Not LOTR related, but a tale nonetheless

[Eric C]

Okay, here's the prologue of a story that I have started. It is part of a chronicle that I am hoping to write. I've been batting it around for a couple of years, not knowing where to start. There is the mention of the worship of a God here. It is not here to offend anyone on the site. It is my hope to run it by friends to see what you think. But because of the content of the rest of the story, and the nature of this forum, it may be difficult to post much more than this. So, if I can paste it, here goes:

The figure stepped from the shadow of the trees. A brown hood was cast over the head and the cloak reached down to the ankles. He cast back the hood revealing a helm of bronze fashioned like the scales of a fish of the sea. It seemed out of place here on the high mountain pass. With nimble fingers, he unfastened the cloak at the throat and cast it aside. His bronze armor matched the helm upon his head. At his left hip was a sword of bronze with ivory hilt, at his right, a matching dagger. On his back was a quivver filled with green and white fletched arrows. In his left hand was a strung short bow of yew.
Well, it looked like they were here. Cirianna had said upon her last visit two weeks ago that men would be coming. She was always so cryptic. She gave no details as to when they would come, who they were or what their business would be. The wood nymph, Salix had come by yesterday to supervise the clearing of some of the trees in the area chosen for the man’s home. She questioned him about the nymphs from his land far away. It concerned Queen Quercus that those nymphs accepted the worship of men rather than giving worship to Hotheos. Salix would return to the Queen with the answers he had given her. She spent the day with his family. Close to dusk, she prepared to depart.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She said in her rich voice as she turned back from her path. “Tomorrow you will have visitors. Olmarins. They are mighty men of valor. Their Captain, Callahadon is a bold man who can appreciate a bold stand. Take your bow and your fine shafts and your weapons of war out to meet him. Stand your ground. Challenge him, but do him no harm. He will do you none. But in this way, you will win his respect.” With that, she departed into the woods, her mossy clothing blending in and obscuring her from view.
Now the man stood with his three oldest boys, Sedon, Cadian and Thetor hidden in the trees with bows ready. In the distance, he could hear the sound of horses’ hooves tramping upon the rocky path. Soon, he could see the lead rider. It was a tall man on a tall brown and white mount. Upon his head was a helm of bronze. In his right hand was a long spear and strapped to his back was a round shield. At his side was a bronze sword. He watched as the riders approached. Soon, the leader saw him but did not slow his pace.
“Halt and identify yourself!” The man commanded in a voice accustomed to commanding others. The riders halted their mounts, the leader moving a few paces ahead.
“Stand aside highwayman or we will ride you down.” Demanded the leader. “We have business up ahead.”
“Highwayman!” Scoffed the ranger. “It is indeed a strange land where a man who defends his home and hearth is thought of as a common thief! Besides, your horse may reach me, but you certainly won’t. Do you think I am alone?” At that, the troupe of riders looked nervously into the trees.
“Defending you home and hearth, you say.” Said the leader. “Be ye friend or foe?”
“Well, that depends.” The ranger replied. “If you are still intent upon riding me down, then I be foe! But if you come in peace then in peace you shall be received. I be friend.”
The leader dismounted and with spear in hand, strode boldly close enough to the ranger to see his gray eyes clearly peering from under his bronze helm.
“Your helm and armor,” said the leader, “Their design is foreign to us. There is a kingly manner to you and yet ye claim the high desolate hills as your domain. I am Callahadon, Captain of the Fifth Legion, messenger of King Verdin, the farseeing of Olmaris. I come to investigate rumor of one living on this mountain. We are at war with the Satyrs and Giants and we are suspicious of any smoke or cutting and building. This land is my charge.” Callahadon removed his helm. His blond hair, matching his full beard flowed from beneath. “If ye bring no malice with ye, then I come in peace.”
“I am Kelkos, last of the Eubraeans, Son-in-law of Memnor, rightful king of Argolus, slain by his brother. I flee from malice to malice, it seems. I have lost much in my journeys. But here I stand. I will flee no further. I greet you in peace.” Removing his right glove, Kelkos extended a hand to the Captain. The Captain grasped his wrist with a firm grip. Turning his head to the side, Kelkos let out a sharp whistle then called out, “Boys, go tell your sister to prepare for guests. Sedon, come with me.”
In a moment, a boy of 15 years stepped from the trees to Callahadon’s right. The Captain’s sharp blue eyes immediately appraised the boy. He already stood as tall as his father, which Callahadon noted was not much of an accomplishment. Perhaps all Eubraeans were short of stature. The boy would have a handsome appearance if the ruddy fuzz upon his chin had met with a razor at any time within the recent past. The boy was obviously aware of it as well; he scratched at it as his green eyes met the Captain’s.
The Captain extended a hand to Sedon, who removed his glove as his father had and readily shook with the Captain.
Over his shoulder, Callahadon called, “Yeoman! Set up a guard here at the road. Have the rations brought forth to provide a meal for us as we hear the tale this newcomer has for us.” The yeoman, a man tall and proud, set about fulfilling his Captain’s orders.
From the ranks stepped a person not much more than four feet tall. He was broad, stout with legs like short pillars of granite. His hair and beard were long, dark and braided, the braids being banded with gold. In his hands was an axe wrought of iron and steel. Its haft was as long as the person was tall. On his arm was an oak shield banded with iron. His dark eyes curiously scanned Kelkos from under his iron banded helm. And Kelkos stared at him in wonder.
“What?” Rumbled the person’s voice. “Have ye ne’er seen a Dwarf before?”
“Dwarf!” Exclaimed Kelkos. “The stuff of legend walks before my eyes! Your arms and armour, they are made of iron. Perhaps your skills at the smithy far excel my own. Iron is scarcely hard enough for good weapons.”
“Th-they do excel yours, good sir.” Interrupted Callahadon. “They excel all of our skills combined.” Turning to the Dwarf, the Captain introduces, “This is Purgill, ambassador of the Dwarves. He comes as our guest to discover what- or who- has inhabited this mountain.” Kelkos bent slightly at the waist and extended a hand to the Dwarf, who gave a firm brief handshake first to Kelkos, then to Sedon.
“Stuff of legend, ye say.” A broad smile beamed from under the Dwarf’s thick moustache. “I think I like that.”

