This story will be based more around dragonlance in the next few chapters, introducing Raistlin. I don't in anyway own the names used here, as they are owned by their respective creators and this story is completely non-profit until a time I thus deem otherwise, upon said time I will most likely change the names used and amend the story-line and character-traits as to not so closely reflect those that they are now. This story is based loosely on a online roleplaying game (the names being the names of some of my friends on there) and partly on the dragonlance books, who I will be borrowing Raistlin from later. I'm not sure where Swifteye and Dekezail are from but I'm fairly certain they come from some book or other.
Lightening arced through the swirling mass of thick, blanketing cloud that was as black as the night itself, illuminating the rain soaked forest for a flickering instant. The last scattered rays of the evening sun had long since passed into the vast expanses of nightfall. The towering trees reared above the landscape, threatening to envelop everything below, with a ferocity spawned only of a stormy night. The rumble of thunder echoed and leaped through the woodland, coupled by the heavy, cruel rain. The storm infuriated wind howled and lashed out, concealing all or nothing a curious mind dared to perceive. The air was damp and humid. It clung to the land, seeming to suffocate all below the forest canopy.
A weather-worn boot of a lone traveller quietly trudged through the thickening collection of twigs and saturated mud. The figure stood tall, dressed in an old black cloak, the only visible garment as it swallowed the rest of the wearer's body, giving no hint of anything being concealed beneath. The lashing rain hid the crack and squelch of twigs and mud underfoot. A hood hung loosely around the figures head, and fell just over the eyes, masking identity.
The traveller was not a stranger to the surrounding parts of the eerie forest land, and navigated his way through with a distinct lack of concentration, undeterred by the lashing rain and shrieking wind. He would have appeared to many, to be going in no particular direction. However, even in the ferocious storm, a series of known landmarks were found and passed over unregistered time. A number of calculated bearings were undertaken upon the discovery of these sole sights. Eventually the forest thinned, and the traveller had steered onto a shallow path running through the dense forest floor.
The hooded traveller strode along the compressed, winding path. The darkness of the night eventually began to subside. As the first rays of sunlight appeared, striking through the watered trees, the heavy rain settled to a soft, light cascade that meandered and swayed in the fresh morning breeze. Throughout the night many miles had passed by, and now the figure focussed on a small clearing in the forest, within a few minutes walk away.
Stepping into the clearing, a blaze of light from the early morning sun illuminated the surrounding area. The figure surveyed the scene as his eyes adjusted; it was mainly bare, a tree stump of an old oak protruded from a clear patch of dried soil at one side of the clearing, serving as a seat. A young chestnut horse was tethered to an old tree on the same side of the clearing. Standing next to the horse was a man. Upon appearance he was notably scarred; a large, dark mark running down the side of his cheek. His hair was dark and long, unchecked and held back by a strand of old cloth tied loosely around hid head. Clothes old and worn, consisted of a rough cloth, which had been dyed dark grey and black for stealth purposes. A well-made dagger, with a small steel hand-guard and a keen edge, tucked neatly into the man's leather belt.
"Hello, Dekezail" said the man with a grin.
"Managed to make it, Mordal?" replied Dekezail, returning the grin.
"Indeed, on time as well."
The two friends greeted each other and sat down to discuss the situation that had arisen.
Dekezail removed his hood, revealing his sharp brown eyes; he had dark black hair, not as long as Mordal's but now it hung damply around his ears and neck. He was an artrell, his four arms unmistakably noticeable. He removed a black scabbard from beneath his concealing cloak, it contained a dark blade, a short sword, with a jewelled hilt. Laying the sword in front of him, he eased himself down onto the tree stump.
"So, the myth has become a reality." Told Mordal grimly.
"Hardly a myth, as you well know. We've known about the war for long enough, but they haven't been as strong as they are now in many years" sighed Dekezail.
"True," Mordal agreed, "but at least Thronn himself is long dead, they would be a lot stronger if they had him to lead them again."
Dekezail nodded slowly.
Mordal continued "anyway, what is this meeting you ask me to attend?"
