Golly, I never thought I'd write one of these. This is like my what, fourth fanfic that starts with a dream sequence? I have to stop doing that... Atleast it's a big first chapter. Like 5000 words, or something.

Well, if you're a veteran of the game, you'll see that I broke some rules here and there. But really, these all have a semi-logical explanation that will be covered in the story. Just be patient and read. Thank you. The only exception is the fact that more heroes than usual reside in each guild except for the some exceptions, which are almost half-empty anyway. Okay? Okay.

And last of all, (Continent: Ardania, Region: Sovrah-Dan, Kingdom: Mordia) Just to avoid confusion in both game veterans and newcomers alike. If you've never played majesty, go to ''www dot majestyquest dot com'' to read about it or get a demo. Trust me- it'll do you a world of good understanding.

Disclaimer; most of the names, all of the game Majesty, and anything else that's been officially copyrighted by Cyberlore, Infogrames and Gamespy DO NOT BELONG TO ME.

However, I wrote the actual text of this story. So... please, don't cut and paste sentences or anything like that.

And as a last note- I have just read that in narrative writing, multiple punctuation marks at the end of a sentence and sentence fragments in dialogue are allowed. I think that fanfiction dot net should pay attention to this, since it is the rule with professional writing.


Victim, written by Komodo.

"Are you sure you have to leave, Daerion?"

... The voice was distant, and oddly familiar, shrouded in a thick haze... just like his surroundings. It was a detached, dizzy feeling, and he didn't like it. What was happening...?

"I heard you shouldn't go to Mordia." ...The sound fell, like raindrops, onto his consciousness. It confused him. "The land itself turns against you... I heard there was still a curse on that place..."

This voice was more intense, decisive, deeper than the first. Valerie, He thought hazily. And the first one was Suzy.

But he wasn't in the village, with them, his friend and his sister. ...He had left. And yet he was here... and for the oddest reason, he didn't care how. The tall trees, the blue roofs, ...the faint scent of meadows and dew and life, laughter above in the treetops. Warmth. Spring. Happiness... covered in a blanket of dreamy haze. He could see them now. Valerie, with her long purple hair, and Suzy, his sister, short in her youth, with blue hair that fell well below her waist.

"You shouldn't go to Mordia! You shouldn't go to Sovrah-Dan!"

For a moment, the haze pulled away, and he could see the trees, the forest, the sunny hill off in the distance, the blue sky- all in perfect detail. The elves, all of which he knew, perched on the trees, and the bright buildings scattered in and on the strong, thick branches. Home. The elvish village. How long had it been? Too long... it almost hurt to see it again.

"Don't go to Mordia. Don't go to that kingdom, that awful place. Stay here."

"I want to! I-I will!" He tried to shout- but his voice was muffled, cut off. He tried again. "...I want to stay."

Valerie smiled lightly, and shook her head.

"...You can't."

Just as the elf finished her sentence, the entire vision melted away, like chalk in a rainstorm, leaving behind only blackness and noise... Noise that steadily grew to a roar. Not the elves' noise- music and delicate singing and laughter- but yelling. Shouting. Mocking, loud laughs. Dust. Smoke. Coughing... it seemed he was drowning in the NOISE!

...It was too much... he should have known it would happen someday...


"Daerion! Daerion, wake up! Come on, the tax collector's almost here!"

Surprised and startled from his dream, Daerion flinched away from his friend's shouting and bolted upright, throwing the thick blankets aside. The noise was gone. The blackness was gone. The village... He moaned lightly and rested his head in his hands, trembling slightly and not just due to the cold.

...Another dream...? He thought to himself. He closed his eyes briefly, shaking away the confusion and sorrow. Cold sweat dotted his forehead and matted his hair... he must have thrashed in his sleep during the nightmarish portion of the dream- the blanket was tangled around his legs. He whisked away the sweat on his brow with his sleeve, and leaned back against the headboard.

