Gabriel Gray

When the red sun dawned from its slumber, so did the village people of Suran, a small village on the coast of Jordan. The southern wind blew throughout the fields, cattle slowly rising as the wind-chimes echoed through the hills. This village consisted mainly of retired Elven Archers and farmers, along with a few human allies. The human Dukes had given the land as a gift to Lord Soren, for his vital assistance in the great purge, ridding the Northern lands of the last of the Emperor’s minions and keeping his word in returning the Cross of Islydorn.

Yet the small village of Suran held a dark secret, one that was entrusted only to the council elite and the town’s shaman, Rhalurn. Suran was the home of a young boy called Riocht, he had noticed early on that he was different from the other Elven boys he studied with, but his parents adamantly insisted he was normal, both of whom were human. Whereas Riocht was clearly not, at first glance he would be confused with an Elve, his ears were pointed and his facial bone structure was unmistakably Elvish, yet even as a young boy he was unnaturally big and his teeth were his only flaw, sharp like a creature of a night, yet white as pearls, as have the Orken kind. He was what the Northern kin call a ‘Nisoon’, a rather derogative term for a half breed, someone who has say in this case an Elvish mother and an Orken father, which due to the extreme hatred between the two races is rare, to say the least.

To many of the townsfolk this was just another ordinary day in their slightly unordinary village, yet to Rhalurn and the Elders it was the day they had waited over fourteen years for. Sentry duty was trebled on the village gate, over thirty aged Elven archers had claimed their bow back from Rhalurn and made their way to the guard tower. Then it came, Rhalurn couldn’t help but feel a chill go down his spine, the Prophecy was accurate, or at least the Emperor thought it to be. The ancient sound echoing throughout the town, pausing every man and Elf in his step was that of the Angrilian Horn, used only by the Emperor’s Shaman, who according to Rhalurn’s sources in the West, was the Orc Donray. Another chill went down his spine, thinking of all the potential creatures who could be accompanying the shaman.

The youngest member of the council Elite, Jacob rushed towards Rhalurn and the other Elders, then said with a whimper
“Goblins, there are hundreds of them, Rhalurn.” A sigh came from the Elders, this was bad news: but not the worst. Rhalurn grabbed his staff and nodded towards Jacob, who had retreated back within the building. Their spies would be found soon, so every piece of information on the enemy was essential. Rhalurn cursed, the two Elves were supposed to of arrived two days ago, yet they were still nowhere to be found. They were the ones supposed to take the Nisoon to the Elven land of Loriea. Rhalurn half jumped down the stairway, missing most of the steps; seemingly gliding towards to exit of the building. Within an hour the Donray and the minions would be at the gates, if the Elves had let him down, he would have to take the boy to safety himself.

Riocht stretched out his arms, he hated summer mornings. So warm yet so much to do, he kicked the sheets off and dragged himself outside. He made his way to the village well, most houses had organised some sort of bathing unit, but due to the recent floods throughout Western Jordan, the sewage system had been causing havoc. The bucket lay motionless on the floor, Riocht deemed this slightly peculiar, considering the irregular gusts flowing throughout Jordan, but thought it just one of those things. He bent down to pick up the bucket and groaned, his sides were starting to hurt, and he had missed breakfast again. He tied the rope from the bucket to the well, it was secure enough. Riocht then chucked the bucket down the well and waited for the splash, there it was. Then there it was, a protracted echo throughout the hills, he swore that was the second time he had heard it that day. Wasn't that the sound that had woke him up, he had never heard anything like that before hand, it must of meant something if it was being echoed twice throughout their desolated land. He pulled on the lever, until the bucket had come back up through the well. Then the pounding from far-off drums hit his ears, this was not good news, even though Riocht was only fifteen seasons of age, he knew when something big was about to kick off. He washed himself over a few times, until he was confident enough that he didn’t give off a stench anymore.
Donray cleared his throat, he would have to emphasize the importance of this boy to the creatures. “Goblin Sar! This mission is of the up most importance, all of the villagers are expendable, but there is only one we need, the Nisoon is essential to your survival as well as my own, get him – alive, or face the Emperor's wrath!” A bellow of acknowledgement came from the Goblins, the clattering of shields and swords. Donray pulled on his armor, seemingly flimsy from appearance, but forged the steels in the mountains of Broadin, the homeland of the Dwarven folk. He had brought with him a gift from the Emperor, to most mere mortals it was just a silver sword, crafted with extreme care and attention. Yet to the trained eye, there was an inscription on the side of the blade that spoke ‘Salyz’n Mularg’ the old tongue for ‘Entrusted One’ a personal mark from the Emperor himself, given to only those worthy of his service.

Riocht walked back to the town centre, naked for all but a cloth covering his modesty. Either he was extremely paranoid today or there was a lack of guards patrolling the streets, either way he quickened his pace towards his home. Something was wrong, the door to his house was open, yet there was no noise from within. Riocht cursed, he had left his knife in his room, not that he had any experience bar wolves on using it. He doubted it would be anywhere as easy using it on other creatures.
The knife lay pressed against his palm, the hooded figure nodded at his accomplice, standing opposite him. The boy had been seen coming near enough a mile off. The steps by the door creaked, Riocht had entered the building. He held his breath as the Nisoon cautiously took his first few steps inside; they didn’t want the creature over-reacting and doing something dangerous, to them or to him. He was extremely important to their cause. The figure saw the streaks of black hair swaying from the Nisoon as it entered the room, Riocht turned and paused as the two men walked out from the shadows and blocked the only exit, then the hooded figure said coolly
“Finally, you have arrived, Nisoon.”

“Who are you? What have you done with my parents?” Riocht bellowed at him, the hooded figure seemed disturbed by the boy’s reaction, he took his hood off revealing his Elven features, Golden hair flowing over his face, a meek smile on his face. The Elve put his blade back in the sheath and murmured to Riocht
“It is okay son, we are here to help.” Riocht flipped the table over, he wasn’t going to let his guard down for a second. It did strike him peculiar that all this commotion was caused by two rogue Elves. Riocht’s eyes were constantly scanning the room for signs of struggle, his parents couldn’t have seen them coming. But surely his father would have put up a fight, he was no mild farmer, he had taught Riocht many different types of fighting combat over the years, along with being the owner of a Slyn Blade. Riocht repeated his question, more calmly
“What have you done with my parents?” The Golden haired Elve frowned and replied
“They left me to explain a few things to you.” Riocht spat
“I don’t believe you.” The Elve gave a sigh, then responded
“My name is Suphal, I’m Lord Soren’s High Lieutenant, he sent me here to bring you back to him.” Riocht paused, this was all pretty unbelievable to him. What would the Elven Lord want with him, surely there were more important concerns than a young Nisoon living out his days in Suran.

