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 |  All is not right in the town of Elirussa. |
| Author's Note: Where it all started, but I confess I rewrite this introduction about once a year. It never feels right. third place in Round 6:
Fear of the Dark “Chaos is inherently biased.” -Postulates on Fate One thing remarkable about the city of Elirussa was the amazing perfection of the night sky above. Maybe it was the fact that there were no lights other than those provided by nature for leagues; elves needed no illumination for their paths other than that provided by moon and stars. Maybe it was a state of mind; the town lay so far out of the course of affairs that even the cartographers in Laruna left it off their maps. Such was the fate of the elves of Elirussa, their home nestled deep within the forests of the kingdom of Imgard. Little changed there over the years; though the occasional tale flickered back from the outside world, the inhabitants preferred their simple lifestyle. Occasionally, one adventurous youth would leave to sample the stories, led by imagination. Most came back a little wiser, a little poorer; some never came back at all. Nearly as rare was the appearance of an outsider. While not forbidden or anything of that nature to others, the grey elves of Elirussa hardly saw others—and of those, few stayed long. The townspeople themselves enjoyed the unique atmosphere fostered by decades living in close proximity to one’s neighbors (elves being notoriously long-lived). Social events were the lifeblood of the village for most, though as always some chose not to participate. On this night in particular, one would think that the sky conspired to become a work of art. Only a few scattered clouds remained of the storm just passed, catching the light of the full moon rising in the west. The forest lay quiet, animals still in shelter from the rain. Drops fell sporadically from the trees, some of which were laden with the beginnings of fruit so near the onset of summer. A light wind drew the newly-freshened air through the town. Few walked about in the darkening hours; with night upon them, most of the villagers returned home. Not all, though. Dangers lurked in the deep forest, and long ago the town had learned to post guards at its gate. A formidable wall of stone surrounded it at a height of ten feet; while none knew when it had been built, or for what purpose, it greatly eased the tasks of the town guard. The occasional sentry walked its top, armed with bow and keen eye for trouble. Most—meaning three—guarded the heavy iron gate, another relic of days past. While they could have sealed it and dispensed even that small post, tradition said that it had remained open to all for a hundred years. Besides, while the town was small, it was large enough to support a professional guard, once again a source of pride. Crime was nigh-nonexistent in the community; when one knows their neighbors so well, very little remains hidden. The guard doubled as hunters during the day and even, when called, served in the army of King Imrion as Elirussa’s detachment to his forces. Still, even the most seasoned veterans in the guards had only answered that call twice. Most of the young soldiers never had, though some thought it would be exciting to do so and see for once the world outside the woods. Tonight’s gate detail was under the command of Círdon. Recently promoted to lead this detail, he sat near the gate, carefully sharpening his sword in the dim light and trading jokes with his friends on the shift. Quiet chuckles drifted through the air, though habit and duty ensured that they still kept an observant watch outside the gate. Rumors were traded and voted on, such as whether or not the older veterans made up their stories as they went (a doubt common to youths everywhere, it would seem). The younger ones, as always, widely believed that they did. “He has to be making it up. There can’t have been a war that big, I tell you. Ever notice how you can never get an exact number out of him? He has to be making it up.” Telos was one of the more opinionated ones on the shift, leaning confidently on his sword. “Heaven forbid you disagree with him, too. Then he goes off into his rant about how us kids today don’t show the proper respect for our elders,” Círdon chuckled. “But I don’t think he’s making it up. He did fight in the war, remember.” “Did he? No one else in Elirussa did. I mean, he could have made up that part too.” “Then where’d he get the limp from?” Telos shrugged. “Who knows? All I’m saying is that I don’t believe his story, no matter how good he is at telling it. He’s had years of practice, after all.” With one final swipe of the whetstone, he looked up. “Maybe he’s just…” He trailed off, looking into the gloom beyond the gate. “Just what? You still with us?” Telos checked over his shoulder, looking in the same direction. “What is it?” “Er…nothing. Just thought I saw something moving out there.” “More like you wanted to change the subject.” “Hey, I’m serious. We are on watch, remember, even if there usually isn’t much to watch for.” Telos gave him a mock salute with his sword. “We’ll take care of that. Hey, you two slackers! Go check it out.” Telos gestured to the other two members of the shift. Despite the full moon, little could be seen in the heavy undergrowth just outside the gate. No major roads existed in the region, and the path outside was