his legacy, a gift from his mother and father.
He reverently lifted the three weapons in their black, lacquered wood sheathes. The longest, a katana, was a weapon his father had owned. The others, a wakizashi short sword and a tanto dagger, had belonged to his mother.
Slowly, almost ritualistically, he began to arm himself; katana across his back, short sword at his waist, tanto across the small of his back. Black leather bracers/gloves were added to each forearm, six scalple-like throwing blades concealed and sheathed in each one. Four more of the scalpels were sheathed in each upper-arm of his long coat, four star-shaped throwing knives in pockets set near the kidney area of his jacket.
The last item he removed from his bag was an eight-inch long cord of leather; three thongs braided into a single strand, one black, one silver, the last forest green.
He grinned tightly as he tied his hair back. Elves normally wore their hair loose and flowing, with forehead ornaments or bands. Tying back one's hair like this meant one of two things; you were either a raving deviant (true in this case, but not the main reason), or that you were going out of your way to distance yourself from the normally joyous, carefree, and most importantly life-respecting elves.
Checking the catches on his knife sheahes, he stood and invoked shadow- walking, one of his more unorthodox abilities. Fading into pure darkness, he slipped through the shadows towards a large enclave of goblins.
--------
Deeper in the forest, two goblins gazed across the clearing in front of their caves. Their only warning was a slight whisper of cloth, followed by a hissing sound of steel against flesh. The two fell almost instantly, their bodies in multiple pieces.
Trent sheathed his katana, his hand creeping towards his knife. In the closer confines of the cave, he'd be better off with the shortest, lightest blade. Keeping to the shadows, he frowned as he entered. It appeared deserted; old armor and the rancid leavings of a hasty meal were all that greeted him. Letting his spell taper off, he slipped outside.
His eyes widened as he left the cave to enter a world of blazing wind and light. It was as though he had stepped into the eye of a cyclone. His hand darted into his jacket for his spikes as he spotted the cause of the storm; a slip of a girl, but a high elf.
Deed ignored his species for the most part. He was a dark elf true, and thus his kind was generally a servant of Falaris and Kardis. Still, he was fighting goblins, and thus more likely to be neutral. "You might want to try that village." With that, she faded out of sight, back into the greenery.
Trent frowned as she faded away. The village? His eyes widened in horror. "Zaxom!"
--------
Said village was at the moment besieged by goblins. Ruthless shock attacks sprung up as small groups of goblins climbed the houses only to drop through the relatively unprotected thatch of the roofs. The generally peaceful villagers were being cut down bit by bit; even with surprise on their side, the goblins were still fighting desperate people.
As several drew in from near the village's perimeter, a tenor cry of "BY THE GLORY OF FALIS!" could be heard. Contrasting sharply with the eager young voice was the shock wave of brilliant white light slamming into the goblins. Etoh smiled as he hefted the small mace that all of his order were trained in the use of. This at least he could do something about.
Farther away a woman tripped in her running, falling to the ground as they drew nearer. Clutching her child, she cringed from the imagined blow.
It never came. A heavy, double-sided battle-axe came whirring through the goblins, cutting down the first wave. Ghim and Slayn appeared between the mother and goblins, Ghim's face a grim smile, Slayn's pondering.
His hand went out to forestall the dwarf as they drew nearer. "Wait a moment. They seem to be under the influence of some darker power."
Ghim shrugged. "Can you do something about it?"
Slayn raised his staff to his shoulder, his eyes closing as he began chanting. "You, who's hearts have been clouded by darkness, cast off these false garments and let your minds free."
The light began glowing around his staff's crook as runes appeared engraved in it. Abruptly, a strange golden light flared in each of the goblins' eyes, only to fade out as their eyes returned to their normal dull brown. Slayn breathed a tired sigh of relief as the goblins collapsed.
Ghim's eyes widened at the sight. "You really have been practicing, eh?"
Cue the shrill scream of a Damsel in Distress (TM).
The mayor came running out to them. "Liara! Liara!"
It was not earlier noted, but this is his daughter's name. And of course, she is being menaced by the large, ugly, and generally unpleasant individual that led the goblin horde at the moment.
Cue the not-so-righteous-or-Just-but-still-pretty-cool-hero (TM). (Zelgadis is a good example of this).
Just as the goblin's cutlass was about to bisect her, Trent managed to shoot out of a nearby shadow, grabbing her with a rolling tackle. It didn't hurt as much as you'd expect; he was able to absorb the impact quite well. As most of the other goblins were either dead or running, he was able to devote all of his attention to the leader. "I killed your men, not them." He shoved Liara to the side and out of the way before joining the fight.
Goblins by and large are tough brutes; little discipline, training, or intelligence, but a lot of power and they take a while to die. Excellent for faceless minions or cannon fodder. Elves are almost the total antithesis of this; light, graceful, intelligent, and skillful. That wasn't helping Trent all that much.
He grimaced as he dodged another bone-cutting slash, parrying the next one. He was a lot stronger than his build would make you think, but he was still an elf; nowhere near as strong as some could be. So, he had to use his own advantages as much as possible; his speed, his agility, and most importantly, tricks.
He stumbled under a vicious overhead slash that knocked him into the base of the village fountain. He gasped, swallowing as the tip of the goblin's sword came near.
Ghim sighed, shaking his head. "Idiot. Ah well, may as well keep him alive."
Slayn's hand again fell to his shoulder. "Wait. He's planning something."
The goblin leader grinned maniacally for a moment, just before he rammed the sword through the dark elf's chest. His smile didn't have time to fade as Trent's katana chose that moment to pierce his throat from behind, only to be yanked upward viciously, bisecting the head.
Trent smiled grimly as he levered himself out from a patch of shadow, his 'corpse' fading into a lump of dead leaves that blew away. "You know, my kind is always stereotyped as evil, deadly, traitorous, untrustworthy, and inveterately sneaky. Though I have to admit that the sneaky part is both accurate and warranted."
--------
That night, a markedly different group surrounded the mayor's home. A group bearing torches and pitchforks and complaining. Hands up, who doesn't think this is going to go well?
"This is all that stupid elf's fault! He's the reason for this attack!"
"We have to do something about him this instant!"
The mayor held up his hands for silence, which miraculously he got. "It has become clear that something has occurred which is darkening the spirit of all Lodoss. Therefore, I have asked Trent to leave our village as a representative to find out the cause."
THAT didn't sit well with them.
--------
About half a mile outside of the town, Trent shook his head, a small smile playing across his lips. He wondered how the people of Zaxom were reacting to his leaving. They'd probably be ticked for awhile that they hadn't been able to 'exact revenge' or some other nonsense, but he imagined that they would be celebrating good riddance within a week.
"So, off on your own adventure?"
Trent raised an eyebrow at Etoh. He'd heard him in the woods, but had assumed he was just gathering herbs or something. "You could say that."
Etoh grinned. "Looks like we're both going to be on our own little adventure."
Trent's eyes widened at that. The spawn of Falaris, and the now I'm traveling with a priest of Falis? The gods do have a sense of humor.
From further down the road came Ghim's gruff voice. "You youngsters could use some older, wiser advice." He gave his companion an odd look. "Don't know why, but even lead-foot Slayn here has decided to join us."
Trent shook his head rapidly a few times. Oo-kay. This is getting strange.
In the trees above, Deedlit smiled. She'd left the world of the high elves for her curiosity, almost half a century ago. This strange dark elf, with his honor and respect of life intrigued her. It would be well worth her while to follow him. Besides, he was kind of cute.
to be continued...