Riocht would play it safe for the moment, he would hear this Suphal out. The Nisoon asked him
“What would he want with me? Forgive me if I find this all a little hard to believe, seeing as its coming from two armed intruders in my house.” The other Elve gave a sneer and whispered something to Suphal, who nodded and answered to Riocht
“We haven’t time for all of this, did you not hear the Angrilian horn?” the Nisoon vaguely recognized that name, where had he heard it from before? For some reason it reminded him of the stories his mother used to tell him as a boy. Suphal tapped his foot impatiently and explained
“The Emperor’s horn, he has sent a horde of Goblins accompanied by his Orc Shaman, Donray. They are after you, Riocht.” The Nisoon gave a nervous laugh, surely Suphal had got the wrong person. Riocht asked meekly
“Why? I’ve done nothing to him, I’m nobody.” It was the Elves turn to laugh, Suphal’s accomplice replied
“You are the one prophesied about for the last two centuries, the Nisoon who will forge the men of Wraith.” This was just too much for Riocht, they’re trying to tell him he was some sort of prophet? Sure, he wasn’t stupid – he knew he was different from the others, but he had heard stories of others like him, even stories of Nisoons alive now. He looked nervously at the Elve blocking the door, he had dropped his guard. Riocht shoulder barged past him, taking the Elve by surprise. He stumbled outside of the door, whispers of smoke came from the staff in front of him, and he looked up at the face of the Shaman and gasped
“Rhalurn! Help, they are in there; the two Elves.” The Shaman held back a smile and helped the Nisoon up, then tenderly reassured Riocht
“They are here to help, Riocht. I had come to take you myself, but at least now you have Suphal to guide you.” Riocht spluttered, if they really were there to help him, and if Rhalurn had come to take him, then the story about this prophecy must have some relevance to him.

Donray gave a grunt, it had took him over five seasons to rise through the Emperor’s ranks, now he was in charge of the Emperor’s most important missions: assassinations of noble men, the training of the Drocks and Drows, along with confidential matters such as this young Nisoon. He hated working with the goblin horde, useless creatures who sell themselves to the highest bidders. He had no respect for them, not that he himself gained any respect for his position for the Emperor, an Orc working for anyone else but another Orc was seen as weak, along with the fact that one of Donray’s jobs for the Emperor was having to recruit other Orken warriors. Donray smirked, they had reached the gates of Suran, and he glanced up at the archers glaring down at them. Donray beckoned the three sorcerers that he had been given to help minimize loses, they would set up a simple protection shield over the Goblin archers. The lead sorcerer asked Donray
“Shaman, to summon the shields we will have to have complete concentration…” When a flare of smoke stopped the sorcerer mid-sentence, Donray looked up at the Elven archers and cursed. He signaled a counter attack on the Elves, he waved his hand past his face and walked through the barrage of arrows falling away a few feet from his body.

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Gabriel Gray

Rhalurn saw the flames from the gate, which was the signal from Elders about Donray’s horde approaching. He cursed, they had wasted too much time talking, and they had to go now before it was too late. He looked at Riocht, the lad was still taking it all in, and Rhalurn felt a pang of sympathy for the Nisoon. Even if they managed to escape the grasp of the Emperor this time, surely that would only enrage him further, bringing upon them more attention and with that bring more of the Western minions. Also breaking to him about why the Emperor was after him would be the biggest problem, revealing the identity of his true parents would also be a challenge. Riocht was talking to Suphal and his companion, revealed to be the Nephew of Soren, Liosnor. Suphal was explaining the journey ahead of them.
“Riocht, you have to understand once we leave Suran, you will not be able to return to it. Once we get towards the Eastern River we will set sail to Loriea and not look back.” Riocht stuttered
“But… but my parents! Have they already left?” Liosnor paused and asked quizzically
“Why does it matter? Hasn’t Rhalurn explained this to you already?” Riocht’s gaze was vacant, he had no idea what Liosnor was talking about, why wouldn’t it matter to him where his parents were? What kind of reply was that? Just before Riocht could say anything else, a hideous green creature came hurtling at them, his teeth black with rot and skin hanging from the bones. His eyes were the most haunting thing, glowing as if he had stolen them from stars above, both of them gazing firmly on Riocht. Without any words being spoken, Suphal and Liosnor simultaneously drew back their bow and shot down the foul creature. Riocht asked them, stunned
“What was that beast? From its appearance I can guess only a Goblin or Gremlin.” Suphal took another arrow from his quiver and said quietly
“A member of the Goblin horde, we must leave immediately. All will be explained when we are in the Loriea, now we must make haste.” Rhalurn stood motionless as the Elves lead Riocht towards the old Chapel, Riocht’s heart stopped, he was going to stay and fight them off by himself. Riocht tried to get away from the two Elves, but they weren’t loosening their grip.

“Come with us Rhalurn! You must not stay and die!” pleaded the Nisoon, but the Shaman just twisted his neck round and winked at him, he had pledged his life in delivering this boy to Soren, but he wasn’t going to leave the people he had grown to love, die. Three more Goblins sprinted erratically towards Riocht, Two green bolts of lightening hit the closest, whilst Suphal and Liosnor took out the other two respectively. They were minutes away from the Chapel doors, when a tremendous voice bellowed
“Riocht, half-breed heir of Loriea and Orkein, you shall bow to him!” Donray paced down the now empty road of Suran, Suphal shot off several arrows at the shaman, all of which just fell to the floor several feet away from the Orc. Rhalurn waved away the Elves’ effort, and spoke
“Leave us be, I will handle this Orken traitor.” He gave a smirk as Donray let out a howl at the comment, Riocht was pushed inside the Chapel’s doors.

“So, this is who the Emperor entrusts with the Angrilian horn? I must admit, his taste in friends still manages to disgust and amaze me, Shaman.” Spat Rhalurn, noting the silver sword resting in the Orc’s right palm. Donray retorted
“I don’t need to answer to you, all I need is the boy and I’ll let you live.” Rhalurn laughed, all he needed to do was delay the Shaman long enough for Riocht to reach the Eastern River. Rhalurn held his staff vertically across his body, he was hoping to make the most out of the energy surrounding him. He shouted across to Donray
“Let me tell you one thing Donray, surely you realize the harm the Emperor is causing to the lands?” The Orc Shaman smirked, he understood what this man was trying to do, but he also recognized the oak staff he was holding. Donray replied
“It is all for the greater good, White Cloak.”

