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The Lost Ones
Posted: 05 Feb 2004 04:14 PM |
*It was long after dark when the wagon driver finished his last trip from Port Royale, walking with a weary step through the gates of Midor. He had poured over the pages time and again throughout the day, having been afforded many opportunities to read them since the strange traveler had burdened him with them. Holding aloft his lantern, the Dwarf walked through the streets of Midor looking for anyone who might be able to help him unload this journal of loose pages. Stopping a moment to gather his thoughts, and think of where might be best to deliver this package, he sat on a bench in the courtyard of Midor and recalled the events that led him to where he is now…
“Hold onta ye hats lads… th’ wind be pickin’ up! An’ I’ll no’ be bloody stoppin’ till we reach th’ gates of Midor!” Turning his attention back to the road, he had just enough time to draw reign to stop from running over the hooded stranger standing in the middle of his cart path.
“Hey ye bugger! Ye cannae bloody see this do be a flamin’ road? Get on with ye, I be havin’ a schedule ta keep!” Shooing a hand in one direction, he grew slightly uneasy when the stranger merely tilted his head in response, and took one step closer to his wagon. Swallowing the curses he had been ready to unleash on the stranger, Kusin waited as the hooded man made his way to the side of his wagon.
A clear, almost musical voice resounded from beneath the cloak as the man held aloft a bundle of parchment, tied tightly with what appeared to be some sort of bark from a tree. “I have found much in my travels, Kusin.” An amused sounding laughter came forth then in reaction to the wagon driver’s surprised look. “Yes, I know your name, though it has been long since we last spoke.” Dropping the bundle of pages onto the bench beside Kusin, the hooded man continued. “I would not leave these lands before sharing some of what I discovered in my many travels. Take this journal back to Midor, and give it to who you believe might benefit most from the knowledge it contains. There are more dangers in these lands than the simple people of your stone city might be willing to believe. Some things even, unbeknownst to my kin that dwell in the valley of Ferein.” Looking first to the travelers huddled close together in the back of the wagon to shelter against the wind, then to the Kusin, he nodded and offered a simple courtesy before turning and disappearing into the dense wood.
“May Aros protect and guide you in your journeys, friends. And may you always find your quarry on the hunt.”
…Awaking from his slumber with a slight jerk of his head, Kusin rose wearily from the bench he had stopped to rest on. The sun was nearly on the rise, and he still had the bundle of papers to deal with before he could retire for the evening. The faint glow of a torch in the distance finally gave him the answer he sought. The town patrol. Finding the lone soldier roaming the streets while all others were asleep for the night, Kusin delivered his burden to the guard with only these parting instructions. “Would ye see that these be delivered to th’ library when she be openin’ on th’ morrow? I cannae bloody keep me eyes open fer a minute longer… a long day on th’ road ye know.” With a nod the soldier took the journal and stuffed it into his pack, returning to his nightly rounds with a small grin on his lips.
The sun had just begun to climb the horizon when Kusin finally laid his head down to rest. As he drifted off to a fitful sleep, the same musical voice from earlier that day rang in his head, and danced through his dreams. He awoke later that morning to begin his rounds, weary from a night of little rest… but with a smile on his face. The name had come to him, and a face to go with the voice. Pulling his cloak around his shoulders and striding out the door, Kusin muttered one word under his breath before setting off down the street to begin his rounds… “Finfalin” |
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Re: The Lost Ones
Posted: 05 Feb 2004 04:15 PM |
*Looking over the stack of papers delivered that morning, the Head librarian settled into his chair to begin reading the countless pages of script contained within them. The reading went by quickly though, for the pages were of an even hand, in a flowing script that did not strain the eyes.
Rising from his chair after seemingly endless reading, the librarian placed the pages in a neat stack on the corner of his desk, where they would be bound for shelving. Two pages were left in his hand, and he took them to his personal vault for further consideration… an entry from the Journal of Gloredhel, High Druid of Elbereth. And a fragment of parchment entitled simply, “Tel’Wanwarea”, or The Lost Ones, in the language of Elves* |
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Re: The Lost Ones
Posted: 05 Feb 2004 04:15 PM |
The coming of Elbereth and the ending of the War of 100 Years; from the journal of Gloredhel, High Druid of Elbereth...