little more than a trail this deep in the forest. Another reason such a large gate seemed anachronistic; the path could barely fit a wagon in the hands of a skilled handler. Though there was no real reason, something still nagged Círdon as he watched them advance. “Be careful. Telos, stand by the gate.” “What? Why? I’m sure it’s just some animal." “Just do it.” Taking a few paces outside, the guards halted, peering into the dark forest beyond. The tense moment passed. “See anything?” rang out Telos’ voice, keeping one eye on his friend. “Nothing out here.” Looking back at Círdon, Telos asserted, “I told you it was just a little…” The guard’s shouted oath silenced him. *** Inside his parents’ home, Brilthor was relaxing after a long trip. He was a sorcerer, one of those rare few who possessed the ability to channel magic with mere thought. Magic itself was rare enough—there might have been one or two mages for every city on the continent, so few showed the talent. To most of those, the ability came only after careful study and long hours of work; he had the ability since he was a child. His older brother Edrahil was one of those mages, a student of history and the arts as he studied under a human mage in another town. Brilthor never had the patience for that sort of thing; in that regard he was akin to his mother. She was a sorceress, as well, and the one who had taught him. Dad was a mage, and therefore had more to tell his brother about that method than him. You could say the ability ran in the family…well, almost. His little sister couldn’t seem to do either, though she understood the precepts; some things were not meant to be. He reminded himself to visit her tomorrow. She lived alone at the edge of the village when not working in her carpentry shop, and always enjoyed a visit from her siblings. She wasn’t as social as she should be, though it seemed that her new romance was changing that. Good for her, too; he liked the town guard that had chosen to court her. Brilthor wondered for a second whether or not he would have found someone by now had he stuck around. Anyway, he was on a break, having exorcised his wanderlust for the time being. For as long as he could remember, he had been entranced by the stories of the world outside the forest, and had left to take part in them. Real life wasn’t nearly so glamorous, however, and while it had been worth the experience it had also been expensive. For now, he was content to rest his feet under a roof that didn’t cost money to stay in and where the company was always friendly. Besides, Mom’s cooking was the best. Propping his feet up on the furniture, then taking them down again when he remembered what his parents thought when did that, he fiddled with the pipe. He’d never really tried one before, but Dad seemed to enjoy it, and now that he was making a place for himself in the world he needed a few eccentricities of his own. Eyeing the bookshelf, he was considering whether or not to pull down the beaten-up copy of The History of the World when he heard the alarm bell clanging. *** With a ferocious snarl, it pounced. Springing from the shadows beyond, whatever it was looked feline in form save for the pair of tentacles raised from its back. The spines on the ends of the protrusions shone dimly under the moon as they swung, right before it buried them in the neck of the first guard, who dropped his sword and slumped to the ground with a gurgle. Whirling, the thing advanced on the other. Before he knew what was happening, Círdon had charged. Bringing his sword around in a horizontal arc, Círdon put the full force of his momentum behind his swing, aimed precisely at the throat of the beast—and went tumbling past it as it sliced through the air without resistance. He slammed into a tree, nearly losing breath and sword both. Disregarding him, the creature ripped the air around the second guard with its claws. He blinked as he saw blood fountain from wounds; the blow had missed! What illusion was this? Springing up, he ignored the pain and charged again, remembering where it had seemed to be when it struck. The second guard had fallen, clutching his side and bleeding heavily. His cries of pain rose above sound of the fight. Past him Círdon saw that Telos already had one of the gate doors closed and was standing by the other, sword out and determined to sell entrance to the town dearly to the approaching creature. Fueled by his anger, pain, and not a little fear, Círdon’s return stroke cleaved downward in the night, through the area where he thought it might be—and nearly went sprawling again. By some stroke of luck his blade clipped something, and he turned again to see the creature snarl and hastily limp off into the night. Not wasting time to look, he threw his sword through the gate, picked up the wounded man, and carried him through, hearing Telos shut the final door with a thud. Sharing a look with his friend, more movement caught his eye outside. Two more of the infernal things had materialized outside, and, confounded by the gate, darted back into the underbrush. Círdon wondered how high one of those beasts could jump, measuring the town’s wall… Breathing heavily from surprise and exertion, he began to apply a bandage to the unconscious elf as Telos ran over and rang the alarm bell repeatedly. *** Rising abruptly to the sound, Brilthor rushed out the door. At first, he could not see the reason for it. No fire