Rhalurn slammed his staff into the ground, the dirt around him seemed to shake with anticipation. Cracks in the ground appeared, the clouds around them grouped together and grew darker. This was now a battle of the dark magiks, both shamans calling upon the elements to aid their will, something rarely seen in battle, let alone against each other, even the Goblins seemed to shrink back from the scene. Donray glanced at the face of his enemy, his concentration so clear that at one point the Orc could have sworn Rhalurn’s hair had darkened to a bloody red. Sparks were flying off against each other, chants and positioning of their bodies constantly in momentum, if one had walked in on this battle muted, the sheer passion and aggression behind every stroke was clear to see something dark was occurring here.

Donray sent small shocks of electricity at the shaman, only one of which hit him, the rest were deflected by the man’s staff. Arrows and bolts were flying towards Rhalurn now that the hideous Goblins had managed to get past the first line of defense. Donray’s smile grew as he saw the shaman straining to keep the shield up, so he took it to his advantage – the Orken shaman sent streams of black smoggy wisps at Rhalurn, which wrapped around his neck as the shaman gasped for air. Donray didn’t care much for fighting fair, as long as he got the job done. The Orc made his way to the shaman, who was lying on the floor, his staff by his side – defenseless. Donray pressed the point of his blade against Rhalurn’s throat, his face had nearly turned blue due to how long he had been strangled for. Donray snarled at the shaman and said
“It seems as if you have sacrificed your life for nothing, fool.” But to his disgust, the shaman started to give a queasy laugh, and with his last words said
“The Nisoon… is alive, I give it willingly.” Donray slammed the blade through his throat, cursing at the comment. Surely the boy and two Elven archers were still entrapped in the chapel.

“Riocht, come on.” Suphal urged, constantly looking back through the corridor. Rhalurn must have done well, they had made their way half way across the underground tunnel, built those twenty seasons ago by Rhalurn himself. Liosnor was leading the way, carrying their last flamed torch ahead of them so they wouldn’t lose their way. Riocht groaned, he had stepped in another puddle of mud, he didn’t think too much of the design of this exit, but was more than grateful to be away from those filthy Goblins, along with that creature who called for him to bow to somebody, whoever it was, they were never going to get him to bow down to him.

Donray pushed open the chapel doors, of which had been locked from the inside – nothing a bit of magik couldn’t fix. The two goblin sorcerers were busily summoning pixie-flies for the search. These creatures could scout out a person within a twenty mile radius. After a good hour of searching, a majority of the pixies were hovering over an ancient altar, the scout-leader Lea floated above Donray and spoke
“Beneath the altar, some sort of hideout.” The Orc grunted and signaled for the Goblins to start hacking away at the altar, eventually they would get through.

Suphal gave a whistle and smiled with relief, they had made it to the tunnels exit, in front of them laid a small wooden boat, two oars inside it and a scroll by their side. Riocht followed Liosnor and Suphal out of the tunnel and pointed at the scroll
“A note left by Rhalurn, perhaps?” Liosnor nodded and slowly unraveled it, it wrote:

‘Dearest friends,
If you are reading this scroll then all has gone to plan. Sadly I was never to leave Suran with you, but I have gone on to a better place, whilst I leave you in these perilous lands alone. Riocht, you must trust Suphal and Liosnor, they will do you naught but good. I know you must be confused and upset, but this is essential, this must happen. I’m afraid to say I have been keeping a dark secret from you all these years, your parents are not truly your birthparents, which I’m sure you have come to realise over the past few seasons. They are safe in Aurion for now, but for their own safety they must have no further contact with you.

You are the one who could save us all, Riocht. You are the prophesied one, you must stay safe until you are of age, then you, if all goes to plan will form the Ten Men of Wraith, I have not the time nor the conscience to tell you more of your bad news, but fear not. As long as you are in the Protection of Lord Soren and the Elven lands stand proud, no harm shall befall on you.

May the Light shine upon you all,

Rhalurn.’


Donray pushed the Goblins aside, seeing the gaping hole that lay in front of him. He jumped down and groaned, his feet were soaked, whoever had made this tunnel had skimped on the finishing. He yelled up at the sorcerers
“Chuck me down a torch, if he gets away I will rip your filthy throats out.” Two of them were hurriedly thrown at the shaman, he snarled and made his way through the now dimly lit tunnel. Donray looked down at his blade, which he had placed back in the sheath before jumping, he wondered what the Emperor would do once he found out the boy still wasn’t dead.

Suphal watched as Riocht and Liosnor pushed the boat off the bank and jumped in after them. It wouldn’t be long until the shaman had found a way to reveal their hiding place, dark magik always seemed to have a way of revealing secrets. Suphal had worked for Lord Soren for twelve seasons, he was the son of a humble weapon-smith, his mother having died during childbirth. Soren had always been a father-figure to him, seeing as his own was absolved in his work. At first he had been sent on perilous missions to the ends of the land, but eventually he won the respect and honour of being the King’s High Lieutenant, a position which places him with nothing but the most important missions and the highest ranking position in Loriea. Suphal watched as the ripples of waves kept changing with the strokes of the oars, he hadn’t agreed on having Liosnor accompany him on such a violent mission, seeing as he was next in line to the throne. But Soren’s brother, Haurion had insisted on it. Thundering and smoke came from the exit they had left but an hour ago from, the shaman had defeated Rhalurn, he was dead. Liosnor looked up at Suphal in panic, they had spent too much time in Suran, now they were about to pay for it.

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Gabriel Gray

Donray emerged from the tunnel, coughing up foul liquid which from nowhere started to fill the tunnel once he was half way through, no doubt a final trick from the deceased Rhalurn. Nether the less, he forced himself throughout the tunnel, watching it collapse from behind. He covered his eyes from the suns glare, seeing in the distance a small wooden boat holding three figures inside. He cursed, he couldn’t get close enough to kill the boy, along with water being the only surface his magic didn’t work on. The Orken shaman called upon the storms, clouding over the small boat a mile or two off shore. There was no chance they would survive that far from shore, he smiled and tracked back to the horde.

Suphal cursed, and then cursed again. The shaman had got past Rhalurn’s trap, having the altar being a falsified entrance. The sky had darkened, and the roaring of thunder even silenced the questioning of Riocht. Rain slowly started falling upon the three, quickening with its pace every moment. Flashes of lightening occurred all the more frequently, until the first hit the front of the boat. Riocht yelled
“The boat’s sinking! The waters seeping in through the front!” the two Elves merely glared at him whilst emptying the boat of the water. Suphal passed his oar to Riocht and said
“You’re going to have to row us to shore by yourself, if myself and Liosnor don’t keep this water out, we will drown.” Riocht nodded and took the other oar in his left hand, he started rowing it in union with the rash movements of the sea, he held back a smirk, Riocht was rowing faster by himself than when he was with Liosnor.