Daerion (pronounced like 'Orion' only 'Dayrion') was, if you didn't notice, an elf. A young elf, or at least young as far as elves are concerned. His features consisted of blue, fair hair, a very slight build and- forgive me for saying it- big, blue eyes- quite ordinary, actually. The only traits that did stick out were the fact that he was slender even for an elf's standards, a bit shorter, and, unlike many elves, he wore his hair longer and let it fall naturally around his face. He saw no need for those awkward crests some of the older elves fancied so much- he imagined they were quite uncomfortable. Otherwise, he had the usual delicate facial features and pale skin of any elf from the southern forests. He was missing the slanted eyes, however.

He sighed and hugged his knees to his chest, pushing away the tangled mass of blankets. Daerion tried to relax his shoulder muscles, tensed from sleeping on the hard straw mattress. The soft, airy fabric of his white shirt (which almost swallowed him, it was so oversized) acted almost as a blanket as his long sleeves covered the calves of his legs... the light-weight shirt had been freshly washed just last night, before he went to bed. It was rare he got to sleep in clean, loose clothes.

He breathed in deeply, but shakily, resting his chin against his knees and trying not to shiver... The memory of the dream... of his old friend and his sister from his childhood home. It was so vivid- and it hadn't been the first dream, either. He missed home. So much...

He opened his eyes again, and looked sadly around the room. The building itself was indeed made with elf architecture- but that did not make it elvish. It was not home, or at least not the home he remembered or dreamed about...

The boards sunk just slightly in the middle of the floor, due to water damage from the last rainstorm. The room was shaped like a rectangle, with the exception of a small, square-shaped expansion in the northwest corner, and in the center of the rectangle's top, wide edge, sat a wood stove furnace. If this were really an elvish building, it wouldn't need that. The elves lived in a warm climate. It was cold here, except for in the summer, where it was still hardly bearable.

In the square-like expansion was two chairs, one of which had the top broken off (a warrior of discord had come to 'visit'...) and a dark wooden table that wobbled awfully. Red, old carpets sat on the floor, dusty and moth-eaten from lack of upkeep. And, last of all- five straw beds tucked against the walls and in the corners. The elves weren't used to straw beds. They didn't have straw in the forest- they used soft leaves. But there were almost no trees in Sovrah-Dan that had leaves sufficient for such things.

Daerion's bed was placed in the southeast corner of the room, by the window, which was adorned with a semi-see-through red curtain- pulled back, at the moment. Even though the window let in a harsh draft during the night and winter, he had chosen to sleep there so he could look out at the city. Not that it was entirely worth looking at.

"Daerion! Didn't you hear me?" Came the shout from downstairs, again. Dae heard the thump of footsteps coming up the steps, and turned to see his friend, Julleran, appear at the top of the stairs. The stairs started in the northwest corner of the room and lead downstairs, to the living room, where the two doors, other furnace, and most of the furniture were. "Come on; grab whatever gold you have and get down here before the tax collector comes!" And with that, he raced back down the stairs. Daerion could hear the shouting as he and the other elves ran around, trying to scrap up something. You were never really sure when the tax collector would come. This time it had caught them by surprise- it was kind of early.

Daerion was snapped into reality at his friend's words. He jumped off the bed and ignored the shock as the bare skin of his feet hit the cold wooden floorboards. He then, trying to be hasty, slipped out of the oversized shirt, threw it on the bed and nearly dived into the trunk of clothes sitting on the floor next to him.

Normally, back home, elves would have no requirement of the breeches and cloaks, but they were a must in the chilly grounds of Mordia. He quickly pulled the loose pants on over his undergarments, and tightened them around his hips with a rope belt. He was still sleepy, and was moving slower than usual, but he hurried none the less- shoving his feet into the tall blue boots, and tucking the long pant legs inside the shoes- so they wouldn't get muddy. Then, not having time for both parts of the standard elven tunic, he picked up the blue tunic- which had no sleeves, went down to his knees, and had tapered slits on the sides. The slits themselves mirrored a classic style of elven tunic- they reached to halfway up his rib cage. He and threw it on, afterwards grabbing his almost empty coin purse and running down the stairs. He would dress fully when it required that he go outside. But it was warm downstairs; the furnace was on. Thusly, the cloak and green over-tunic weren't required. Yet.