Soon, the three humans and the Dwarf were walking up the path toward the simple dwelling Kelkos had managed to throw together.
Callahadon broke an awkward silence, “Ye spoke of your daughter, the boys’ sister. What of your wife, their mother?”
A shadow seemed to cross over Kelkos’ face at the mention of his wife. A deep sadness was too much to conceal.
“Hmm,” Purgill spoke thoughtfully. “There be a tale to tell for sure. Perhaps such a thing will be easier for our potential new friend to tell when it is put in its rightful place in the tale. But for now, let us meet the rest of the family and get the fire lit for the feast.”
Kelkos looked upon the Dwarf with appreciation. “Well spoken, friend. But I am hoping that after my tale, I’ll get a lesson in working the black metal.”
“Ha!” Exclaimed Callahadon. “I wish ye luck with that one. The Dwarves guard those secrets with their lives.”
“Well,” groaned Purgill. “Ye just ‘ave na asked nicely enough yet friend Callahadon.”
Soon the fire was lit and men gathered around to prepare the meal. Habakah, Kelkos’ daughter of 13 years helped where she could while keeping an eye on young Soorin. Being only a year old, he had captured the attention of some of the Olmarian warriors. Habakah imagined they had children of their own in homes in some distant village. As she watched, she noticed a young warrior- very close to her own age- taking in her every move. Embarrassed that she had spotted him, he quickly looked away, blushing. Wheeling around, Habakah walked briskly away, auburn hair aflame in her wake as the sunlight flashed upon it.
Now with wild boar roasting on a spit, Callahadon gave a nod to Kelkos, then stood to address his men. “Men of the Second Cohort, Fifth Legion, let us pay attention now and hear what our host would tell us.” Turning to Kelkos, he said, “Tell us Kelkos, last of the Eubraeans, Son-in-Law of Memnos of Argolus, who are ye? Tell us yer tale whether it be sad or joyous. What great deeds have ye done? What wonders have yer eyes seen? What brings ye to our lands? Tell us that we may tell our King, Verdin and he may judge ye rightly.” Callahadon paused, looking expectantly at Kelkos. Slowly, Kelkos rose from his place on the ground before the fire. A soldier brought him a stump to sit on while he spoke.
“Good Captain. Good Dwarf, Ambassador Purgill, Gentlemen of Ulmaris. Gather round and I will tell you a tale both joyous and sad. I will tell you of great deeds done by myself and by my comrades. I will tell you of wondrous sites, great battles and great people, both good and evil. But it is a long tale and time may fail me ere I am finished.”