Another two bolts of lightening came dangerously close to the boat, Liosnor muttered
“We’ll all die out here, I should have never of come.” To which Suphal grabbed him by the arm and said
“We shall not die here, not now, not after all we have been through, brother.” They nodded to each other, the understanding was clear. They had spent most of their time of service together, whether it was controlling the Orkein borders or handling rogue bandits on the Northern coasts. Suphal had managed to border up a majority of the hole, when another bolt came down from the skies, hitting a stunned Liosnor straight in the chest. Suphal dropped the piece of wood in his hand and fell to his knees, they had been so close to the border. Suphal ripped his friend’s shirt off and saw the burn mark on the skin, spreading throughout his chest were green marks, dark magik had spread throughout his body. Suphal screamed
“Don’t do this to me Liosnor! Don’t leave me, not now! I need you.” He rested his head on his dead friend’s body, there was no bringing him back. Riocht looked over at the crumpled body of Liosnor and then glanced to the fallen Suphal. If this was just his escape from the Emperor, was this all that was in store for him in the future? More people dying, more friends losing their lives to protect his own. And for what? Some prophecy made hundreds of seasons ago by a group of old men who saw him as some potential hero, he was no hero. He wasn’t going to let more people die.

He removed the spiked helmet from his head, he was sweating profusely. Riocht sighed, it had been over eight seasons since he his life had been ripped apart, yet the attempts on his life kept coming. He ripped the sleeve from his shirt and wiped the blood off his sword, it was the only weapon he had to his name, no point getting it rusty. He looked down at his would be killer, another Orc assassin, this wasn’t going to stop. Riocht made his way back to the inn, as he pushed through the door he couldn’t help but hear the all too familiar sound of betrayal, some gasped, others just glared at him. He wasn’t supposed to return, he was supposed to be dead.

Suphal stared aimlessly throughout the palace, it would be days before Lord Soren returned from his trip to Hailion, for now he was in charge of Loriea’s affairs. The search for the Nisoon had been ongoing for the last eight seasons, ever since the whole fiasco of the Suran incident. He felt bad about losing Riocht, not that he could stop him from escaping whilst carrying the corpse of his countries future king on his shoulder. The last they had heard from him, he had been the cause of a brawl in the outskirts of New Algae, a small group of Drock warriors had tracked him down, only to be encountered by the Salion tribe, the only survivor being the young Nisoon. The doors to the throne room opened slowly, a fresh faced Elven maid entered, carrying a tray of fruits and wine. Suphal smiled, she reminded him of Princess Sara, then his smile faded, he shouldn’t even be thinking of her in that way. The maid placed the tray on the side table and left the room, Suphal picked up and grape and placed it in his mouth, if he stayed here any longer he would go insane.

Riocht walked past the tanned faces of the townsfolk, all of them human – but due to the humidity of Algae, their skin was a lot darker than their kin in Jordan. He made his way past the inn keeper, who was glaring at the supposedly dead Nisoon still in his inn. Riocht went to his room and gathered the remaining possessions and threw off his blood soaked clothes. Once changed, he felt the small pouch of gold he had in his pocket, enough to get him to Loriea perhaps, enough to perhaps bribe a meeting with Lord Soren, the one who so desperately desired his acquaintance, yet has done very little to follow his blatant trail of corpses left behind. Riocht paused, something was kicking off outside the inn. He pulled away the curtain and saw a group of black robed men, all of them carrying curved blades. Riocht smirked, he hadn’t fought anyone like this before, and it would be a challenge to say the least. He made his way down the stairs, his sword dragging against the stairs at every step. The clattering of swords had already begun, Riocht stopped, this wasn’t how it normally happened. He made his way past the innkeeper again, this time he seemed somewhat distracted. Riocht quickened his pace towards the door, pushing it open.

Suphal pulled the hood over his head, he would have to keep himself hidden from the imperial guards, he was sure they wouldn’t let him leave whilst Soren was outside of the country. He would track down the Nisoon, it wouldn’t be long until the Emperor sent his shaman to finish off the job he failed to do eight seasons ago. Suphal covered his bow with a black clothe, the emblems on the side were too recognizable, along with his face. Suphal made his way to the royal stables, pulling his horse out of its stall. He would make his way to the Northern border, gain passage on the ship to New Algae and from there track down the Nisoon. He grinned, he had been stuck inside that Palace for too long, this was going to be fun.

Riocht stood amazed, the floor was stained with blood, robed bodies sprawled across the ground, the only one standing glared at him, his eyes focusing on him. Riocht stepped out, what the hell was happening? The robed man took another look at Riocht, and then went to walk off. Riocht ran after him, grabbed him and turned him to face him, the face seemed familiar.
“Who are you? Why did you kill your friends?” the man gave a harsh laugh, and replied
“Just a friend of a friend, those weren’t my companions. Go now, Riocht, more will come.” Riocht shook his head, the first person to speak to him in over eight seasons, without the sentence ending ‘You will die half-breed’ and now he wanted to leave with no explanation? This wasn’t going to happen, not now. Riocht asked
“Friend, you can’t just leave, please stay and explain why you are here?” the man sighed, he didn’t have time to explain to the Nisoon.
“Riocht, take my word on it: just get out of town, I have to leave, I’m sorry.” Again he set off to leave, Riocht wasn’t going to let him leave. He stepped in front of him, his sword slightly off the ground, his new friend laughed nervously
“You wouldn’t harm the one who just helped you now, would you?” Riocht nodded, he wanted answers, and he wasn’t going to let him leave without an explanation.
“Tell me your name, tell me who sent you, tell me how you got trusted by those men?” he glanced down at Riocht’s sword, gleaming in the sun, he had heard the Nisoon was unstable, his death toll was over a hundred, not all of them were completely worthy of their fate.

Rain poured down from the heavens, the hood and face of the horse rider was drenched. He forced his eyes open, fatigue was finally kicking in, straining to see. Two blurred lights in the distance, Suphal smiled to himself – the harbor couldn’t be too far off now. Wiping away the water from his brow, Suphal slid off his horse and called out to the torchbearers
“Good day, Wood-Elves. I’m looking for passage aboard the ship to New Algae, could either of you point me in the right direction?” a rough laugh come from the tallest torch bearer, Suphal carried on smiling, hoping these bandits wouldn’t see through his false naivety. Both of his hands behind his back, a silver blade in each, perhaps one of them would head him in the right direction before they faded into the afterlife.

“My name is Mian, I have been tracking your movements for weeks.” Riocht’s robed companion explained, “I infiltrated these assassins whilst in Balronia, ten miles to the West of where we just came from.”
Riocht looked suspiciously at the man who had taken out five, supposedly lethal killers in the time it took him to leave the inn. He looked at Mian and nodded
“Fair enough, but why did they trust you? How did you know they were after me? Why would you even be concerned about a half-breed?” Mian noted the venom behind the pronunciation of ‘Half-breed’ and replied
“As you well know, young Nisoon, for the last eight seasons the Emperor has been tracking your whereabouts with great interest. Whatever the Emperor wants dead, I most certainly want to keep alive.” He continued “As for gaining their trust, I arranged for a group of bandits to say, wonder across their path?” he gave a laugh “I stepped in, slaughtered the fools and was practically begged to stay.” Riocht gave a snort of approval and slapped him on the back
“Magnificent, truly you are a cunning one.” A smile spread across Mian’s face, the trust was there, now to wait until he fell asleep.