"It's simple, you've been asked, as have I, to a great meeting to discuss, and hopefully resolve, this problem." Stated Dekezail.
Mordal smirked, "Very interesting I'm sure. Let's get on with it then, when do we leave?"
"We do not leave until a friend of mine arrives. The meeting is not for weeks, we have time." Answered Dekezail.
"This friend of yours, Swifteye?" asked Mordal, a frown creased across his forehead.
Again Dekezail nodded.
"Fine. I do not trust him, but it doesn't matter, if he has been requested also then so be it. We'll camp here till nightfall, he'll be here by then I assume, best travel at night."
Their plan settled, the two companions waited for nightfall.
Night had closed in on the dreary forest when a shadowy figure stole through the woodland. Few heavy-eyed forest creatures noticed its presence as it crept silently towards the clearing. It hesitated on the brink of the open clearing, keen eyes picked out the two figures of Dekezail and Mordal, sitting solemnly around a small campfire. Smiling silently to itself, the figure approached the two companions, it seemed to blend with the night as it advanced without a sound. Noiselessly it withdrew a gleaming dagger from beneath the heavy black cloak, as it skulked forward. Smirking coldly, he released a formal cough.
Dekezail launched himself from the ground, spinning he turned front on to the dark figure, his shortsword drawn, the jewelled hilt sparkled in the dazzling moonlight.
He smiled grimly, sheathing his sword.
Swifteye stepped towards the campfire, the light of the flickering flames played over the features of his face. He was not tall, and was not of a great build. His hair was shorter than both Dekezail's and Mordal's, it glistened in the moonlight from the dampness in the air. His face was pale and his expression cold.
Swifteye smirked, "I wouldn't need to catch you off-guard, you two are 'silent' so loudly I could of shot you with a bow a leagues away."
His voice was quiet and cold, it didn't seem to break the silence of the night. He turned towards Mordal, an expression of mock surprise formed over his face.
"Mordal! I heard you were killed at least two years ago." He grinned.
"Whereas you should have been killed ten years ago." chuckled Mordal.
"Indeed," smiled Swifteye coldly "I'm sure it was arranged."
Dekezail interrupted "Let's get going, if we want to get any distance without raising interest. The night is well underway."
Swifteye nodded, pulling back his cloak he revealed the scabbard of his dagger, promptly replacing it.
"Give me a minute to get the horse ready, I have brought along a few things with it" told Mordal. He strode away from the campfire towards the tethered horse at the side of the clearing.
All three travellers were accomplished fighters, but from spending the majority of his life in hiding, Swifteye had homed his sense of hearing and danger in the natural environment to a greater degree than Dekezail and Mordal. From a vast amount of time spent in training stealth and living in the forest, he could recognise signs that others could not. On this occasion it saved his life.
Swifteye hurled himself bodily at Dekezail, sending them both crashing to the ground. Two arrows whistled through the air, burying themselves in the damp soil inches from the two men. They regained their feet in time to see the body of Mordal fall in the darkness, an arrow protruding from his chest. Swifteye withdrew his dagger, Dekezail following suit pulled the jewelled shortsword from its scabbard. Another arrow hurtled towards them, but the two men were alert. Dekezail twisted away from the spinning arrow, he lashed down in an arc upon it with perfect accuracy, sheering it in two. Rage flashed across his face as he ran towards Mordal's fallen body.
Before Swifteye could hold Dekezail back, one of the assailants broke cover, sprinting towards him. Swifteye's lip curled into a snarl as he waited for the man to reach striking distance. He realised the attacker was much bigger than him, in height and girth, as the man sprinted forward he withdrew a great two-handed broadsword, which he swung madly at Swifteye's head. Swifteye was of coarse extremely swift, he ducked under and past the huge blade as each assault reigned down upon him in disarray.