"The day has gone on much as all the rest, in this the 100th year of this forsaken war; Orc raiding parties diving through our lines, arrows as black as the night sky rained down on our camp with little respite. Our mages long since destroyed, we have little aside from my remaining druids to defense the magic of their Shamans. Neither Aros nor Grunjak, the Orc War God, have been seen in more than a year’s time. They seem to come at us now from all sides, and our defenses are failing. Though, while the voice of Aros still rings true in our hearts, hope remains. We still have fight left in us...though I wonder for how long.
Night has fallen on our camp. We have lost more of our brothers today at the hands of their raiding parties. We drove them back, though not before great casualties were inflicted. All is quiet now......
*The rest of the entry is barely legible. His hand must have been shaking from something, as it failed to remain smooth against the parchment*
..... There was a great flash of light! A booming voice followed, I could not tell whether it was that of a male or female, but surely it was The Mother come to us! A figure, I could tell very little from so great a distance, came before our host shrouded in the night fog and the words seemed to reach even the farthest reaches of these lands.
"No longer shall I stand by and watch as my people throw away their lives! Let this be at an end!"
Just then a staff appeared in her hands and she drove it deep into the earth where she stood. The light was blinding and a terrible sound rang in my ears. When the commotion subsided, I rose to see a glowing orb atop where the staff was stuck in the ground. Something took over inside of me, as I ran to the staff with all available speed. It glowed in my hands and I could feel the power rushing through me. The fury I let loose on the Orcs was terrible to see, yet I did not let down until they had all been destroyed or fled in terror. The orb pulsed by my side, lending me strength and casting bolts of lightning wherever an Orc might show its face! Great sounds and brilliant lights came forth from the staff, but the need for stealth was at an end. The enemy is scattered and I believe to be leaderless. Soon we shall set out to hunt those who remain among the living…I will see that the war does not last through the night!" |
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Re: The Lost Ones
Posted: 05 Feb 2004 06:15 PM |
The coming of Elbereth and Aros, and the betrayal at the War of 100 Years. From the journal of Ea’dalen Belethil, Holy Warrior of Aros.
--It has been nearly a year since we set out from camp to flank the enemy. Grunjak’s forces are relentless of their scouting to the east and west, so our progress has been much slower than anticipated. Yet the day has finally come that we find ourselves in position in rear of the dreaded Orc army. I would have protested the order to bring the host of Rangers so far a field, had it not been for Aros himself backing the decision of our commander. Never one to question the wisdom of the Silent Hunter, I carried out the plan… and it seems his divine insight has proven true once more, as we are poised to make the killing strike that will finally put an end to this forsaken War. Our host took many casualties in the trek over the mountains to attain this position, yet through it all we grew hardier as individuals, and more lethal as a fighting force. The death of our enemy shall come swiftly on the morrow. My men have bedded down for the night, making their final preparations for our strike at first light. I will make one last scouting trip into the camp of our enemy, to be sure the field of battle is the way we have planned it, and make any last minute preparations to our plans I deem necessary. Aros willing, this War shall come to an end by the precision of our arrows, and the strength of our resolve over this past year.
*The script is more rigid in the following entries. The flowing style from those made prior has taken a new shape, forming more abrupt edges than expected from the hand of an Elf, and penned with a much heavier hand*
--BETRAYED! We have been betrayed by the Gods!
--Our traitorous kin have fled to the north, and we few who remain of our host are now nestled high in the mountains we just traversed over the past year and more. We who survived the betrayal are very few, most having been burned alive by the evil High Druid of Elbereth in that night before our planned strike on the Orc army… yet we have survived these past weeks since that fateful day by relying on the skills that saw us safely through these peaks not so long ago. We’ve made camp far to the north and east of the field of battle, having been forced to leave our fallen brothers behind, for they were too many, and we too few to carry them over these hills.
We can hear the orcs traveling these frosted woodlands by night, regaining much of their strength after being beaten so badly on that last day of the War by our treacherous kin. By day we go on as we have been forced to this past year. Gathering what we need from the dense woods around us, we have sheltered suitably for the coming storms of winter, though I fear the food will not be enough…game is sparce in these hills.