[kaelln]

A good start, gentle sir! I'd like to hear more!

[Mirimaran]

*Applause!* More please...

[Greg]

I like it! Very descriptive!

[Eric C]

Thanks! Actually that's about all I have at the moment. I'll be sitting down tonight - hopefully - to write more. I have some of the first chapter in mind and some of the last. Then I'm thinking of the epilogue. The basic plot is worked out in my mind but the specifics are not. And yes, rangers will be involved in the story, so I may be tapping my brethren here for some ideas and ways to do things that maybe we haven't discussed.

Edited to add: I have to get Kelkos from a 13 year old adolescent running for his life to a 40ish year old man running for his life.

[Eric C]

Okay, here's what I got for a first chapter. I'm still brainstorming exactly what to do for chapter 2.

“Where is he?” An angry voice demanded from only a few feet away. Several warriors were gathered not far from the boy’s hideout in the ferns. He clinched a hand to his abdomen, trying to stanch the bleeding from the wound. In his other hand was his bronze sword. He held it ready and struggled to silence his breathing. The night pressed in around him. Death was at hand. The Gedoran warriors stood with their backs to him. If he was to die, how many could he take with him? Kelkos was small and wounded. At thirteen, he had known the forge most of his life alongside his father. But his father also taught him the ways of the Eubraean Ranger. Every Eubraean was required to learn the military arts, regardless of their status in society. They trained against just such a night as this, the assault of their ancestral enemies, the Gedorans.
“He came through here.” said another man, “But we’ve lost the blood trail.”
“He killed my father!” raged the leader, maybe five years Kelkos’ senior. “That shot was either lucky or well placed. I want his head!”
Kelkos remembered the shot the young man spoke of. It was his last arrow. His pursuers nearly had him. He turned at the edge of the clearing and his eyes fell upon their captain. In an instant, the arrow leapt from the string and buried itself deep in the Gedoran leader’s inner thigh. The amount of blood told Kelkos his broadhead had found its mark in the blood vessel that ran through the thigh. Death would come to the leader soon. To his surprise, as he ran away, Kelkos heard the clamoring Gedorans calling for help for their king.
Messengers had been sent to Argolus for their aid, but if it was coming, it would come too late, for Kelkos was the last of the Eubraeans. Over the past month, he watched as his home burned to the ground with his mother and sisters inside. He saw his father and brothers fall in battle. Now it seemed it was his turn. So be it! He would strike first. He prepared to spring upon the nearest of his enemies. His muscles tensed. He shifted, readied for the assault.
A noise to his left surprised him and the soldiers. His head whipped around in time to see the white tail of a deer spooked by the excitement. The Gedorans did not see what made the noise. With one accord, they bounded away after what they were certain was their prey.
Kelkos breathed a bit easier and busied himself trying to wrap the wound with some fresh cloths. It was a nasty puncture wound, delivered by a young Gedoran. He had wounded Kelkos but Kelkos struck a death blow before bounding away into a thicket. He felt now that though it worked slower, the wound the Gedoran delivered would be his death as well. He pulled his blood soaked tunic down over the wound.
Taking a deep breath, Kelkos took a quick look around, then bolted in the opposite direction of the Gedorans. He ran as hard as he could, but he knew the blood loss was taking its toll. He could feel himself slowing, his life ebbing away. His legs felt like weights. Behind him he heard, or imagined he heard cries from the enemy alerted to his presence. A red fletched arrow struck with a thud into a pine beside his head as he ran. It was not his imagination. He was discovered . . . again.
“C’mon you sluggard!” Kelkos growled through gritted teeth to himself, recalling his days in training. “Get movin’!” Tears stung his eyes as he could feel his enemies closing. He clenched his sword tight, ready to strike or be struck at any moment.
Up ahead through the trees, he could see a clearing. If his reckoning was correct that would be the Goatherd’s Road. Maybe he could gain some distance on his pursuers, but he would be exposed too. He poured all of his available strength into his legs. They pumped up and down as he surged forward. Another arrow hit nearby, then another glanced from a tree and he ran into the shaft as it deflected into his path. With a guttural growl, Kelkos burst through the trees and into the road.
Staggering, he stopped. He sensed eyes, many eyes upon him. His chest heaved as he sucked in air that made an indescribable deep groaning sound. Turning to his right, he faced an army. He would run no further. There was no more running in him. He struggled to raise his sword.
His voice came ragged and weak, but determined. “I am Kelkos, son of Lemnos of the house of Laeceas. To my knowledge, I am the last of the Eubraeans. If I am to die, then who will die with me?” He bolted for the line of surprised warriors. He swooned, stumbled. His sword fell from his hands. He knew no more. He fell into the arms of an Argolian soldier, his intended target. Argolus had arrived.