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Gabriel Gray

The two bandits walked up towards the Elve, clearly a long way from home, his garments were torn but clearly made of fine fabrics, perhaps a heavy pouch to go with it. The smaller of the two cocked his head to the side and bowed
“Why of course, visitor of the woods, kin of the South.” His slightly less clued up partner sniggered, only to get a sly dig in the ribs from his friend. Suphal continued his slow walk towards the two, blades ready to impale their necks and end their miserable lives. But the charade was in play, Suphal would play along, it had been a long time since he had met such a confident thief. Suphal asked, with mock questioning
“So, kind friends, where could I find the dockyard? Perhaps you two could take me there?” the sniggering bandit replied
“Yeah, we’ll take you there alright, follow us.” Waving his hand enthusiastically as if Suphal wouldn’t be able to see him other any other way. They had the perfect place to stick this stranger and rid of his body, two problems solved with one convenient hiding hole. Suphal lead his horse behind him, clicking every so often when the horse strayed off track, purely because he didn’t want to drop his guard for a second around these two, not the brightest of Elves, but seemingly capable of doing him harm in his weakened state.

The skies were darkening, the eerie dripping of rain slowed as the two companions stopped for the night. Mian had removed his cloak entirely now, using it to cover the fire from the rain, his long, black greasy hair covering half of his face. Riocht walked through the marsh, making his way to the few trees around in the area, picking up the biggest pieces of wood for the fire that night. By the time he was back, there were two skinned rabbits waiting there for him, Mian grinning at his victory over the woodland creatures. Riocht burnt the first rabbit beyond the quality to eat, so Mian cooked the other, grudgingly giving Riocht the bigger half. Mian told Riocht of the time he was trapped within a Troll’s cave, having to fight his way out of the hole, whilst the Trolls were being invaded by the Giants, Riocht laughed every so often, he had missed contact with other people, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself he didn’t. Exhaustion took him, he fell in a dark deep sleep. He crept from underneath the makeshift cover, resting the sharp point of the sword against his friend’s neck, when he woke.
“Riocht, what the hell are you doing?” Mian yelled, groaning at the situation he had let himself into. The Nisoon gave a twisted smile
“The real Mian is a barbarian, he lives in the Western lands of New Algae, he has never been to Phandor, nor fought his way out of a cave full of Trolls and Giants. You have two minutes to explain yourself, fool.” He pressed the blade further into his neck, blood was trickling out. He stuttered, protesting his innocence when he started to hyperventilate, his eyes rolled back and foam was coming from his mouth. Riocht jumped back in shock, he had never seen anything like this before.
“Who is doing this to you? Who are you?” the man on the floor went still, he was dead.

Suphal started to tire of the walk, if they weren’t planning on taking him near the docks, even for the irony of fulfilling his request, they might be taking him further off course, he didn’t have time, and he had to warn the Nisoon about the Emperor’s spy. Suphal had learnt just days ago that the Emperor had sent a small group of expendable blade stalkers, along with one of his infamous spies. No doubt he would use the spy to perform something to gain Riocht’s trust, whilst then plotting to kill him whilst he slept. Suphal fastened his pace and put his arm around the confident ones neck, twisting it back violently, his eyes wide open in shock. His accomplice was totally thrown off guard, started bumbling around with his sheath, trying to withdraw his sword. Suphal slashed the arm going for the sword with one blade, then held the other the bandit’s throat while Suphal whispered gently
“Now, where are those docks you wanted to show me?”

Riocht woke at the break of dawn, his dreams had been haunted by the scenes of last night. Whoever had sent ‘Mian’ after him, most definitely didn’t want Riocht finding out anything about them. This was worrying to Riocht, as the Emperor hadn’t done anything like that before, so perhaps this imposter held valuable information to him? Or potentially somebody else was after him, he shuddered at the thought. The Emperor’s minions were bad enough, let alone a rogue grudge held against him else where. Riocht went over to the imposter’s corpse, emptied out all of his pockets, he heard a clang as something hit the floor. His pouch, Riocht smiled greedily as he felt the solid gold pieces in his hands, this would guarantee his passage and meeting with the King, he laughed, finally the Emperor had slipped up, now he would be untouchable.

The bandit wailed and begged to be let go, the cut on his arm was still bleeding, Suphal couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about lying to the Elve, he had no intention of letting him go and attack other innocent people, and once he was at the docks he would kill the thief. Oil lanterns were becoming more frequent in his sight, the pathetic excuse of an Elve had led him to the docks, two town guards stood motionless at the entrance, one eyeing up the injured Elve bleeding profusely, the other wondering what the hell High Lieutenant Suphal was doing this far away from the Palace. Suphal nodded towards the two guards and stopped supporting the dead-weight of the bandit, who then slumped to the floor. Suphal noted
“You’ll find the other one 4 miles south, face first in a ditch.” One of the guards looked at his superior and headed off, he got the hint, he was on body duty tonight. The other held a curious smile and said
“So, Lieutenant Suphal, what brings you to our lovely, run-down town of Ruindin?” a groan came from the bandit on the floor, the guard gave him a swift kick in the side and smiled politely at Suphal, who replied
“Ah, that is confidential information I’m afraid.”
“That it might be, but I think I should inform you of something we have been told is a national risk issue.” Suphal looked curiously at the guard, what could he possibly know that he didn’t? Suphal waved his hand and motioned for the guard to continue
“Well, it seems like Loriea has brought in a high profile guest from the shores of New Algae, why here he is now, High Lieutenant.” Suphal glanced over to the only shift on the shore, out from the shadows of the door came the Nisoon, Suphal laughed, well it saved him the journey.

