The Last of the Allarien Elves
Chapter 1: Bedtime Story
"Time for bed melamin." With a gently hand on his daughters back, Daven guided Celia to her small bedroom, the floor creaking softly under his weary footsteps. It had been a long day at the shop and he had come home more tired and overworked then any other day he could think of. For the past twenty years he's been working as a blacksmith in town working hard for the food he put on the table. To his great delight his eldest child Emeric, who was turning 9, was quickly taking an interest in his father's craft.
Smiling softly at the thought of his son his eyes beamed down at the young girl aside him. Her honey-blonde hair bounced happily as her feet directed her towards the right room, almost skipping with her youthful energy that was slowly running dry.
"Tell me a story about maman." They stopped outside the room and she turned around to watch her father light the candle, setting the whole room into an eerie glow. Being only 5 at the time she made her way over to her bed, climbing onto it with the help of a small stool. She lazily flopped down onto the feather mattress after pulling back the heavy wool covers.
Daven's eyes were heavy with fatigue and the thought of his long passed wife added sorrow onto the pain in his aching body. He had to finally admit to himself that he was getting old. His hair was a dark chestnut brown with wisps of white growing in through the crown and into his beard. Losing his wife during the birth of his daughter had brought much pain in a time where joy should have ruled. He had love and still did love her so much that the pain of her passing was still fresh in his heart. He did not however blame his daughter for her death and he wished that his actions never pointed finger at her.
Since his wife's passing it had only been the three of them in the small wooden house that sat neatly on the banks of a river. They owned a small plot of earth where golden wheat would sway in the summer breeze and a blanket of white would cover the land during winter. Celia would often play in the fields with her brother and his young friend Marcus. The evil duo of boys would usually make her play with them as they became brave knights for good and evil, dueling over the elven princess captured away in the tower. Their young minds not caring that the swords they held where wood and the castle in which Celia hid was really the apple tree by the riverbank. The joys of being young.
Celia watched as her father settled down next to her on the comfortable bed, one arm wrapping around his daughter as she snuggled up to his warm body. "Tell me what she looked like!" She smiled brightly through a yawn that she quickly covered up. It had always brought her joy to picture her mother in her mind, the way she would move and speak. At her young age she thought that if she thought about what her mother looked like enough, then she would appear before her. Unfortunately this has not yet happened.
Daven closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his noise to try and rid himself of the slow pounding headache. With a long sigh he started the well- memorized story in a low calm voice.
"Your mother.was the most beautiful elven maiden I had ever laid eyes on. Her hair flowed down passed her hips in golden waves, usually tied back in a loose braid. Her skin was as fair and pale as the petals on a white rose and twice as soft." He paused for a moment, clearing his throat of the lump that had caught their regaining his composed voice.
"Her eyes.yes her eyes where as gray as the ash after a fire has died, making it almost impossible to see to bottom of her gaze." Again he paused for his voice had become shaky again.
Daven sighed softly to himself as his rough calloused hand ran down his daughter's silky hair. He gazed down at her and noticed her nodding gently, her eyes drooping somewhat. Leaning down he kissed her forehead tenderly, "She looked very much like you, melamin.."
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she mumbled something or other under her breath. Her body curved into his but he gently moved off the bed, placing her under the covers in a soft yet quick movement. Daven stood by his daughters' bed for a moment, gazing down at the being that he was blessed with. Leaning down he kissed her cheek and gently placed a fallen strand of hair behind her pointed ear. She looks so much like her mother.He thought before turning and blowing out the candle.
"Quel kaima little one."
Little did he know that Celia would forever ask him to retell his description of her mother, even until she herself was a full grown woman. Unlike her brother, Celia had taken almost all of her mothers' talents, good looks and charm. This amazing woman that she had never met had sculpted her almost as a replica of herself, but instead with the fire of her father burning deep within her. She herself did not know who she really was, or where she came from, questions that went unanswered for many years until one fortuitous year.
