Chapter 1
Meeting our hero
It was a hot July summer day in the city of kelethin. Everything seemed well, however the wood elven folk were not aware of the horror that had just taken place.
The king was on his normal walk through the royal gardens under the city when all of the sudden he heard a strange noise. He stopped in his tracks abruptly looking around curiously. He sent the two guards with him into the cornfield to see what was wrong. Within minutes of their departure he heard blood-curdling screams. He quickly realized that he was in grave danger and ran as fast as his elven legs would carry him back to the lift. When the lift came into view he sighed with relief hoping he would soon be upon his throne. Unfortunately that was not to be. Before he could hop on to the lift an unknown person tackled him to the ground. He peered over his shoulder and saw a masked man staring down at him.
"Who are you, and why have you tackled me?" The king cried. The man gave no reply.
"Answer me, or I will—" At that, he was gagged, and pulled by his long, pointed elven ears.
It was at this point; he saw a scaled tail poking out of the man's back. He also heard the scaled man say, "Thissss elf talksss too mucchhhh…"
A young elven warrior sighed as he entered his small home, tearing off his cloak. His name was Mithaniel Ivyblade, and he will be the hero of this story. As he stepped into his home, he heard the hissing talk of the Iksar race. He froze, and raised his eyebrow, clutching his elven long sword.
"Why would an Iksar be in Kelethin?" He murmured to himself. "Perhaps I should go check this out." He grabbed is cloak once more, and dashed out of his home and to the edge of the platform. He got there just in time to see the king being dragged off by not one, or two, but three Iksar. Mithaniel shouted, with all of his might, "Iksars! They have King Shyden!" With that, at least twenty guards snapped to attention and gathered in large groups on the lifts, hoping to save their king.
As the guards were running after the Iksar, a single scaled man stood in their way. With one cast of fear, all of the guards went running back to the city.
As Mithaniel saw this action take place, he slouched, tears coming to his eyes. He suddenly straightened, clenching his fists.
"I guess I will have to do this myself," Mithaniel muttered fiercely. "I will slay those Iksar, and return my king." And with that, he jumped off of the platform, landing with a thud on the ground below. He took but a moment to recover from the high jump, and rushed off into Greater Faydark, hoping to catch up to the Iksar kidnappers.
Mithaniel ran as fast as he could through the thick, lush, forest, the Iksars' hissing still barely audible. As he rushed, branches and sticks bashed against his tanned face, cutting it. But the elven lad took no care to it. He was determined to get his king back. He chased the Iksars for quite some time, until he could run no longer. As he tried to catch his breath, the cries of orcs filled his ears.
He turned sharply around, to see an army of Crushbone orcs standing before him, wielding spears and picks. There were at least thirty, if there were one. Now Mithaniel took hold of his blade, ready to battle, knowing that he could not defeat this many orcs.
As the orcs were charging he was still thinking of what he could do to save himself. He couldn't just go and swing his blade around, hoping to take out a few orcs at once.