Barely seconds after Dekezail had reached Mordal's body he was confronted. The tall, thin assailant wielded a double-headed axe. The two opponents considered each other for a fleeting moment, before simultaneously striking out at each other. Their weapons locked together as metal sang against metal. They matched each other blow for blow, Dekezail fought savagely out of grief for Mordal, protecting his fallen body. Dekezail feinted towards the attacker, wrenching away at the last second. The attacker swung an overhead slice directly down upon Dekezail. But Dekezail wasn't there, he sidestepped the blow and realigned along side his opponent. The momentum of the swing buried the blade of the razor-sharp axe deep into the severed tree stump. Dekezail paused momentarily, before avenging the death of his friend. Sighing deeply he yanked the axe from the stump, and flung it into the forest undergrowth. He chuckled to himself as he watched Swifteye dance around his opponent with ease. Suddenly Dekezail's keen eyes spotted movement, in the darkness he was sure of a figure approaching Swifteye from the undergrowth.
"Behind you!" he yelled.
Swifteye had been biding his time with his foe, wearing him down by letting him swing madly, blow after blow. He knew he couldn't attack him full out wielding a dagger, against such a large weapon. Suddenly he heard Dekezail yell, he dropped to the floor scarcely avoiding the blade that had been swung by the second assailant. At the same moment he rolled backwards, towards the attacker. Springing from the floor into a crouch, he lashed upwards at the unprotected chest with his dagger, twisting it harshly as he withdrew the dagger, the man staggered slightly, before collapsing. Leaping from his crouch he pulled another concealed dagger wedged inside his boot, thrusting forward he hurled it at his original assailant. He fell with a perplexed expression across his face. Cleaning each dagger on the cloak of a corpse, Swifteye investigated one of the arrows that had been fired. He recognised the style and pattern in the feathers to be of the Thronn's clan. Tossing the arrow from him he strode over to where Dekezail was kneeling over Mordal's body.
Swifteye raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Gone," sighed Dekezail.
Wordlessly the two friends performed a customary burial for Mordal at the foot of the tree stump. A short inscription was carved into the stump.
Composing themselves once more, Dekezail and Swifteye took what provisions they could carry from Mordal's horse, setting it free afterwards, they began their journey to the great meeting with more tidings of the Thronn.
Travelling through the forest, Swifteye broke the prolonged silence which had descended upon them.
"There's a river two miles north of here, I've got a logboat there to take us to the docks. From there its 20 days over the sea. A tribe patrol the coat from here though, call themselves the Roole."
Dekezail nodded.
The two companions trekked through the forest silently, accompanied by cool air and fresh breeze that was the aftermath of the previous nights onslaught.
Lightening arced through the swirling mass of thick, blanketing cloud that was as black as the night itself, illuminating the rain soaked forest for a flickering instant. The last scattered rays of the evening sun had long since passed into the vast expanses of nightfall. The towering trees reared above the landscape, threatening to envelop everything below, with a ferocity spawned only of a stormy night. The rumble of thunder echoed and leaped through the woodland, coupled by the heavy, cruel rain. The storm infuriated wind howled and lashed out, concealing all or nothing a curious mind dared to perceive. The air was damp and humid. It clung to the land, seeming to suffocate all below the forest canopy.
A weather-worn boot of a lone traveller quietly trudged through the thickening collection of twigs and saturated mud. The figure stood tall, dressed in an old black cloak, the only visible garment as it swallowed the rest of the wearer's body, giving no hint of anything being concealed beneath. The lashing rain hid the crack and squelch of twigs and mud underfoot. A hood hung loosely around the figures head, and fell just over the eyes, masking identity.
The traveller was not a stranger to the surrounding parts of the eerie forest land, and navigated his way through with a distinct lack of concentration, undeterred by the lashing rain and shrieking wind. He would have appeared to many, to be going in no particular direction. However, even in the ferocious storm, a series of known landmarks were found and passed over unregistered time. A number of calculated bearings were undertaken upon the discovery of these sole sights. Eventually the forest thinned, and the traveller had steered onto a shallow path running through the dense forest floor.
The hooded traveller strode along the compressed, winding path. The darkness of the night eventually began to subside. As the first rays of sunlight appeared, striking through the watered trees, the heavy rain settled to a soft, light cascade that meandered and swayed in the fresh morning breeze. Throughout the night many miles had passed by, and now the figure focussed on a small clearing in the forest, within a few minutes walk away.