Riocht made his way out onto the dock, he leant his neck back and inhaled a deep breath of sea air. Just as his head came down, a ghost from his past stared straight at him, Suphal? He quickened his steps, carrying only his sword and his coat. He ran up and wrapped his arms around the Elve, he wasn’t too sure why, but it was what he needed, he was finally safe again. Suphal was taken back by the reception, it seemed all too surreal for him, the slightly oversized boy was now a giant of a man, his skin had darkened over the past seasons, along with his body grown firmer and clearly stronger. Suphal noted the sword at his side, not the best of blades, but must have cost the lad a fortune. Once Riocht had let go of his Elven friend, he explained
“I’m so sorry I left you there, Suphal. I just didn’t want more people to die, after what happened to poor Liosnor…” Suphal put an arm around his shoulder and spoke softly
“Liosnor died protecting the future he fought so hard for, he would have been proud of your bravery, or what I saw more as foolery!” Riocht gave a half smile and said
“Suphal, you wouldn’t believe how terrible these seasons have been for me, attack after attack, I’ve done some terrible things Suphal, some regrettable things.” Suphal wasn’t too sure how to answer that revelation, what could this scared young Nisoon of possibly done to warrant such guilt? Instead he tried to sway the conversation, as the guard led them to their quarters for the night, along with putting the horse in the stables.
“Riocht, I do believe we could make it back to Aurauion in time to introduce you to Lord Soren, he has awaited your arrival for a long time, I got a feeling he will be able to fill in some gaps for you.” He gave Riocht a wink as they split up to find their rooms Riocht gave a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be fine.

It had been three days since he had seen a town, he was considering his option here, either head back to the town and delay his arrival even more, or hope that he finds the next town before his water ran out. His muscular body ached in the sun, his dark skin starting to peel due to the amount of time he had spent walking throughout the day and the lack of sleep he had been getting at nights. His tribe leader was right, he didn’t deserve the right to live, he half expected the tribe to kill him after the last brawl, he just couldn’t seem to help it, the ritual sacrifices were old fashioned and cruel to say the least. It was when his son, Faurin had been chose as the donation to the Gods, that he lost it all together. The huts of his friends burned down, throats of his leaders slit, he wasn’t one to do things by half. He had taken his wife and son to the small town of Hurin, left in the company of his brother Jioray and his family. Now he had to get as far away from them as possible, because if they tracked him down and they were within a hundred miles of him, they would be killed too. He stopped in his tracks, his short brown hair blowing about in the wind, it had been far too quiet, a whole week without anyone tracking him, now if there was ever going to be an attack, it would be now. The wind started to howl, pushing around the sand from the ground into the warrior’s eyes, he snarled as in the distance three figures appeared, one abnormally big and the other two seemingly ranking the beast. Surely one of them must have influenced the irregularity of the weather, else it be the will of the Gods? Revenge for his disobedience perhaps? He was unsure, he had seen many strange things in his life, the Barbarians knew many different ways to encourage the God’s assistance, many dark and mysterious rituals bringing irregular length of life to some, whilst unbelievable strength in others. He would have to wait for these three challengers, if he carried on walking who’s to say when he would fall to the affects of fatigue, Mian awaited the trio

Riocht slept soundly for the first night in seasons, yet those dreams came again, his imposter staring with his dull dead eyes, the twitching of his mouth as the foam once again came spewing out. Then something different happened, the face burnt horrifically leaving nothing but a skull. Riocht looked around, it was just him and the skull in the room. The skull’s mouth opened, burning red lights coming from the eye sockets and spoke
“So this is the Nisoon I’ve spent so much of my time hunting down?” with a cold laugh, the skull zoomed towards the cowering Riocht, confused over the dreams meaning, this was too real for him, the skull continued “The one who’s caused me all this trouble? Come to me Riocht, you really think the Elvish fools can save you? This is the first and last time I will offer you this offer: Come to me, and I’ll let you live as one of my guards, by my side.” Riocht looked up at the skull and spat with angst
“Like you would spare my life, after spending eight seasons trying to kill me? There’s no chance of that happening and you know it.” The skull spun closer and closer to Riocht, moving the dream to an overview of the Elven Palace, burning down whilst Drocks and Orcs were cutting through the Elven defense. The skull flew back in front of Riocht’s dismayed face and said with a cackle
“You now see what will happen if you don’t hand yourself in? You are the one cause of this all, just end your life now miscreant, then perhaps all these innocents need not die.” With that he woke sweating in the small bed, his feet sticking out from the end, he kicked the covers off and went to bathe, if he had just seen the future, he couldn’t go with Suphal, and he wouldn’t let that happen.

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Gabriel Gray

Mian pulled the twin axes from his back, for a normal person one of them would have been heavy enough, but the barbarian swung them with such ease it seemed almost unnatural. As far as he could tell, the beast was more of an ogre, most probably a half breed, seeing as it was only 3 feet taller than Mian at best. The person to his left was a Drow, by the look of all the tattoos and piercings on his face and arms, he was a well respected sorcerer in Hailion. Mian couldn’t help but feel smug at being right, but slightly annoyed at the fact he was going to be having a confrontation with a sorcerer. The last one there seemed to be a blade stalker, well this was most probably the most random group he had come up against in the past. Mian spat at the sorcerer
“Leave now, you filthy warlock.” The Drowen sorcerer ignored the barbarian’ words, leaving the blade stalker to confront Mian
“Hail, Mian the Barbarian, slaughterer of the Huiril tribe, betrayer of the Gods. We are here to end your life, any last words?” Mian replied
“Just a few, do your worst.” The blade stalker smirked
“No need, Gonfale: you heard the man, do your worst.” The ogre laughed and swung his flail around his head a few times, waiting for Mian to make his move. Mian hacked at the ogre’s leg, whilst blocking the flail with his other axe. The ogre looked at his right leg, with the axe still wedged in it and gave a wail. The blade stalker threw his sword to the Gonfale, watching the creature out power the barbarian, each blow taking more and more energy out of them both. Gonfale rammed his twenty stone bulk into Mian’s stomach, sending him flying through the air. Mian knew he wouldn’t be able to take the ogre on strength for strength, but he knew he could outwit it. Throwing his second axe, it slashed against the chest of the creature, giving him another deep wound, yet he didn’t seem likely to stop through pain. The barbarian ripped his shirt open, revealing a girdle with six knives attached, as the ogre went to ram into Mian again, almost instinctively he withdrew the first two knives, one of which went into the shoulder blade of the beast, whilst the other scratched past the creature’s face, leaving a disfiguring scar. Not that Mian had any intention of Gonfale having another glance at his face again, bar perhaps in a puddle he was to fall face first in. Gonfale continued his sprint at the barbarian, Mian pulling out another two of the blades at the ogre, this time the first one missed entirely, whilst the other throwing blade stuck into his left eye, Mian couldn’t help but laugh at the ogre’s predicament, two axes sticking out of his body and partially blinded. The blade stalker came from behind Mian, a steel dagger in the back, Mian’s face went white, he grunted
“coward, bloody coward!” and rammed one of his blades through the throat of the blade stalker, who’s smug look soon disappeared, along with his pulse.

