Prolouge
A lone sound of horse's foot steps against stone echoed through out the trees of Lesser Faydark. One man dressed in nobel's clothing rode a jet black horse. His eyes suspiciously eyed the forest, as he repeatly heard wrenched screams of terror.
He knew he shouldn't be here during witching hour, but he had to make the trip now if he wanted to get home. He hade heard the rumors of Tier'Dal enhabiting the forest from the gnomes, but he didn't blieve them at the time. The gnomes warned him not to go into the forest at night, but he ignored them.
A small rustling sound off too the right of him caught his attention. He turned his horse around, and a black figure darted from the secrecy of one tree to another. The man drew his sword franticlly, and looked where the black figure had been.
"Show yourself!" The man said in a fear-stricken tone.
At that moment, a few crooked laughs came from all around him. Then more laughs, and then even more. He kicked his horse, making it run away. The man looked back, the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't see the dark-blue skinned elf infront of him.
It stuck it's spear into the ground, tripping the horse, and making the man flip forward. The man landed on his back, and looked up at a crooked grin. The Tier'Dal laughed evilly, and drew a silver short sword from it's belt. The silver blade came down, piercing into the mans neck, beheading him.
Meanwhile, a child was born recently in the tree city of Kelethin. The mother held her baby in a wool blanket. An old elf man sat in a chair with a wooden staff. The baby was asleep now, after almost 20 minutes of straight crying, and the mother seemed releaved.
"Well done, Arenla. Malor will be proud once he sees the boy," The old man said.
"Now father, I know you don't like Malor's line of work, but he is doing it for the people of Greater Faydark. Orcslaying was his dream ever since he was a little boy, and perhaps it will be the young one's also," Arenla said in a whisper, trying not to wake the boy.
"What will you name the boy anyway?" The old elf asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Malor and I have decided on the name Amril," Arenla said.
"Ah..." The old elf said softly.
"Yes, we talked it over a few weeks ago," Arenla said.
"I must be going, lots of things do be done...but before I go, I want to leave something for the child," He said, and untied a dark-green scabbered with a gold handled sword inside it, "Give this to the boy when he grows old enough...he'll need it later."
"What do you mean he'll need it later?" Arenla asked, but didn't get a respone, for the old elf had vanished.
"Oh no! It's the mark...on the childs left forearm...can it be? No, not my son..."
A lone sound of horse's foot steps against stone echoed through out the trees of Lesser Faydark. One man dressed in nobel's clothing rode a jet black horse. His eyes suspiciously eyed the forest, as he repeatly heard wrenched screams of terror.
He knew he shouldn't be here during witching hour, but he had to make the trip now if he wanted to get home. He hade heard the rumors of Tier'Dal enhabiting the forest from the gnomes, but he didn't blieve them at the time. The gnomes warned him not to go into the forest at night, but he ignored them.
A small rustling sound off too the right of him caught his attention. He turned his horse around, and a black figure darted from the secrecy of one tree to another. The man drew his sword franticlly, and looked where the black figure had been.
"Show yourself!" The man said in a fear-stricken tone.
At that moment, a few crooked laughs came from all around him. Then more laughs, and then even more. He kicked his horse, making it run away. The man looked back, the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't see the dark-blue skinned elf infront of him.
It stuck it's spear into the ground, tripping the horse, and making the man flip forward. The man landed on his back, and looked up at a crooked grin. The Tier'Dal laughed evilly, and drew a silver short sword from it's belt. The silver blade came down, piercing into the mans neck, beheading him.
Meanwhile, a child was born recently in the tree city of Kelethin. The mother held her baby in a wool blanket. An old elf man sat in a chair with a wooden staff. The baby was asleep now, after almost 20 minutes of straight crying, and the mother seemed releaved.
"Well done, Arenla. Malor will be proud once he sees the boy," The old man said.
"Now father, I know you don't like Malor's line of work, but he is doing it for the people of Greater Faydark. Orcslaying was his dream ever since he was a little boy, and perhaps it will be the young one's also," Arenla said in a whisper, trying not to wake the boy.
"What will you name the boy anyway?" The old elf asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Malor and I have decided on the name Amril," Arenla said.
"Ah..." The old elf said softly.
"Yes, we talked it over a few weeks ago," Arenla said.
"I must be going, lots of things do be done...but before I go, I want to leave something for the child," He said, and untied a dark-green scabbered with a gold handled sword inside it, "Give this to the boy when he grows old enough...he'll need it later."
"What do you mean he'll need it later?" Arenla asked, but didn't get a respone, for the old elf had vanished.
"Oh no! It's the mark...on the childs left forearm...can it be? No, not my son..."