Blackness. Screams. Battlecries. Pain. Intense heat. All these filled Kelkos’ mind and body. Memories haunted him as dreams of terror. Now and then he heard voices that he hardly perceived as real.
“He is not getting better, my lord. We have done all that we can do.”
“Keep trying. We owe him that.”
“Yes, my lord. He’s lost a lot of blood. Infection is setting in to the wound. He burns with fever. Unless he fights, there is little hope.” There was a loud sigh, then a hand upon his burning brow. A prayer was muttered, but Kelkos swooned into the darkness.
“Kelkos.” It was his mother. The day was bright and warm with a spring wind blowing through the mountain trees of his home. Turning, Kelkos saw his mother, beautiful with dark hair whipped into her face by the wind. She wore a white dress and deerskin bodice that his father had made for her that winter. Behind her was their humble cabin. Smoke wafted from the stone chimney. “Tell your father it is time for noon meal.” Kelkos smiled and turned toward the smithy. “Kelkos I love you.” He heard her call. Turning, the scene had changed. His mother stood engulfed in flames. Kelkos screamed and ran. It was dark, the cabin was burning. Friends restrained Lemnos as he fought to rush in and rescue his wife and girls. Gedoran warriors ran between the cluster of cabins while the men fought to defeat them and put out the fires at the same time. There was much mourning that night. Then again, Kelkos was in a green wood with his father and two brothers. There were other men around. Sounds of battle raged in his ears. Lemnos turned and shouted orders at Kelkos, “Mind the right flank, Son!” Kelkos turned to see several Gedorans charging from that side. He and his older brother, Erasmus nocked arrows and engaged their enemies. Soon, the ground was strewn with Gedoran bodies. No more came against the right. Erasmus and Kelkos turned to receive their father’s approval. Instead, they saw his body face down with an arrow through the throat. Their oldest brother Thadus lay dead beside him, stabbed with a sword. Nearby was the dead Gedoran who had killed him. Erasmus was lost that day also. Kelkos screamed in anguish, but he would not awaken from the nightmares.

The night breeze blew outside the infirmary tent. The outer flaps were not tied shut. There was a small foyer type area and a set of inner flaps that were secured against the night air. The Argolian guards stood ready, not admitting anyone who did not have clearance from the healers. From the shadows stepped a dark robed figure with hood drawn over the face. The guards did not acknowledge the presence of this person. They did not challenge the figure as it came near. They stood as if entranced, not seeing the figure. The robed figure moved through the first set of flaps and into the foyer. With a wave of its hand, the ties to the second flaps loosed and the figure moved like air into the tent. All around wounded warriors groaned in pain. The figure moved from bed to bed, searching for a specific person. Occasionally a spell would be whispered over the wounded warrior. At one bed, the figure bowed the head, then tenderly closed the eyes of the dead warrior. Soon the figure came to the bed of Kelkos.

Kelkos lay in dark burning torment. He did not know for how long he had been this way. Hours? Days? He could not tell. Screams echoed in his head. Fear filled his heart. Why couldn’t he just die and be done with it? Why all of this torment and terror? He longed to join his father and mother, brothers and sisters.
Suddenly at a great distance, something appeared. It rushed toward him. Kelkos lay frozen in horror. He tried to cry out, but the cry would not come. In an instant, he was enveloped in a brilliant blue and white flame, but he was not burned. He felt the burning in his body subside. The flames swirled around him and slowly started to take form. Before him stood a woman fair yet powerful. She wore white robes with a blue mantle. On her hip was a long sword the type of which Kelkos had never seen before. Its pommel was set with a skillfully cut sapphire guilt with gold filigree. In her hand was a staff of white wood. A light shone from its intertwined top. Her eyes glowed a sapphire blue. Her hair was flowing gold with traces of sapphire blue. She spoke, her voice soft, loving but commanding at the same time.
“Kelkos, lay aside your deathbed. It is not yours to take for a while yet. Lay aside this suffering. This fever will leave you!” It was not a prediction, it was a command. “This sickness will flee! You must soon arise from your bed of death and experience life! You are Kelkos, the last and the first. Rest. Then arise.”
Suddenly the woman was gone. All was dark, but it was peaceful. Kelkos slept. Not without pain, but he slept.
The black robed figure removed its hand from Kelkos’ head. It rose and briefly visited several other beds before departing the way it came. In the morning, there was no sign of its presence.