Daerion's foot caught on the third-to-last step and he barely caught himself on the guardrail before falling. He then stumbled awkwardly down the steps on his sore foot to the floor, looking up as a chuckle came from the couch in the middle of the room.

"About time you woke up." Commented Vinneran, one of the Silvertounge twins. Arrius, his brother, nodded and picked up some coins from the bottom of the drawer he was inspecting.

Vinny and Arrius were the classic elven brothers. Lazy, slacking show-offs that lived for fun. They made jokes at almost everything, and it took a lot to distress them, or at least to get them to show it. Wherever Vinny went, there was Arrius, and visa-versa. But, regardless to how they could be sometimes cold; they always seemed to know how to make anyone smile. Heck, once Arrius had gotten a grin out of Trepidy, one of the Priestesses. Of course, that was before she struck him with a battle spell and nearly sent him to the reanimation altar...

They both wore the standard elven garb, with light green pants.

Arrius grinned and walked back from the drawer, clapping Daerion on the back as he passed.

"You don't look so good, kid." The elf commented, a good-natured smirk growing on his face. He turned around and sat on the couch next to Vinneran, throwing the five coins he found onto the table. "Then again, when do you ever?"

Vinneran and Arrius gave a laugh, but it was promptly cut off as Julleran threw a boot, which he had found under the chair, at Vinneran's head.

"Not so early, Vinny. Besides, the kid had a nightmare." Julleran commented with a grin. Julleran Goodwise was fairly bulky for an elf, which isn't really saying anything at all, but it was still noticeable when placed side-by-side with your standard specimen of the 'fair folk'. He had the common blue-tint on his skin, unlike Daerion, and very dark, almost-black blue hair. He showed this off with a black under-tunic, with a navy blue over-tunic and crest, finished off with knee-high black boots and light blue shorts that ended just below his knee. Julleran was the strongest of the elves in the southern bungalow.

Daerion, still a little groggy, shook his head and smirked a little, regardless to being called a 'kid'. (He was the youngest in the bungalow, but he didn't like it when they rubbed it in!) The elves in this bungalow were like his brothers, and he knew they were just joking with the 'when do you ever?' comment. But insults regarding an elf's appearance were considered profane, vulgar and were enough to unsettle any elf. Daerion wasn't as vain as the twins were, but he didn't fancy himself ugly.

He took a good look around the first floor of the bungalow. It was in poor condition- the floor warped, the glass taken out of the windows to pay the taxes; most of the fancy elven furniture had been sold as well. Besides, they rarely had time to clean or maintain it. The elves were... busy, lately. But it was unbearable for an elf to live like this. They craved luxury by nature, for their histories in the forest provided them with more than sufficient resources- there were no poor elves in the original elven community. No one had to work very hard, because everything was warm and in abundance. But this was different- Mordia was a cold place... and things had gone wrong. The bungalow was nearly falling apart.

"Okay, so how much do we have?" Asked Maravus, walking in from the 'kitchen', which sat in the far-eastern section of the bungalow's first floor. They ate, cooked and stored whatever food they happened to have there. Hence it being called a 'kitchen'.

Maravus Fateseer was a bright-brown-eyed elf with a natural love for books and a tendency to be quiet and observant. He had sandy, light-brown hair- almost blonde- and wore a brown tunic instead of the vivid green ones. While some elves' skin had a blue-ish hue, like the Silvertounge twins, Julleran or the elves in the northern bungalow- his was a more natural color. But he was an elf all the same- he had the most angled eyes you've ever seen, and if his ears were any pointier, they could injure people, possibly in a lethal sense.