Stepping into the clearing, a blaze of light from the early morning sun illuminated the surrounding area. The figure surveyed the scene as his eyes adjusted; it was mainly bare, a tree stump of an old oak protruded from a clear patch of dried soil at one side of the clearing, serving as a seat. A young chestnut horse was tethered to an old tree on the same side of the clearing. Standing next to the horse was a man. Upon appearance he was notably scarred; a large, dark mark running down the side of his cheek. His hair was dark and long, unchecked and held back by a strand of old cloth tied loosely around hid head. Clothes old and worn, consisted of a rough cloth, which had been dyed dark grey and black for stealth purposes. A well-made dagger, with a small steel hand-guard and a keen edge, tucked neatly into the man's leather belt.
"Hello, Dekezail" said the man with a grin.
"Managed to make it, Mordal?" replied Dekezail, returning the grin.
"Indeed, on time as well."
The two friends greeted each other and sat down to discuss the situation that had arisen.
Dekezail removed his hood, revealing his sharp brown eyes; he had dark black hair, not as long as Mordal's but now it hung damply around his ears and neck. He was an artrell, his four arms unmistakably noticeable. He removed a black scabbard from beneath his concealing cloak, it contained a dark blade, a short sword, with a jewelled hilt. Laying the sword in front of him, he eased himself down onto the tree stump.
"So, the myth has become a reality." Told Mordal grimly.
"Hardly a myth, as you well know. We've known about the war for long enough, but they haven't been as strong as they are now in many years" sighed Dekezail.
"True," Mordal agreed, "but at least Thronn himself is long dead, they would be a lot stronger if they had him to lead them again."
Dekezail nodded slowly.
Mordal continued "anyway, what is this meeting you ask me to attend?"
"It's simple, you've been asked, as have I, to a great meeting to discuss, and hopefully resolve, this problem." Stated Dekezail.
Mordal smirked, "Very interesting I'm sure. Let's get on with it then, when do we leave?"
"We do not leave until a friend of mine arrives. The meeting is not for weeks, we have time." Answered Dekezail.
"This friend of yours, Swifteye?" asked Mordal, a frown creased across his forehead.
Again Dekezail nodded.
"Fine. I do not trust him, but it doesn't matter, if he has been requested also then so be it. We'll camp here till nightfall, he'll be here by then I assume, best travel at night."
Their plan settled, the two companions waited for nightfall.
Night had closed in on the dreary forest when a shadowy figure stole through the woodland. Few heavy-eyed forest creatures noticed its presence as it crept silently towards the clearing. It hesitated on the brink of the open clearing, keen eyes picked out the two figures of Dekezail and Mordal, sitting solemnly around a small campfire. Smiling silently to itself, the figure approached the two companions, it seemed to blend with the night as it advanced without a sound. Noiselessly it withdrew a gleaming dagger from beneath the heavy black cloak, as it skulked forward. Smirking coldly, he released a formal cough.
Dekezail launched himself from the ground, spinning he turned front on to the dark figure, his shortsword drawn, the jewelled hilt sparkled in the dazzling moonlight.
He smiled grimly, sheathing his sword.
Swifteye stepped towards the campfire, the light of the flickering flames played over the features of his face. He was not tall, and was not of a great build. His hair was shorter than both Dekezail's and Mordal's, it glistened in the moonlight from the dampness in the air. His face was pale and his expression cold.
Swifteye smirked, "I wouldn't need to catch you off-guard, you two are 'silent' so loudly I could of shot you with a bow a leagues away."
His voice was quiet and cold, it didn't seem to break the silence of the night. He turned towards Mordal, an expression of mock surprise formed over his face.
"Mordal! I heard you were killed at least two years ago." He grinned.
"Whereas you should have been killed ten years ago." chuckled Mordal.
"Indeed," smiled Swifteye coldly "I'm sure it was arranged."
Dekezail interrupted "Let's get going, if we want to get any distance without raising interest. The night is well underway."
Swifteye nodded, pulling back his cloak he revealed the scabbard of his dagger, promptly replacing it.
