“I know you like the elf, Eernon, but we can’t be riskin’ him being close to his people. He’d find some way to alert the guards and you won’t ever learn no magic. This is crazy. Jus’ let me put a point in ‘im and we don’t have to worry.”
Eernon looked at Vanlaug with anger in her eyes. “The elf lives. I’d sooner kill you at this point.”
“He’s right, Eernon. We don’t have to kill him, but we can’t take him with us.”
The voice was Ingdols. Gwenich could recognize it, though she could not see its source. He sounded far away, as if he were yelling through a wall. Her eyes were full of ghost images of the forest: vague outlines of trees and brush, a grey smudge where the cave had been. It was all fading slowly to black, leaving her field of vision a dark impenetrable curtain.
“Gwenich! Yarlloth fight me, girl. Can you hear me?”
Qua Jon wandered alone with his familiar through the forest, the increasing winds rattling the tall pines around them. Fat drops of rain had started, slapping against leaf and pine needle alike. He drew his tattered and worn green cloak tightly against himself, drawing his hood down low over his eyes.
Despite the worsening weather, the man had a wide grin on his face, like a child in awe of the unexplained. He even giggled slightly, drawing attention from the badger that crept around at his feet. Wormchomper stared for a moment, her head tilted to the side. Appeased that the noise did not mean anything immediate, she went back to shuffling along the ground, rooting in the soft decomposed pine needles and sniffing the air.
“And if you lose em, don’t bother coming back. Bunch of damned fools that should know better. Who the hell would leave paradise? Everything you need, and you all run off to some demon spawned shit hole”
Drugar looked over his creations, pride showing on his face despite his bluster. The gods had gathered on the edge of the storm and had split off into two groups: those that would go and those that would stay. For those that would leave, Drugar had crafted a gift to help them on their way. He presented them, one by one.
The table was carved from the Tadilisus tree itself. The gods that sat around it would fade from memory long before the table turned to dust. It was carved by Drugar himself with axe, knife, and chisel forged by his own hands. Hewn from a single piece of wood, the piece was near unbreakable.
Around it sat the nine gods of the Astar Uln. They had been called to council by Silwyn to discuss leaving the realm of Yurilda for the first time to explore Samsarras. There would be danger and none knew what would happen to Yurilda if all the Astar Uln were not present. The debate lasted a long time.
She giggled, her golden hair blowing in the eternal breeze. Silwyn’s eyes danced about the horizon, scanning it for something new. She’d been to the ends of Yurilda and back. She had seen all that was to be seen. Still, she felt mirthful.
Tadis was paying no attention to her, instead gathering berries. For each one they picked, another instantly grew in its place. Red juice stained their teeth and chin, as Tadis made sure to sample each handful. They were content and in their place.
“Tadis, you know there are other places, don’t you?”
The Astar Uln Pantheon, also called “The Companions,” are worshiped by the wood elves and some others, though many more prayed to them in past eras. This is their story, according to the Elves of the wild.
The darkness was barren, save for a seed and an endless wind that gently moved through it. The wind was cool and soft, the kind that whispers love poems to bare skin in the spring time. That was the wind that existed before all other things. That was the wind that would bring the rain.
Gerund motioned to the innkeeper for two more drinks. The elf responded, albeit with a look of slight contempt. Aglanthol picked up on the exchange and placed five elnar on the table, enough to pay for what they had with some left over. The first mug had eased her spirits a bit, relaxing her. She felt more willing to listen to the sailor now. He was brash, but he did seemingly mean well.
“No, you are right. That was far from the end. The party who had descended into the depths came back out as heroes. The rumors of their battles would circulate every night and grow ever larger. It’s hard to say how much of their reputation was deserved, but such is true of most, for better or for ill. They rode at the back of the column when we entered the pass, still recovering from their injuries. When the ambush sprang, it was one of the humans who gave the command to retreat.Continue reading “The Silence and the Stillness: Part 3 of 3”
Late autumn had come to the Sylvan Empire, bringing the blessing of cleansing rains and the curse of near perpetual darkness. The autumn sky hung heavy with dark clouds, disguising the sun and forever making the time of day a mystery. Morning differed little from midday, which differed only slightly from evening. Life had become a never-ending cycle of twilight.
The port of Melilsaridon had quieted now, as less merchants were willing to set sail this time of year. In summer months, it was bustling with activity. Dwarves and humans roamed the seaside inns along with other, stranger folk. Their songs were lively, their voices harsh and loud. But now there was only the song of the sea, as cold, foamy waves broke upon creaking timbers. Those few sailors that were to be found walked briskly, interested only in what meager business lay before them. Rarely did anyone wander outside of their own accord in this weather.Continue reading “The Silence and the Stillness, Part 1 of 3”
Luln was free. There was none to stop his rage. All across Sribinet, he caused destruction and pain. Where his siblings crossed his path, they suffered. Where his mother was to be found, she wept from his fury.
Time passed in Sribinet and it did not, as is the way in the demon realm. The passage of ages was not as mortals would one day know. The three grew to adulthood, and they became envious of their parents. Luln wished to be father. Braxult wished to be mother. Erethalion only wished for change. Together, the siblings conspired.
One day, Jeragroth came to inflict harm on the three, for his pleasure and that of the darkness.
In the days of old, many cultures believed the world was created by demon kind. While the majority of the world today worships the dragon gods, there are still small pockets whose prayers are directed toward the oldest gods. In dark ruins and ancient temples on the fringes of the civilized worlds, those worshipers read from decaying texts, spreading the tales of the very creation of the world itself. What follows is one such account…