"Umm..." Vinny quickly counted up the coins scattered on the table. "...Looks like 20 gold."

"20 gold...?" Daerion winced anxiously. The minimum pickup was 25, and he only had three coins in his purse. And if they came up short, the next collection would triple. Or the bungalow would be torn down. Whichever the tax collector felt like. Besides, as a guild, they were expected of a lot more than they were capable of. "...A-are we going to make it?"

A pause went through the room before anyone answered, and that made him feel even worse.

"Sure we are, kid." Julleran said, although his voice was flat and downcast. He walked over to the chair by the table and sat down, resting his head in his hand. Then he sighed heavily. Julleran's voice was unnaturally gruff for an elf. But, due to his strong leadership skills, everyone respected him. He was undoubtedly the ringleader of this poor group of five elves. "We're just going to have to give something up. Strike a deal."

Daerion's eyes widened. The last time they had run short and tried to 'strike up a deal', the tax collector had taken all the food from the pantry. They could have gotten maybe 35g at the marketplace for all of that. But the tax collector decided what it was worth.

"...Jully, I don't know." Vinny began, placing his elbows on his knees. "We don't have a lot to spare in the first place, and-"

The group was silenced when there was a knock on the door. Everyone took a sharp breath and held still for a moment- and in that time the ticking of the large wall clock- one of the only three objects that were truly elven in the bungalow- was the only sound...

The quiet didn't last. There came another knock, this time louder than before.

"Tax collector!" Came a husky, nasal voice from the other side of the wooden double-doors. The elves flinched at the word, but sat up and moved toward the entrance.

When the collector started knocking again, Daerion hurried to the door and opened it, nervously tucking his hair behind an ear. He didn't like his ears. They almost hung down at an angle instead of pointing straight up like Maravus's or the others'. Valerie had always told him they made him look like a puppy. He hated looking like a puppy.

Standing in the open door was Sam Tucker, the usual tax collector that came up to the elven sector of town; two bungalows, a gazebo and a guardhouse. The rest of the town was to the southwest. Daerion would be going there later this morning.

"Well hello, Darry." The pudgy man grinned, intentionally using the name that Daerion hated. It didn't sound elven. It hurt his ears- or maybe that was just the man's voice. "It's tax day! Her majesty does not provide such grace without funding!" He replied cheerfully.

Vinny walked up behind Daerion, and the taller elf shot the collector a cold glance, slinging an arm over the shoulder of his 'little brother'.

"Grace? You said you'd add the bungalow back to the repair list if we started paying. You said you'd let us back into the gardens..." He asked, eyes narrowed. And it was easy to do. Vinny had the classic, narrow elvish eyes.

"The gardens belong to the cultists. They decided that they didn't want such scum on their property." He spat, holding out the sack as Julleran walked to the door with the gold. Daerion handed Julls his coin-purse before he came to the door, and then turned back to face the collector. "You're added to the stinking list, anyway. We only do repairs if they're alien damages. It's not our place to make repairs to damages you made."

"We made?" Vinny tightened the grip he had on the doorframe, and scowled all the more convincingly. "First the wind storm blows most of the shingles off, then the second floor gets water damage, then the foundation starts sinking- You provide repairs to the other guilds!"

"The other guilds actually collect some bounties! The other guilds always pay their taxes! The other guilds aren't full of sorry excuses for heroes that have to end up working at inns to pay their dues!" Mr. Tucker shot back, placing a gloved fist on his hip. "Let that be a lesson to you no-good, lazy debauchers!" The collector's face was red with rage now, and he shook his head wildly, probably wishing he could just get the whole place torn down... "You vermin! Look what you've made me do, get so flustered!" In frustration, he pulled the embroidered handkerchief from his pocket to dab across his forehead. "...Just pay up! ...Thirty gold!"

"Thirty-!" Arrius began, before Maravus clamped a hand over his mouth. Maravus was quiet and restrained most of the time- but now even he was glaring.