So tell me what you think.

Eric

[Chris Russo]

*cracks knuckles* Okay: I'll have to come back for the first chapter, but I can give you a read on the prologue so far.

First: I really like the character thus far. Definitely Aragorn-ish, which is never a bad thing in my mind. I like, too, the relation between Rangers and nymphs, a bit of a D&D influence? That was something I missed in LOTR, the closest the LOTR Rangers ever get is hanging at Rivendell. I like, too, that he has kids with him, there's a lot of interesting character potential.

I don't know much about where the plot is going, so I can't comment on that, but I can point out some technical issues.

In the first paragraph, when you're describing him, a lot of your description uses passive verbs ("A brown hood was cast over the head") instead of active verbs ("he unfastened the cloak at the throat and cast it aside.") Passive verbs describe a state of being, active verbs describe an action. There's nothing grammatically wrong with passive verbs, but because they contain no action, they slow the pace of your story. That's bad for the beginning. An uninterested reader would start to say, "All right, lots of description, but when does something happen?" So see which sentences you can rephrase so that they center around actions--"his bronze armor glittered like the helm," "The ivory hilt of his sword bumped his hip," "The strap of his quiver rubbed against his shoulder," that sort of thing.

You may also consider moving some of that description further into the story. The first few paragraphs are crucial in terms of catching your reader's attention. Readers often decide within a few moments whether they will keep reading; Editors, if their attention has not been caught by the third paragraph, will drop your work into the form-letter rejection pile. This is something I'm still working on with my own writing, and I'm starting a collection of those form letters.

For similar reasons, you may want to move the flashback with Cirianna and Salix back a bit. Let the reader wonder who the Ranger is expecting, and why he's expecting them, and what he intends to do. Let them wonder whether this is an ambush, a raid, etc. Answer their questions later on, maybe when Callahadon is dismounting and coming closer. A little suspense is a good thing, builds tension. (And, as a good editor once told me, Never give your reader everything they want, it makes them snarky.)

A quick note on dialect: If most characters (other than the dwarf, who of course has a Scottish accent as is tradition) use "ye" in a sentence, as in "Be ye friend or foe?" would they also use "you" and "yourself"?

And a question: if Callahadon came to investigate who is living on the mountain, when he first sees Kelkos, would he wish to ride past him to continue to his "business up ahead"? Or would he figure that he's found the one he was looking for?

All of these are only suggestions. Remember, in the end, you are the author, and you get final say over what changes you make and what changes you don't. One of the hardest things to learn is when to ignore advice. Hope this helps, and I'll come back to read through the first chapter more thoroughly!

[Eric C]

I will certainly take your suggestions into consideration. I always thought my descriptions were lacking, so I worked to develope my descriptive abilities. Callahadon doesn't really have an accent, he has poor grammer. But there are other things I should do with his speech to portray poor grammer.

I never played D&D when I was younger. I have developed a game based on it to play with my family. But it just seems natural to me that a ranger would bump into a nymph or two in his wanderings through the woods.

As for the first chapter, I'm not that pleased with it and am thinking of reworking it. But please, read on and give me an assessment.

Edited to add: After a close reread, I also used the word "cast" three times in the first paragraph. I have changed that on my copy of the prologue.

