Atlantis

The full moon cast its pale light down through the alabaster clouds to shine on the forested landscape below.  Along a road that cut through the tall woods like a river of gravel, two hooded figures stole quietly.  The moonlight filtered down through the forest canopy to dapple the grey traveling cloaks that they wore about them. 

         “How much farther, Telos?” asked the smaller figure, the voice soft and feminine. 

The larger figure, Telos, looked back momentarily before answering.

         “Not much farther, m’lady.  You can already smell the sea.”  Indeed, the scent of sea-salt began to fill the air, and the trees became more sparse. 

         Finally, the forest opened up and revealed a dark expanse of water lapping gently onto a shore.  By the bright light of the full moon, a three-masted ship could be seen just offshore, anchored in the deeper part of the small bay.  Pulled up on the beach was a longboat being tended to by half a dozen men.  One man caught sight of the newcomers and whispered to a man who appeared to be the leader.  The man waved them over and the hooded figures hurried across the sand to the boat.

         “Thank you for waiting, captain,”  Telos said in a soft voice.

         “It’s about time you showed up.  We’re already behind schedule.  If we miss the transfer at the Triangle because of you…”

         “You will be well compensated for your time captain,” Telos interrupted.  “For now, I suggest we waste no more time.”  Telos helped the girl into the longboat, and the captain ordered the crew to shove off.



         As they stepped onto the deck of the ship, Captain Maksard immediately escorted the two hooded travelers to his cabin, where he locked the door.  When he turned to look at his two passenjers, they had thrown back their hoods and he studied them by the dim candlelight and the moonlight coming through the windows.

         The taller figure, Telos, towered over the Maksard at a good six and half feet.  His raven black hair was tied back in a braid, revealing the pointed ears and blue eyes.  A scar  traced its way diagonally across his face, which wore a calculating expression, as if he were judging Maksard like he would a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse.  He was, all in all, a very chilling sight.

         The girl, however, was much easier on the eyes.  She was young, not more than eighteen.  Her slender frame was partially hidden by the over-large travelling cloak she wore, and for that Maksard was sorry.  But her face was small and graceful, framed underneath a pale shock of golden hair.  Her eyes were her most intriguing feature, they seemed to change color.  One moment they were hazel, the next a sea green, and the next were bluer than the sky in spring.

         The captain looked at their pointed ears and sighed.  Elves.  Hopefully they wouldn’t be as arrogant as some of the others he had met before in his travels.

         There was a tense silence, broken finally by Maksard’s offering of a drink.  Both Telos and the girl politely declined, the girl’s voice melodious and smooth, like honey.  Maksard didn’t know what do make of her.  She looked young, but one could never tell with elves.

         Finally, he got around to the point:

         “So, let me see if I’ve got the facts right.  You want the Dawn Fury to take you to the triangle, and, from there, broker passage for you to the New World?”

         The line of Telos’ jaw tightened in annoyance.

         “This was all discussed in Ocea,” he said.