"The standard collection is twenty-five gold." The sandy-haired elf protested. Despite his obvious anger, his voice was calm and level. Sam laughed hollowly- and the elves flinched at the noise.

"I tell you what you owe, you urchins." He held out the bag. "Pay up."

The elves were silent for a moment, and Daerion's gaze sunk to the floor. This was bad.

"...We're- ...we're a little... short..." He murmured, staring even more intently at his feet. He shivered, since standing in the open doorway for so long with only his under tunic was a little more than he could stand still for.

A sickening grin formed across Sam Tucker's face, and a deep chuckle rose from his throat.

"...Of course you are." He started, his laughter elevating. His smile now showed his teeth, which were almost stained brown by his infatuation with chewing tobacco. "You always are, you know. Ever since you came here. I don't know why the Sovereign even permitted you to stay... we all know elves are foul and lazy and unloyal to anything but their purses..." His smile faded, just slightly, and his eyes narrowed a little. "...But I'm willing to make you a deal."

The tax collector than focused his entire gaze onto Daerion. The young elf went rigid, feeling the hot gaze on his down-turned face. He slowly and cautiously looked up from his feet, to find the collector once again grinning...

"Say it. Say what we all know." He began, grabbing the twenty-three coins Julleran held in his hand.

Daerion's mouth and throat suddenly went dry, and he felt as if he was shaking. He shook his head, the just beyond shoulder-length hair falling out from behind his ear.

"...W- ...what would that be...?" He asked quietly, wanting to pull back inside the bungalow- run upstairs, sink back into bed and forget about the taxes and the queen and the state they were in and the fact they were never going home.

The tax collector grinned even broader, and chuckled.

"Admit that your people are scum. That your kind are nothing. Admit that you are nothing. Shallow, greedy and undedicated to anything but themselves. Say that you are not the 'fair folk'. Say 'if your outside appearance was anything like your soul, you would be more hideous than goblins'."

Arrius made a sudden move towards the door, and Daerion turned around to look. His face was positively livid- but Julleran held Arry back. The largest of the elves had a sickened, blank look on his face, and he shook his head sadly.

"Julleran..." Dae began, his voice quiet and somewhat shaky. The collector's words stung.

"...Just do it, kid." He answered, his eyes closed now.

"But Jull-" began Vinneran, before the dark-haired elf shot him a look that could make your blood run cold. There was a long silence, and Daerion looked back and forth between his friends and the collector, who was taking out his clipboard- about to mark the elves as 'those in debt'...

"Stop!" Daerion interrupted, causing the collector to look up from his clipboard. "I... W- ...we're scum. We're lazy..."

The tax collector grinned coldly. "Go on."

Daerion's gaze again sank to the floor, and he breathed shakily.

"We're... nothing." His hands formed into fists at his sides, and he had to shut his eyes against the deep maroon of Sam's expensive shoes. "We're greedy and unloyal and shallow! ...We ...are not fair..." Daerion tried to ignore it as he heard the surrounding elves wince. "...If 'our outside appearance was anything like our souls', we would be..."

It's not true! It's not true! He wanted to scream.

"...We would be more hideous than goblins..."

The elves behind him stood in complete shock- and for a few moments, even the Tax Collector seemed surprised. Then, a quieter, less maniacal grin formed on his face. He appeared to be satisfied.

"...And here's hoping you never forget it." He said, ripping up the paper with the comment of the elves' shortage of pay. "...I'll be seeing you soon, Darry! Julius! Vincent! Aaron! Mary!" He intentionally used their warped, non-elven names, and it resulted in a full set of glares. The collector ignored this, and turned to leave, closing his now almost full bag of gold. He must have come from the nearby warrior's guild (Which was filled with warriors of discord).

"And cut your blasted hair! You look like a bunch of women!"