[Eric C]

As I mentioned before, I was not happy with the first chapter. The more I looked at it and thought about it, the more I hated it. So I completely scrapped it and rewrote it. It's a long read, but here's the new version:

The hushed voices crept into Kelkos’ uneasy sleep until his eyes opened. He could see two cloaked silhouettes sitting not far away. By the voices and the content of their conversation, he figured it was Sedon and Cadian.
“I agree,” Sedon, the leader of the troupe of rangers, was saying, “We need to protect the boy as much as possible. But over the last month, he has seen and done far more than anyone his age should be subjected to. Killin’ men is not the job of thirteen-year-old lads.” He paused. Then he added, “Neither is watchin’ your entire family die before your eyes.” At those words, Kelkos felt tears sting his eyes and run from their corners. He dared not move to wipe them away. These men were very good at what they did. They would detect his movement in an instant. Sedon continued, “They will kill him whether he is armed or not. He is good with the bow. His skills with the sword and spear are improving; they are already much better than many his age. I say he keeps his weapons and steps into his father’s place. According to our laws, it falls to him to do so.”
“But as far as we know, he is the last of the chiefly line. No matter how distant that claim is.” Cadian objected. “We must protect him. Get him to safety.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Sedon said. “But we cannot expect anyone who is of age to refuse the bow in these times. In greatness, he will lead us one day.” There was silence between the men. Trying to look as though he were still asleep Kelkos wiped away the tears from his eyes.
Indeed the past month had been a hard one. The long fought war between the Eubraeans and the Gedorans suddenly went very poorly for the Eubraeans. While promising peace and feigning talks with the Eubraeans, the Gedorans used trickery and deceit to overcome several Eubraean strongholds. They had slaughtered every man, woman and child within those strongholds. They burned and butchered their way south through Eubraea, driving Eubraean forces before them.
Kelkos, like all Eubraean youths held two rolls in society. His first job was to work with his father in the forge, fashioning all forms of bronze weapons and items for military and civilian use. Since he could remember, he and his brothers had worked around the forge beside their father, Lemnos of the house of Laeceas. Kelkos was nearing his journeyman tests when the men of his family were called into service.
His second roll was that of a warrior. Another item he had known since the beginning was the bow. His father had given him a toy bow as soon as he was able to wield it. As he aged, his father taught him the secrets to making a good shortbow well suited for close range work in the high forests of his home. Kelkos and the other males of his family were highland rangers. As such, he was subjected to extreme conditions and terrible hardship throughout his life. The men of his region were tough to the core. They were accustomed to rugged conditions and to loss. Eubraean Rangers were hated by the Gedorans and shown no mercy when captured. They were often tortured to death.
The Rangers expected no mercy, so they showed none. They traveled in small groups deep into enemy territory. They laid in wait sometimes for long periods. They hit hard, fast and with ferocity, then faded into oblivion before the Gedorans could react. The Gedorans knew them as phantoms, devils, bringers of death, destruction and disorder. They feared the Rangers. Now it was the time of Gedoran vengeance upon this force of elite fighters.
“I suppose you’re right.” Cadian conceded. “I don’t like it. But these are different times.”
“Indeed they are.” Sedon responded. With a sigh, he said, “Well’ it’s about time to wake the others. We’ve got a long night’s march ahead of us.”
Cadian took a swallow from his water skin while Sedon climbed to his feet. The two men had stood guard through the final watch of the day. They waited until it was well past dark before waking the rest of the men.
For two weeks now the ten rangers had moved steadily southward like this. At first there were a couple of engagements with the enemy and several near misses where they spent an hour or two lurking in shadows and hiding from Gedorans only a few feet away. They were looking to pick up the course of the river Jabon as it flowed south toward the border with Argolus. When the Gedorans suddenly broke through the Eubraean defenses, messengers were sent to Argolus asking for aid in repelling the onslaught. None had yet come. The Eubraeans held out as long as they could, just trying to slow the advance long enough to get as many civilians out of harm’s way as possible.
Seeing Sedon moving his way, Kelkos closed his eyes and feigned sleep. The older man bent over the boy and gently shook him. Kelkos roused as though he had been sleeping. “Time to move.” Sedon said softly. Kelkos sat up, and started working to change his dirty socks for a cleaner pair, something he should have done before he lay down for the night. One of his first lessons as a ranger was to take care of his feet. He watched as Cadian and Sedon woke each member of the party. Once Kelkos had finished caring for his feet and tying his boots, he busied himself with the care of his weapons and gear. He fastened on his baldric which held his short bronze sword and matching dagger. With practiced speed, he gathered his few belongings and rolled them up in his bed roll. This he draped over his right shoulder below his quiver and tied it at his left hip. He threw his haversack over his left shoulder and let it hang to the right hip. Having secured everything with his father’s leather belt around his waist, he reached into the haversack and withdrew a piece of dried venison and an old biscuit. He ate the biscuit first, washing it down with the cool water from his water skin. He ripped off a chunk of the spicy venison and chewed it a while before tucking it into his cheek. He imagined this night would be like so many others before it. Slow moving with many stops because of something the rangers heard, or thought they heard. Within ten minutes, once each man answered the call of nature, the rangers were all up and ready to move, all of them eating on their feet.