raged as had last time the bell was rung; nothing seemed to be amiss. That’s when he saw the creature on the roof across the street. Instinctively preparing his energies, the thing jumped down the other side before he could attack. The scream that rang out then banished all doubt as to its intention. He was already moving by the time his parents rushed out to join him, shouting a warning back over his shoulder as he ran. Tonight was the night that the town’s children were having a party in the temple of Corellon, and they were alone. The sounds of carnage already rang through the streets, so there must be more of these things. First, though… Rounding the corner, he caught sight of the creature just as it looked up from the mauled body of their neighbor, a kind old widower. Without thinking he lashed out, forcing arcane powers at it. He was rewarded with a sudden burst of flame that slammed into the thing’s flank, spurring an inhuman cry of pain and the smell of charred fur. It darted off, rounding the corner just before his second blast could connect with it, setting the corner of the cottage on fire instead. Cursing the fact that it got away, he turned back. Brilthor saw his parents gathering their other neighbors close, working their spells in harmony as more of the creatures approached the space they had cleared around their friends. Knowing they were much better at this sort of thing than he, he set off again, determined to make sure the kids were safe. *** Only when he had finished bandaging up his friend, propped unconscious against the town gate, did the sounds filtering in from behind him become clear. Shouts and screams rang out as the surprise battle raged through the streets, and remembering his duty he retrieved his sword. This would be a long night. Not taking the time to mourn the fallen companion outside the gate, Círdon briefly considered his course of action. Then it hit him—his little carpenter’s house was fairly isolated on the edge of the village. By Corellon, if anything should happen to her… He set off at a dead sprint. *** He didn’t see much that he could do, but every time Brilthor passed one of the beasts he threw a bolt of force at it to help. He wasn’t sure that it did much, but a shouted thanks followed one such episode. Not slowing too much, though, he reached the town square. The illumination provided by the burning shop on its fringe was more than enough to see by. Across the field lay the temple, and he pressed on. As he closed, he saw the desperate situation. Trandil, one of the veteran guards, had apparently had the same idea. As he watched, the blood-drenched elf barely shut the decorative wooden doors in the face of one of the beasts, the worried sounds of frightened children filtering out before it slammed. The creature immediately darted off to one of the edges, looking insistently at each of the side windows for weaknesses. He saw another arrive and do the same on the other side, while on the roof two more seemed to have found a loose board in the roofing… Without thought he immediately flung a crackling orb at each of them to get their attention. Though focusing all of the blasts on one target would have stood a better chance of killing it, this course of action produced the desired effect. Almost on cue, all of the beasts turned from their tasks to look for the source of the pain. Brilthor made it easy for them. Channeling a ball of light in his hand, he held it aloft, turning himself into a beacon for any of the beasts nearby. Praying that it worked, he took a step towards the creatures around the temple. *** Tearing through clearing in the town square, Círdon was surprised to find someone there drawing attention to himself. Light coruscated around his form as he stepped forward, seemingly daring the creatures to come for him. Then he recognized the man—it was his lady's brother. Seeing something moving in the darkness behind him, Círdon shouted a warning. Brilthor whirled at the yell, a jet of flame from his fingertips keeping the two creatures that had tried to sneak up on him at bay. Seeing the reinforcements, the others at the temple decided to join in, loping over to the elf that had attacked them. Seeing him outnumbered six-to-one, Círdon ran to give assistance—and found his path blocked by a massive wall of flame, spanning fifteen feet into the air. Strangely, it gave off no heat. White-hot in intensity, it encircled the entire area where the combatants had been. Not wanting—or knowing how—to interfere with the sorcerer’s plans, Círdon set off once again on his quest, noting that a pair of his fellow guards had reached the temple’s entrance just as he left the clearing. *** Sweat pouring from his brow, Brilthor prayed that the stories of the afterlife were true. Not knowing what else he could have done, drawing the beasts to himself had seemed like the best course of action, doubly so now that he saw more guards take station at the temple doors through the wall of fire he had conjured. Well, except for what to do now. The six creatures caught in his circle, angered by the trap and flinching away from the intense heat on the inner surface of the wall, came straight for him. Seeing his doom, and resolving not to let them escape, he prepared the largest amount of energy he had ever dared to think of, shaping it into an immense ball of flame anchored at his feet. Corellon have mercy. *** The sudden flare