The small crown of elves watched in somber silence as he left, walking towards the second bungalow in the area. Valbrun, Olliloqus and Reljinno lived there. Hopefully, he would not put them through the same torment. Those elves were better warriors, and had gotten jobs as shop security. They might be able to pay up, and usually did. Their bungalow was in much better condition; it still had all of its shingles.

Daerion stood there, terribly shaken up by the entire ordeal. His entire body trembled- mostly due to the cold of standing in to open doorway for so long. But he felt sickened... sickened and hurt and torn. As he stood there, staring out while Sam knocked on the other bungalow's door, he felt the gentle touch of a hand on his bare shoulder. He looked down to see the pale blue hand of Arrius, who had a face full of both contempt for Sam and sympathy for Daerion.

"Oh, Dae..." Vinneran began, pulling his 'little brother' into a hug, petting his hair. "None of those awful things are true. Don't you ever believe any of those terrible things..."

The young elf shook his head, and gave a shaky sigh, resting his head on the taller elf's chest. "I know, Vinny..." He felt Arrius let go of his shoulder, and then another hand pulled Daerion away from Vinny. It was Julleran- he had kneeled down to look him in the eye.

"Kid, are you okay?" He asked, keeping his gentle grip on Daerion's shoulder. "You look like you're crying."

"I-I'm not crying!" He protested- but finding his eyes blurred over just as he finished. He quickly whisked away the tears, and shook his head. "...I..."

He pulled away from the three elves around him, and walked to the couch, where he collapsed into it and promptly began sobbing into the armrest. Maravus's face turned into one of worry and he sat down next to the young elf, patting Dae on the back as he wept.

"Shh... Hey, we made it, didn't we? The queen's not going to tear down the bungalow..." Maravus offered, his voice steady and quiet. Daerion gave a shivering sigh and shook his head, face wet with tears.

"I don't think the sovereign cares enough to tear it down..." He sniffed. Julleran walked and sat down in the chair opposite Daerion, reaching over the small coffee table and patting his hair. "It's just the collectors. The cultists. Everyone! They think of us as a plague!"

"No," The dark-haired elf murmured softly. "...It's not important what they think. They lived in places where they either toiled or died. We lived in a place where that wasn't necessary..." he shook his head. "They don't understand what it was like in the forest. They never will."

Daerion fell silent, and again placed his head on the armrest, his body twitching from occasional sobs.

"It's not fair." He said. "...The others are too strong. They will beat us to any bounty... and they hate us so much... if they caught sight of us even making a move on 'their gold'..." He took a second to scoff- but the noise was warped and choked by his weeping. "This land has nothing for us... I want to go home..."

A soft quiet fell upon the room, broken only by the clock, Daerion's weeping, and a few howls from outside. The howls were almost eternal, in this land.

"...You know we can't do that... We could never afford the supplies for the journey- and the only reason we made it here, passed the cursed maze of mountains, was because we had the help of a guide..." Arrius shook his head. "...And with the queen's tax..."

"Arrius," Maravus snapped matter-of-factly. "...Not right now."

The elf then turned back to his young friend, who's weeping had almost stopped now.

"Hey," He began, again patting Daerion's back. "...I promise you'll go home someday. Someday- ...someday the queen has to recognize that we never agreed to pay taxes while we lived here in the first place. She has to realize that what's happening is wrong... Heck, maybe the paladins will even help us..."

"The paladins!" Vinneran bolted upright. "The paladins indeed! They seem to hate us most of all... ever since the temple to Dauros was destroyed; they haven't been the same..."

Daerion sat up and shook his head, still holding a hand to his moist eyes.

"Stop it." He sniffed, his voice more steady now. "...I...I don't care... about the paladins. I don't care about any of them!" He quickly wiped away the last of his tears, and looked up at the elves that had become family to him in the past three months. "We never mattered to them. I'm not going to return a favor that never existed..."

Julleran smiled lightly and stood up, walking towards the kitchen.