--The snows have set in, and we have taken our refuge beneath the earth in the shelters we worked so hard to prepare. They are holding out well, and we are able to stay warm and dry…though it is as I feared, and we grow short on rations. When the snows dwindle, I have been able to scout the surrounding areas, in hopes to find some sort of game to sustain our people. The tracks are few, and among them I have found more Orc tracks than animal… it seems they have lingered in these hills even after regaining their strength. There is one possibility we have not considered, though I dare not present it to the others, no matter how dire the conditions become.
--Three of my brothers have died and been committed to the earth, on this our 52nd day of the storms. Our provisions have long since run out, and we are all beginning to lose more than a little hope of surviving this winter. There is not a day goes by that we do not curse the wretched Mother for her betrayal… for her dooming us to this fate! I begin to fear that the time has come when our Hunt will finally come to and end. We 300 that set out nearly two years ago from our war camp…now we 24 remaining in these barren lands to the north are coming into our last days, betrayed, and left for dead by our own blood. I was able to scout for tracks today, and found only those of Orc in the surrounding areas, though they have also been reduced to only a handful… likely also searching for any sign of food when they are able. Still, I cannot do what would seem our last chance for survival. Better to die with our honor in tact than face a day such as that one would prove to be.
--We are 12, and the Hunt has not ended! We had no choice but to forgo committing our brothers to the earth, as our strength would not permit it… and, we needed what strength they could lend us… the one who came to us has shown us how to survive… what we MUST do to survive. We have been granted guidance by the Gods! He came during the night, when our hope had all but faded. What I first loathed to consider, now seems so clear and obvious to me I cannot believe I once mistrusted the impulse. Tonight when the snows linger, we shall set out in search of the Orcs remaining in these hills, and slaughter them. Their strength shall soon be ours, and their blood will see us through these harsh storms into better days, when we might move on and grow as a new people in these lands. Tarik willing, it will be so!
*Smudges of red smear some of the words, though they all remain legible, if slightly more choppy than those of the entries prior*
--Small wonder they remained alive in force for so long… the Orcs dwelt in a large cave not more than a mile to the south of our position. For so long we strove to get by as we always have, living off the land alone, being content with what nature could provide. There will be no more days when MY people are left to fend for themselves and die a cold death. Aros and Elbereth are dead to us now. After abandoning us to this fate, they will never be forgiven… I can still hear the screams of my brothers all around me when the wretched Mother began to let loose her bolts of lightning! All around us, Orcs and Elves alike fell from the terrible blows… all the while her High Druid and that cursed staff took out friend and foe alike! Aros did little from his perch high above the field of battle… he is as guilty as the Mother, if only through his standing aside and allowing my kin to be slaughtered… IN THEIR SLEEP! Tarik told me much of those days that were unknown me, and my people of old can never be forgiven. We were betrayed by them all; left for dead, and now only Tarik can guide us… show us how we must sustain our life from this point on. This cave shall remain as our home, and we will make these mountains our own. We Tel’Wanwarea shall endure, and see the day when those who betrayed us die a slow, cold death, just as our brothers have done over these past two years. There is no longer a need to wrestle with my thoughts, and pour them onto these pages. I have Tarik now to hear my words, and fill my mind with wise council. No longer shall we be the Warriors of Aros! Our betrayal shall be avenged!
*Near the bottom of this page, in a small script, there are the following words. Clearly not of the same hand that wrote all the pages leading up to this one*
"I had no choice but to put down the one who tracked me. I do not think the arrow that struck was lethal, but he will be off his feat at least for a while to allow my escape. These Elves are none like any I have seen before… they no longer follow the path of Aros, or the Mother. The people of this realm must learn of them, I only hope I can reach Midor before more innocent people fall victim to these Elves in the mountains. These, Lost Ones, as they seem to call themselves. Two days south to the Icey Vale, I only hope I can make enough haste through these rugged lands. Surely this one I have wounded, Ea’dalen, will be tracking me again when he can regain his feet. Aros willing, there will be speed enough for me to deliver these pages.
If these words are being read… then I have succeeded. These are no kin of mine, yet they seem to descend from the same blood as those who dwell in Ferein. The treachery runs deep in these lands, so much so that I cannot remain…by now I have made for the shores of my own homeland, many weeks voyage by sea to the west. Be wary if you encounter these Elves, for they are lethal, and not to be trusted. May your bows be swift and your feet always step true on the hunt, people of Midor… I leave you now with a heavy heart. ~Finfalin Beilal" |
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