caused Círdon to glance back out of instinct, just in time to watch the circle of flame erupt in a roar into massive inferno that nothing could have possibly survived. Cursing the loss of another good man this night, he redoubled his speed. This night would not claim her life, too, not if he could do anything about it. Feet pounding on the dirt path, he dashed through the town, oblivious for now to the carnage around him. Subconsciously he noted the progress of the battle; the beasts, while they enjoyed the advantage of surprise, had wreaked slaughter on the people of the town. Now that they were warned, though, the citizens were putting up a stiff contest. Bodies littering the streets, he pressed on unheeded, unthinking save for one person this night, someone powerless to defend herself at all. His fears grew as he tore around the final corner to find her house in view, the door hanging from the frame after it had been battered open. Raising his sword, he prepared himself for the worst. Time seemed to slow as he approached the door; Círdon thought he could hear each beat of his heart. Each labored breath lasted a minute. He must’ve been running harder than he thought. Firelight glinted off the upraised blade as he approached the entrance, stepping gingerly over the unhinged door so as to avoid making noise. Straining for the slightest hint of life within the house, the only sound that filtered out was a slight rustling. Taking a breath, he jumped through the portal, bracing himself against anything. A low, guttural growl emanated from the darkness to his right, and only his keyed-up nerves saved him as he dove forward, whirling to face the menace after a roll that barely ducked under the swiping claw. His keen eyes locked onto another one of the creatures—well, at least the part of it that could be seen. It crouched low, tail lashing as it sized him up, and he took the moment to remind himself not to believe his sight against this enemy. He was in the sitting room of the small cottage, its only adornments a high desk-table and chair. Off to either side lay the directions of the kitchen and, with the thing blocking the entrance, the bedroom; he knew she used this room mostly to read. Drawing in the details, he noted that a shut book and snuffed-out candle adorned the desk; either she was not at home, or… Gripping his sword tighter, Círdon came back to the matter at hand. He had circled to keep the edge of the table in between it and him, wary in case it pounced. For now, whatever it was sniffed the air, growling again as it did. The sheen of violet off its flank gave hint as to what it might look like in daylight, but for now it was a creature of nightmare—which began promptly as it leaped at him. Still in the midst of deciding how to fight this opponent, the young guard let adrenaline take over as he ducked back behind the desk, out of the line of the jump. He quickly spun his blade in a downward arc designed to cleave the air where the monster should land, praying that it worked. It did, in a manner of speaking. A vicious snarl erupted from the beast as his weapon grated against something, hard to tell what since it looked still to be out of reach. The tentacles on its backed whipped furiously as it turned, one dragging the desk aside by a wooden leg and the other swiping for his chest. At least, that’s what he remembered afterwards. He had raised his sword again, holding it up to block the strike, when he felt a hot pain crease his shoulder. Already moving with the attack, he stumbled a few paces away, feeling blood begin to trickle down the inside of his armor. The chainmail had stopped most of the blow. Even though he knew he couldn’t trust his eyes, he had let them trick him. Remembering what happened outside the gate, he took another step back, resolving to ignore what his sight reported as a threat. Wishing he could remember which side this one existed compared to its apparition, Círdon swung to the right of the creature, guessing where it might be. Luckless, he barely managed to dodge the thing’s claw, feeling a rush of air pass in front of his face. Doubting his chances, he reconsidered his course, then stepped into another attack pattern at the opposite side. Seeing the chair a few feet to his side, he changed his mind and made it a feint, one which the creature recoiled from, clearing a space between them. It must be on the left, then. With a quick motion, he sprung behind the chair, kicking it toward the creature, bringing his sword up into a full swing as he followed it in. Falling sideways as it tumbled, the chair bounced off of something to the left of the image, and Círdon’s blade followed close behind it. The creature’s surprised grunt gave way to the resounding impact of steel on skull as his stroke connected. Slumping to the floor, its image shimmered and disappeared, revealing its true form—identical, but two feet to the side. It looked like some mutated mountain cat, blue-black fur glistening in the dim light. The tentacles hung limp from its back, the thorns on each tip as sharp as the thing’s claws. As the adrenaline left, he remembered why he was there, and rushed into the bedroom beyond. Empty. Daring to hope, he dashed to the kitchen, leaping over the gaunt form on the ground—empty. She wasn’t here! In a blur, Círdon left the cottage to search elsewhere. Next in the series is:
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