Chapter 1: Bedtime Story
"Time for bed melamin." With a gently hand on his daughters back, Daven guided Celia to her small bedroom, the floor creaking softly under his weary footsteps. It had been a long day at the shop and he had come home more tired and overworked then any other day he could think of. For the past twenty years he's been working as a blacksmith in town working hard for the food he put on the table. To his great delight his eldest child Emeric, who was turning 9, was quickly taking an interest in his father's craft.
Smiling softly at the thought of his son his eyes beamed down at the young girl aside him. Her honey-blonde hair bounced happily as her feet directed her towards the right room, almost skipping with her youthful energy that was slowly running dry.
"Tell me a story about maman." They stopped outside the room and she turned around to watch her father light the candle, setting the whole room into an eerie glow. Being only 5 at the time she made her way over to her bed, climbing onto it with the help of a small stool. She lazily flopped down onto the feather mattress after pulling back the heavy wool covers.
Daven's eyes were heavy with fatigue and the thought of his long passed wife added sorrow onto the pain in his aching body. He had to finally admit to himself that he was getting old. His hair was a dark chestnut brown with wisps of white growing in through the crown and into his beard. Losing his wife during the birth of his daughter had brought much pain in a time where joy should have ruled. He had love and still did love her so much that the pain of her passing was still fresh in his heart. He did not however blame his daughter for her death and he wished that his actions never pointed finger at her.
Since his wife's passing it had only been the three of them in the small wooden house that sat neatly on the banks of a river. They owned a small plot of earth where golden wheat would sway in the summer breeze and a blanket of white would cover the land during winter. Celia would often play in the fields with her brother and his young friend Marcus. The evil duo of boys would usually make her play with them as they became brave knights for good and evil, dueling over the elven princess captured away in the tower. Their young minds not caring that the swords they held where wood and the castle in which Celia hid was really the apple tree by the riverbank. The joys of being young.
Celia watched as her father settled down next to her on the comfortable bed, one arm wrapping around his daughter as she snuggled up to his warm body. "Tell me what she looked like!" She smiled brightly through a yawn that she quickly covered up. It had always brought her joy to picture her mother in her mind, the way she would move and speak. At her young age she thought that if she thought about what her mother looked like enough, then she would appear before her. Unfortunately this has not yet happened.
Daven closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his noise to try and rid himself of the slow pounding headache. With a long sigh he started the well- memorized story in a low calm voice.
"Your mother.was the most beautiful elven maiden I had ever laid eyes on. Her hair flowed down passed her hips in golden waves, usually tied back in a loose braid. Her skin was as fair and pale as the petals on a white rose and twice as soft." He paused for a moment, clearing his throat of the lump that had caught their regaining his composed voice.
"Her eyes.yes her eyes where as gray as the ash after a fire has died, making it almost impossible to see to bottom of her gaze." Again he paused for his voice had become shaky again.
Daven sighed softly to himself as his rough calloused hand ran down his daughter's silky hair. He gazed down at her and noticed her nodding gently, her eyes drooping somewhat. Leaning down he kissed her forehead tenderly, "She looked very much like you, melamin.."
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she mumbled something or other under her breath. Her body curved into his but he gently moved off the bed, placing her under the covers in a soft yet quick movement. Daven stood by his daughters' bed for a moment, gazing down at the being that he was blessed with. Leaning down he kissed her cheek and gently placed a fallen strand of hair behind her pointed ear. She looks so much like her mother.He thought before turning and blowing out the candle.
"Quel kaima little one."
Little did he know that Celia would forever ask him to retell his description of her mother, even until she herself was a full grown woman. Unlike her brother, Celia had taken almost all of her mothers' talents, good looks and charm. This amazing woman that she had never met had sculpted her almost as a replica of herself, but instead with the fire of her father burning deep within her. She herself did not know who she really was, or where she came from, questions that went unanswered for many years until one fortuitous year.