Freshly washed, Riocht looked at the side of his bed, new clothes had been put there for him, he gave a chuckle, his clothes from last night must have made him look like a vagrant. The dream from last night was still bothering him, it had seemed so real, yet Suphal had assured him that the Emperor couldn’t reach the Elven lands
“Riocht, surely you know about the Golden Archers? They patrol the borders of Loriea regularly, any Drock or Orken soldiers entering our lands will be harshly dealt with.” Suphal explained, whilst the guard from last night entered the inn, carrying a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. “Also, the Orken council has refused to sign a treaty with the Emperor, the chances of them attacking with their Drocken kin is almost as likely as Priestess Noria and myself marrying.” Riocht just stared at Suphal, and said
“I’ve been on the run for over eight seasons, I don’t know all the politicians names.” Suphal laughed and poured some wine for Riocht
“Don’t worry, all you need to worry about is meeting Lord Soren, he will fill you in on everything you need to know.” The Nisoon took a sip of the wine and screwed up his face and muttered
“Sour.”

Gonfale pulled the blade from his eye, blood and puss oozing out. The Drowen Sorcerer had not blinked throughout the fight, not even flinched at the death of his comrade. Mian reached from behind his neck, pulling out a double bladed long-sword. He gripped it firmly with both hands and slashed the ogre’s chest, then plunged it through his stomach. Mian pulled the blade out, he definitely wasn’t one to waste his time. He turned to face the Drow, Mian raised the blade in front of his face and slowly dragged it past his face, licking the dripping blood off as it went past. It tasted disgusting, but Mian found it normally freaked out the less experienced fighters, sadly this wasn’t the case. The expressionless sorcerer gave a sneer, eyeing up his opponent. He wasn’t too bothered about the other two dying, just trebled his bounty reward. The sorcerer muttered a small incantation, summoning small balls of electricity in his hands, the first time some emotion was released from the sorcerer’s expression, the electricity excited him. Mian swung the sword in a semi crescent movement, eyeing up his enemy. The Drowen sorcerer leered at Mian
“5,000 gold coins, hardly seems fitting for such a mighty warrior.” The sorcerer threw the first of the energy balls, accurately blocked by the barbarian’s blade.
“I wondered at first why the Emperor would be interested in such a, well, uninteresting creature. Sure, you fight well enough to become a champion, but I do believe you would require your head for that, sadly I am of greater need.” Another ball of light flew at the barbarian, again expertly blocked by Mian.
“Ah, your reflexes seem to be unbeatable, perhaps if your sight was less than perfect?” pondered the sorcerer, waving his hands erratically to and fro, the sand from the paths flying about in the air, Mian covering his face with his one hand, whilst blocking the wisps of fire sent by the Drow with his blade in the other.

Riocht and Suphal made their way through the busy streets of Rheirn, Riocht couldn’t help but give off a beaming smile at every young Elven girl who glanced his way. Things were so different here, people looked at him with intrigue and respect, and he found it fascinating. The houses and buildings alongside the streets side were beautifully crafted, Riocht had never seen something so unique. Suphal glanced over at Riocht, he had seen this look on nearly every single visitor to Loriea. They made their way past the food market, stalls filled with every different meat and fruit from throughout Loriea and beyond. Riocht paused as two Archer guards walked past talking amongst themselves, both of them looked like the fake ‘Mian’. Riocht asked
“What are those guards? What’s wrong with their skin?” Suphal laughed
“They are Drowen, as are all of the Golden Archers.” Riocht looked up at Suphal
“I didn’t get time to tell you, but just before I made my way to Loriea, the Emperor sent one of these, Drowen folk was claiming to be the barbarian Mian.” Suphal’s face went bright red, this wasn’t good news at all. Suphal pulled Riocht aside
“Are you sure? He was definitely one of these?” Riocht nodded, the remarkable similarity between the two archers and the imposter was unbelievable.
“Absolutely, this is eerie. They look identical, why do they look so similar?” Suphal sighed, it was true that the Drowen males looked very similar in appearance.
“Very well, we will investigate this later on, for now we need to make haste to Palace, Lord Soren is expecting us.” Riocht followed a slightly flustered Suphal towards the palace, so this was what a disgruntled Elve was like.

Mian gritted his teeth, another scorch mark on his chest that would smart later. He hadn’t got anywhere near the sorcerer, every time he got close another burst of electricity or fire would get sent his way. Mian winced as he got hit by another ball of electricity, this was getting too close for his liking. Mian swirled around during a barrage of fireballs, blocking them all with his scorched blade, he lunged at the Drow’s throat, only getting repulsed from the sorcerer, and he got sent flying over thirty yards. The Drowen sorcerer gave a harsh snicker at the fallen barbarian, his protection spell once sprung could repel a target over fifty yards. He leant over Mian, kicking aside the barbarian’s blade, a broad smile spread over his face, the bounty was as good as his. Mian opened his eyes slowly, seeing the grinning Drow staring at his throat, Mian sat up and raised his neck
“You need my head? Then take it, take it you filthy Drow.” The sorcerer cocked his head and leant over to cut his throat, only for Mian to thrust the last remaining blade from his belt in the side of the Drowen sorcerer’s skull. Mian kicked the body of the sorcerer off him, rummaging through the Drow’s belongings. The sorcerer had a few valuable trinkets on him, along with over a hundred gold pieces in his pouch. Mian sighed, no water though
“Win some lose some.”

Riocht couldn’t help but gasp, the golden halls of the palace were simply breath taking. He had seen a lot of things in his short life, including the misty mountains of Jordan and frozen river of Iroin, but they were nothing in comparison to the Elven palace. Lines of soldiers stood throughout the hall, their uniforms of yellow and golden texture. Each of whom wore different helmets to signify their position and rank. A petite young Elven maid took Riocht and Suphal’s coats, whilst two of the Golden Archers opened up the carved doors to the throne room, where stood the prestigious Elven King, Lord Soren.
“Ah, the young Nisoon is finally here, so glad to see you have decided to join us too, Suphal.” A sparkle in Soren’s eye immediately reassured Riocht, whilst Suphal sheepishly answered
"Apologies for the absence, my Lord. It seems young master Riocht had the same intention.” Riocht bowed, unsure on how she should go about addressing him, Soren beamed at him
“Feel free to speak, you are a guest of mine.” Riocht stared back at the King and said
“I just wanted to thank you, your majesty.” Soren gave him a confused look
“What exactly would you like to thank me for? You’ve just met me.” He replied with a laugh, Riocht explained
“I mean for when you organised the escape from Suran, you saved my life.” Suphal interrupted
“It was the right thing to do, you have got a very important role to play Riocht, more important than what I led on the last time we met.” The door to the throne room closed, it was only Soren, Suphal and Riocht left in the room. Soren sighed
“I have a lot to explain, take a seat Riocht.”