It was drawing toward midnight in the Gedoran camp. Obaden stared out with eyes that glowed pale yellow in the moonlight toward the distant eastward hills. To the south- beyond the Eubraean camp- the Jabon flowed down its course. Not far away stood a perimeter guard. The guard kept his distance from Obaden who’s eyes betrayed his Nephil nature. Something bothered Obaden. He rose from slumber, if slumber it is called, to thoughts of unrest. He had gone to the perimeter of the camp to look out upon the surrounding hills and woods. Some doom moved ever closer to the camp and he knew not what it may be. He turned, his pitch black cloak streaming behind, and moved swiftly toward his pavilion.
He entered the dark structure. With a wave of his hand, lamps flickered to life and illumined the tent. To his right was a small wooden table with an oil lamp sitting in the middle. Beside the table was a basket full of rolled up parchments. He walked over to the basket and fingered each parchment until he found the one he wanted. Moving the lamp on the table to one corner, he spread out the parchment revealing a map. The glow having gone from his black eyes, Obaden stared with piercing glare down upon the map.
He saw clearly the mountains and hills that surrounded the camp. He saw the Jabon flowing southward in the east and then cutting its path westward. He looked harder. Then he could see on the map the movement of the waters of the Jabon. On the plain the tents of the Gedoran, then the Eubraean camp became visible. As he continued to look, he could see the placement of each guard for each camp. His eyes shifted to the hills where he could see the trees swaying in the night breeze. Looking harder, he saw other movement. Still his gaze bared down until he saw through the trees. There he could see ten figures moving steadily southward. He scanned the men. They each held a bow in hand with an arrow ready for quick use. A soft, faint light emanated from the group. Obaden searched until his eyes fell on the young man in the center of the formation. It was from this young man- really no more than a boy- that the light shown. Fear ran as a chill down Obaden’s spine. His black beard bristled. His eyebrows arched in hatred. His breathing quickened as he searched the area for an answer to these newcomers.
There. His eyes fell on a cluster of dark flesh at the eastern edge of the camp, just inside the woodline. Kriegen. Foul bear-like beasts long tormented in the dungeons of Tolomne. Indwelt with evil spirits, they ever thirsted for blood but were seldom permitted to sate their thirst. They were swift as the wind and silent as a shadow. Their teeth and claws were like razors. Their jaws were stronger than a vise. In the past month, they had become a menace to the Eubraeans. They would answer the call of Obaden.
The Nephil bent his mind toward the Kriegen. Gorbha, the Alpha Kriegan, a huge mass of muscle, stirred sensing the call of his master. Obaden willed the beast to understand his bidding. The beast was on its feet, snarling and prowling. A nearby guard bolted and ran away. Gorbha ignored the man, receiving Obaden’s instruction. It threw back its head and released a long cry, something between a growl and a howl. The other three Kriegen were on their feet. In an instant, they were bounding into the woods in search of Elven blood.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly. Kelkos tried to pay attention to everything around him. The sound of Akseph’s breathing behind him had begun to annoy long ago. Kelkos decided to occupy himself with thoughts of home. His mind wandered to his mother. It was because of her that he could hear Akseph’s breathing. And not only his, but everyone’s in the troupe. His mother, Ashkellah, enchanted him. She enchanted all that she encountered during her sojourn in these parts. Kelkos remembered the first time as a little boy that he noticed that Ashkellah’s ears were different from everyone else’s. Hers were pointy on top, as he then thought. “Mommy,” he had asked, “Why is your ears pointed and everybody else’s ain’t?”
“Why are they pointed,” She corrected in her rich voice, “and everybody else’s aren’t.” She paused with a smile, kneading the dough for bread. “Well, it’s because I’m an Elf.”
“A Elf?” Young Kelkos’ gray eyes widened in amazement.
“An Elf.” She again corrected, “I am of the Fair Folk that dwell over the mountains.”