"You're a good kid, Dae. But don't, don't hate. It's not our way. And if it ever becomes our way... then we are no longer elves." He smiled lightly, resting a hand against the hilt of his dagger- probably remembering the few times it had ever been used. "We had no enemies to hate, a long time ago. We should never forget how we used to live... how we were meant to live..."

A short pause of agreement passed through the room, and Daerion sighed. It wasn't the first time Julleran had played that card. But; it was a card all the elves knew was as much fact as the ground beneath their feet.

"Go get dressed. The sun's almost up- they'll be expecting us at work soon." He advised, walking into the kitchen and beginning to cook the eggs that Vinny had purchased at the marketplace yesterday. Julleran was a good cook- thusly his eggs and cornbread seemed to make up the elves' lunch every morning.

Taking just a moment to linger downstairs, as the scents of the baking food floated around the room, Daerion sighed. He didn't want to go to work today, in that cramped, smoke-filled inn, with its loud noise and pungent odors. But he had to- the elves needed every coin they could get their hands on. If he were at home, he would still be too young to work. But he wasn't home... and judging what Vinny and Maravus said he never would be again.

The young elf stood up from his seat upon the old, musty couch, and headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He ignored Maravus and Julleran's shouts of protest- the stairs were in bad enough condition as it was- but he didn't care. He slowed down as he neared the top and turned quickly once he reached the second floor, once again throwing himself beside the trunk of clothes.

Daerion pulled his green over-tunic, vambraces and armbands from the trunk and stood up, throwing the latter of which on the bed. The over-tunic was also of elven design- complicated and often hard to put on. It had no sleeves or fabric that went over the shoulders at all, the tunic starting at about his armpit and ending halfway down his thigh- it only stayed on because it was buttoned so tightly. (Don't worry if you don't understand what I mean. Just remember the elves' clothing in the game. It's not that important anyway. Hopefully I'll have a drawing or something soon...)

The over-tunic itself was his armor- replaceable chain mail lined the inside. It was very uncomfortable at times- but elves had little experience with armor anyway, so their formal devices of war were often awkward. He then quickly snapped the bright blue bands (placed around the middle of his bicep- they were quite popular amongst elves) and vambraces (picture a four-inch wide bracelet, used as 'wrist armor') on his arms, and turned towards the stairwell.

As he again bolted down the stairs and headed for the door, grabbing his blessed quiver and bow, (the only thing Mordia supplied without charge) along with his brown cloak, he heard a shout from behind him.

"Not so fast there, kid." Julleran scolded, throwing Daerion a piece of bread. "You eat all of that, too. We can't work so hard on empty stomachs."

"He's right." Agreed Vinny and Arrius, also munching on to-go meals as they headed out of the door. "Take care, brothers!" He shouted before the two ran off towards the southern village. They worked at the most southern of the inns, in the village where the temples to Helia and Fervus resided. It was the only real 'village' of the region, come to think of it.

"Thanks, Julleran." Daerion muttered, stumbling out of the door and turning to the west.

Quietly munching on his cornbread as he walked, he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be a long, long day.


Grr. That moved way too slowly, if you ask me.

Well, did I do a good job in my introduction? I tried not to get too into Daerion's past, the elven city or detail about Mordia itself. Mostly, with the exception of a few details, I wanted to have this chapter just focus on the elves, taxes and the bungalow- I figured I could spread the story out to cover more about the elves in the later chapters.

More details about Mordia will be included in next chapter, as to why there are paladins and warriors of discord in the same citadel... also- the preistesses get their first introduction. They play a huge role in the plot. in addition to all of that, I have to go into the lore about the shadowbeast and Styx and Stones- whichI think we remember from Sovrah Dan.

Gah. There's so much information in this story that I want to get into right away- but no, I have to save some for later. Hopefully I'll have it all out of the way by chapter three and be able to just write the story, paying less attention to things foreign to the game and more attention on things realistic to the game... the actual story itself.

Please leave a review, if you can.