10/5/11: This introduction was written about a year ago. Since then, I've developed this world more than I should have rather than working on the story (A quasi language, history, and a map of Illisia, I'll upload the map as soon as I get access to a scanner). This chapter, however, was quickly put together in about an hour and uploaded in the same manner: as hastily and quickly as possible. While it is a shameful mess of words, I honestly can't find it in me to re-write it unless I had major time on my hands (which, I do not). The only explanation I have is that the idea came to me in the middle of the night and I had to write it down somewhere or risk forgetting it altogether. It was late and I was tired.
I guess the trifles, trials, tribunals, dealings, politics, drama, and (most of all) the adventures of the land of Illisia and the nations of Cerenia never seem to leave my head, however, I do request that you leave a review, even if it's not constant, a little guidance once in a while never hurts.
So in other words, please excuse this mess, review the rest.
Prologue: Homeworld
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;..."
"Fire!"
A mass volley of arrows was then flung into the night sky. Kisre, dearest father Kisre look upon us, restore the true throne of Ilisia.
Soon, a counter-volley was spotted by a scout just over the hill. He came tumbling down, taking a few bushes in the open plain with him.
"Magi to arms!"
And twenty of the best talents ran to the front, soon a large bubble of blue shimmering light appeared over the crowd of archers.
General Capitan La'istarlo Kirgios looked upon the darkened field of battle, the sounds of solders, the clatter of swords upon shields, the spilling of blood. This was the glory of his country come alive.
In his large boots, and with a rumble with every step, he and his men climbed the hill, and then looked over the plateau that oversaw the battle. This was the true test of men and wit, knowledge and force. And he was the best at it. This was his night.
Upon the battlefield, sparks of red and green could be seen, often flashing from one end to the other in a grand display of lights, with blue bubbles often shielding and blocking such energies. Swords clashed, some sparked as metal met metal with stunning effect. The smell of burning pine wood filled the air; magic.
He raised his arm, and in the glorious chorus he knew so well, the archers raised their bows each hand crafted and made especially to each bowman. The crack and groaning of the wood filled his ears in a grand chorus of might. These were the true-eyes: the best archers in all of Ilisia. Able to mark their target and let their arrows fly true.
Letting his arm fall, the snap of hundreds of arrows, cutting the sky into pieces, and slicing the moons' dark, filled his ears.
A scout ran beside him, half out of breath, here to carry his warning.
"Another Volley sir!"
He grinned: too easy.
"Magi to arms!"
And he was soon encased in the blue shield, arrows bouncing pathetically off its hard surface.
The scout ran back to its spot in the deeper hill. Lord General began walking back into the crowd, the archers could hold their own, captain or none.
Just as he had approached the commanders tent, not several hundred meters away, a messenger had caught him off guard.
"Lord General Captain, sir, a message…"
And with a large hand, he removed the envelope from the messenger, and unsealed it, and nodded to the thinly looking man in thanks.
He sat down next to a campfire, outside of the entrance of the largest tent. The screams of men surrounded him as they ran to the battlefield. The night here was filled with dark and gold, the glimmering of green eyes in the firelight. He took a claw to the seal of the letter…
Inside was his wife's handwriting…
I fear that I will not make it past birth, sometimes talent is not a gift. Come quickly at your greatest haste.
He looked up quickly, for a stable boy.
"A beast, if you would please!"
His estate sat simply on the edge of the forest and the mountains. A large house built of the finest stone and mortar in Illisia. Here he was, lord of this realm and now it's last defender. Running in the tide of battle would not serve well for the morale of his men, but perhaps the birth of his child would.
His large stature did not allow for speed, but was able to make the trip within an hour. The flatlands and the forest were not at great distance. Yet this was not an event he would dare miss.
He rode tonight, basked in moonlight. This was the month of the harvest, a jeweled moon this month. When the winters came, the dead moon would show its face.
The entire prairie was shimmering, the waves of grass appearing as ivory when the wind brushed upon their tops. In the distance: lights. He was getting close.
When he arrived, he didn't have time to stable the beast, instead he would let the stable-boy care for it. He only had time to come up the main road into the front courtyard, now glowing red from the torchlight. Well, the whole house was lit, deep red from each torch.
Nothing could stop him from slamming in the doors as he was greeted by a nurse.
"Where is she? Where is my wife!"
Just as the nurse pointed to a back room, still in shock, La'Istarlo heard the voice of his wife, screaming, in labor.
No time to get out of your blood-stained armor, he removed his helmet at least, taking care not to destroy the feathers.
Within a room of the large estate, he jogged in, still in heavy boots. And there she was.
Madame Leuteos lay on the bed, writhing in the birth pangs. Beside her, two nurses attended to her. Speaking to her, and comforting her.
She looked up, straight at him, and observed his armor for a quick moment, before another pang writhed her body.
"I saw this," she barely spoke out, "I am sorry for not informing you beforehand. In the tide of death, life would come.Only Kisere would allow such a thing to happen."
He only kneeled down beside her bed, hushing her.
"Save your strength, you'll need it later."
"I know I'm not going to survive."
He only hushed her again, keeping a gentle composure. But the Lord General was anything but.
Soon, the final push, Madame Leuteos filled the room with her voice, sending shivers down even the Lord General's spine and tail.
In its midst, the crying of a child could be heard.
One of the nurses quickly brought it up, attending to it.
Soon, she had it wrapped in a cloth, the young child.
Madame Leuteos looked into its eyes, and smiled.
"It's a girl," she said, "With your eyes, green, like pure jewels from Kisre himself," she said, cooing in the child's ear, "My little jewel," she stuttered, with pain almost.
She gave the child to the Lord General, picking her up with the grace of picking up a brick. Madame Leuteos only started speaking to herself, "My little jewel…"
"What shall we name her?" Lord General said, smiling, with joy at his newborn child.
Madame Leuteos only mumbled to herself even more, "My little jewel, my precious stone, my precious Krystal…"
And she was gone, silence, hung like storm clouds in the air.
"Hello, Krystal," Lord General said, breaking the silence, quietly holding the child, but soon he broke down in tears.