“But we’re in the mountains, Mommy.” Kelkos did not understand.
She laughed, “Not these mountains, my son.” She sighed, looking with love upon her youngest child. “I will explain later, or you can ask your father in the smithy. He waits for you.” He remembered turning to leave the cabin in which they lived.
What was that? It was a strange wind, a breeze that brushed his right cheek. None of the others felt it. None of them could. He stopped, his hand instinctively putting a slight tension on the bowstring. He gave a low bird call that halted the troupe. Everyone stooped low, scanning their surroundings. The air seemed electric for a few tense moments. Nothing moved around the rangers. There was no rustle of the wind. No small animals scurried from tree to tree, which they did find odd. After a few minutes of seeing or hearing nothing though, the other rangers grew impatient. Kelkos felt questioning eyes bearing down upon him. When he had no answers, Sedon rose to his full height. The others followed. Kelkos saw the scornful looks directed his way. Uneasy he arose, his sharp eyes working hard to pierce the early spring foliage to see what it concealed. He glanced forward to see Sedon give a sharp signal to move. The leader was obviously annoyed at his young charge.
Kelkos took a nervous step. Suddenly the bushes to his right exploded in yellow fangs and teeth. With lightning speed, an arrow leapt from Kelkos’ bow. It entered Gorbha’s mouth and lodged deep in his throat. Kelkos spun out of the Kriegan’s way before it could strike him down. Skillfully, Kelkos put another arrow into Gorbha’s neck, slicing the jugular vein. The big Kriegan faultered, hollering in pain. It swiped with sluggish claws at Kelkos, but the boy had moved back out of easy range. Akseph buried his bronze sword deep into the creatures chest. With a whine, the Kriegan collapsed in a heap of stinking black flesh.
Kelkos looked at Akseph, his eyes full of fear, wonder and gratitude. Akseph smiled, cleaning his sword and sheathing it. In an instant, Kelkos’ gratitude was turned to horror. Another Kriegan landed hard on Akseph’s back, fangs sunk deep in the ranger’s neck. At first, Kelkos staggered back as two other Kriegen burst upon the troupe. Regaining himself, Kelkos fired a shaft into the beast that pinned Akseph to the ground. The creature howled in pain and anger. It sprang for Kelkos, who ducked and watched as the beast sailed overhead. He loosed another arrow that struck the creature in the ribs. He continued to shoot until his arrows were spent. The Kriegan wavered but did not die. It struck at Kelkos with powerful paws. Kelkos staggered back and fell. He reached for his sword, but forgot to loose the tie on the guard. It would not budge from its sheath. Frantically he pulled at the blade while he tried to crawl on his back away from the Kriegan. The creature stood on hind legs and roared down at his prey. In a moment, Kelkos would be dead. The beast lunged for the boy. Kelkos covered his face. There was a hideous cry. Kelkos felt hot thick black blood splatter his hands and face. He looked up to see the shaft of a spear buried deep in the Kriegan’s chest. A strong warrior, not a ranger, stood over Kelkos and drove the spear deeper. The Kriegan toppled and died in the dead leaves of the forest floor.
Kelkos blinked, unsure what had just happened. He breathed heavily, trying to fight off his panic. The warrior was saying something to him. He blinked again and shook his head to focus on the man. “Are you all right?” the man was asking. Then Kelkos remembered Akseph. “Oh no!” He scrambled to his feet and found the man laying face down on the ground. He grabbed the man and rolled him over into his lap.
“Akseph!” He called. The man smiled weakly, his face covered in his own blood. “Hold on, we’ll get you to a healer.” Akseph knew it was not to be. He tugged at his finger, pulling off his ring, the symbol of leadership for his clan. He tucked it deep into Kelkos’ hand. He touched Kelkos’ cheek with his fingers. Then his hand fell limp and the life left him.


I haven't fully proof read it yet, but let me know what you think.

[Mirimaran]

I like it! Pretty good read so far, just needs some editing here and there. The only thing that glared at me was roll = role.

[Eric C]

Yep, found it on the reread. I'll have to correct that. Although Kelkos would have probably appreciated a fresh dinner roll at the time.