"Give me a minute to get the horse ready, I have brought along a few things with it" told Mordal. He strode away from the campfire towards the tethered horse at the side of the clearing.
All three travellers were accomplished fighters, but from spending the majority of his life in hiding, Swifteye had homed his sense of hearing and danger in the natural environment to a greater degree than Dekezail and Mordal. From a vast amount of time spent in training stealth and living in the forest, he could recognise signs that others could not. On this occasion it saved his life.
Swifteye hurled himself bodily at Dekezail, sending them both crashing to the ground. Two arrows whistled through the air, burying themselves in the damp soil inches from the two men. They regained their feet in time to see the body of Mordal fall in the darkness, an arrow protruding from his chest. Swifteye withdrew his dagger, Dekezail following suit pulled the jewelled shortsword from its scabbard. Another arrow hurtled towards them, but the two men were alert. Dekezail twisted away from the spinning arrow, he lashed down in an arc upon it with perfect accuracy, sheering it in two. Rage flashed across his face as he ran towards Mordal's fallen body.
Before Swifteye could hold Dekezail back, one of the assailants broke cover, sprinting towards him. Swifteye's lip curled into a snarl as he waited for the man to reach striking distance. He realised the attacker was much bigger than him, in height and girth, as the man sprinted forward he withdrew a great two-handed broadsword, which he swung madly at Swifteye's head. Swifteye was of coarse extremely swift, he ducked under and past the huge blade as each assault reigned down upon him in disarray.
Barely seconds after Dekezail had reached Mordal's body he was confronted. The tall, thin assailant wielded a double-headed axe. The two opponents considered each other for a fleeting moment, before simultaneously striking out at each other. Their weapons locked together as metal sang against metal. They matched each other blow for blow, Dekezail fought savagely out of grief for Mordal, protecting his fallen body. Dekezail feinted towards the attacker, wrenching away at the last second. The attacker swung an overhead slice directly down upon Dekezail. But Dekezail wasn't there, he sidestepped the blow and realigned along side his opponent. The momentum of the swing buried the blade of the razor-sharp axe deep into the severed tree stump. Dekezail paused momentarily, before avenging the death of his friend. Sighing deeply he yanked the axe from the stump, and flung it into the forest undergrowth. He chuckled to himself as he watched Swifteye dance around his opponent with ease. Suddenly Dekezail's keen eyes spotted movement, in the darkness he was sure of a figure approaching Swifteye from the undergrowth.
"Behind you!" he yelled.
Swifteye had been biding his time with his foe, wearing him down by letting him swing madly, blow after blow. He knew he couldn't attack him full out wielding a dagger, against such a large weapon. Suddenly he heard Dekezail yell, he dropped to the floor scarcely avoiding the blade that had been swung by the second assailant. At the same moment he rolled backwards, towards the attacker. Springing from the floor into a crouch, he lashed upwards at the unprotected chest with his dagger, twisting it harshly as he withdrew the dagger, the man staggered slightly, before collapsing. Leaping from his crouch he pulled another concealed dagger wedged inside his boot, thrusting forward he hurled it at his original assailant. He fell with a perplexed expression across his face. Cleaning each dagger on the cloak of a corpse, Swifteye investigated one of the arrows that had been fired. He recognised the style and pattern in the feathers to be of the Thronn's clan. Tossing the arrow from him he strode over to where Dekezail was kneeling over Mordal's body.
Swifteye raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Gone," sighed Dekezail.
Wordlessly the two friends performed a customary burial for Mordal at the foot of the tree stump. A short inscription was carved into the stump.
Composing themselves once more, Dekezail and Swifteye took what provisions they could carry from Mordal's horse, setting it free afterwards, they began their journey to the great meeting with more tidings of the Thronn.
Travelling through the forest, Swifteye broke the prolonged silence which had descended upon them.
"There's a river two miles north of here, I've got a logboat there to take us to the docks. From there its 20 days over the sea. A tribe patrol the coat from here though, call themselves the Roole."
Dekezail nodded.
The two companions trekked through the forest silently, accompanied by cool air and fresh breeze that was the aftermath of the previous nights onslaught.