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Gabriel Gray

His throat was parched, his skin had gone from a dark brown to a scarlet purple. His hair had turned sandy brown due to the harsh conditions. Mian looked at the six blades attached to his girdle, more often than not the smaller concealed weapons saved his life, rather than the two axes and double bladed sword he lugged around with him. According to his estimations, he was under a mile away from the next town, yet he couldn’t see it anywhere. There it was, the town he spent so long tracking towards, he gave a grunt as the reason why he didn’t see the town was mainly due to the fact that most of the houses had been burnt down, corpses rotting away in the street. Mian couldn’t believe it, wasn’t it bad enough that he had spent a week searching for this place, but now he would have to search through the remains of the huts for water. Perhaps this desolated wasteland had a well somewhere. He pulled two pieces of lumber from the wreckage, the corpses of a young couple lay rotting on the floorboards, Mian moved the male’ corpse out of the way, he had been laying on top of a hatch. Lifting open the flap, Mian made his way down to the basement, seeing a few barrels right at the back. He squeezed himself in between the tables and fallen rubble, he kicked the top off one of the barrels, expecting for it to overspill with wine or ale, but instead a black powder over toppled. Mian grinned, dynamite.

“The prophecy was created at the end of the first age, nigh on over two hundred seasons ago. The rise of the Emperor was seen as the end of time itself, the end of the seasons of Men, Elves and Drow. The high priests of Jordan and Hailion spent twelve seasons creating the prophecy, I think it’s time that you heard it Riocht.” The Nisoon waited patiently, the amount of nights he had spent wondering what was actually said in this prophecy was about, what it said.
“On the third age, their will be one born of royal tenure – son to a murdered king and an exiled priestess. He will be one seen as an outcast, the half-breed throughout the lands, yet will be the only one who can unite the lands through the forging of the ten men of wraith, else the lands will fall to the dark hand of a fallen Elve. His father will the third son in the third age, his mother the fourth daughter of the fourth Princess. Warn be to the half-breed, many of the friends will be foes, yet foes could be used as friends. Warn be to the fallen Elve, your allies can’t be kept, but only strengthen your enemies. The ten men of wraith must be formed and lead by the half-breed, any other influence could result in a change of the stars, a son must kill his birthright, a student must replace his mentor, the Gods will choose the worthy, the Gods won’t intervene.” Riocht’s face dropped, if this was the prophecy Rhalurn was talking about, then this meant Riocht was meant to do something big, something important with his life. He smiled to himself, he always knew he was different, but this was incredible, he was going to unite the lands, he was going to stop the Emperor.

Mian gathered as much of the dynamite in spare pouches he had found in wreckage across the town, along with several canisters of water. He made his way back to the couples destroyed house, making his way back down the hatch. Filling each of the pouches with the dynamite, he tied them to his girdle, it was a little crowded around his chest now, but he wasn’t going to waste something this powerful just due to it digging in his side. He stayed the night under the hatch, he felt some sort of comfort in sleeping underground, probably because he was secure in the knowledge that if anybody interrupted him, they would end up being heard over a mile off. The night kicked in, the howling winds were keeping Mian from drifting off to sleep, the tapping of hooves coming from ground above. Mian picked up his axe, perhaps he could get himself towards Basal quicker. Dragging himself from his attempt of sleep, he made his way outside. There were three white robed horsemen pacing about the ruins, evidently searching for something. Two carried large pikes, one carrying a 12 foot flag with the emblem of a blue horse rearing at a figure which looked like an exaggerated Orken warrior. Mian grimaced, so these were the Orc Slayers, rebel knights from Jordan, travelling the lands ridding countries of Orken bandits and warriors. Perhaps he wouldn’t get a horse, these weren’t exactly the kind of people he wanted to get on the wrong side of. Mian stepped out from the shadows, approaching the Slayers
“Hail, Slayers of the Orken kind. The name’s Mian, son of Hulurn.” The horsemen stopped their horses, all three of them staring at the barbarian. The flag bearer spoke
“Ah, a survivor of this disaster steps forward?” Mian loosened his grip on the axe
“Not quite, I got here two days ago, everyone here must have died well over a week ago.” The two carrying pikes slid off their horses, they didn’t find the story that convincing, the flag bearer replied
“Perhaps we have found the cause of this massacre, we don’t normally deal with human crime, but I guess we can make an exception in this case.”

Suphal looked at the curious expression on Riocht’s face, the strange smile that had appeared on the nisoon’s face once Soren had revealed the prophecy, it seemed peculiar that he found it more interesting than terrifying. Riocht broke the silence
“But you told me my parents were safe in Aurion? Now this prophecy is saying my dad was some sort of King and dead?” Soren looked towards Suphal, he hadn’t told the boy, these eight seasons he had been living a lie. Suphal gave a sigh
“Riocht, they weren’t your real parents, you knew that. Your father was the Orken Chieftain of the South, Rhanthorn. Your mother was the Drowen Queen Noria, previously known as Hailion’s High priestess. I know it’s hard to believe, hardly anybody even knew of the two’s affair.” Riocht stood glaring at Suphal, this was ridiculous, if Suphal was right about this, he was the rightful heir to two Kingdoms, there must have been some sort of mistake. Suphal made his way behind the throne, when coming back in sight carrying two scrolls in between his arm. He laid them out across the floor, the first one showing the family linage of Rhanthorn and the other one showing Noria’s. Soren traced his finger down Rhanthorn’s scroll
“You see here? In the 43rd season of the first age, and the 7th season of the second, your relatives had on both accounts have been Chieftains of the south, making Rhanthorn the third king in the third age.” He pushed aside the scroll and dragged over Noria’s one “Now you see here, being daughter of Hailion’s most decorated Queen, Sarishia, it would seem she is the third child of your grandmother, yet what was kept from the scrolls was that your mother had a twin brother, born several minutes before her, who due to his gender was kept from the public. If you are interested, I could arrange a meeting between you and your uncle afterwards?” Riocht spluttered
“Of course, but surely he is in Hailion?” Suphal interrupted
“As I explained earlier,” avoiding Soren’s glare “The Golden Archers are purely Drowen born, their expertise with the bow make them invaluable to us, which is also convenient for the Hailion council, as males are seen as extremely expendable.” Soren nodded, satisfied with the explanation
“One thing you forgot to mention, Lieutenant Suphal. Another reason your uncle, Nyrian was entrusted to our protection and services, is because amongst twins born of Drowen kind, if one is to die, the other is often left with the overwhelming feeling of emptiness, fabled Drowen warriors Briont and Braul reportedly fought side by side in the battle fields of Nor for years, only for when Braul was struck down by a Gremlins bolt, Briont spent the rest of his seasons insane, claiming his soul to be torn.” Riocht looked at the Elven King, he wondered if this beautifully crafted being could truly be as old as Suphal had once claimed, he barely looked older than his father. A chill ran down Riocht’s back, the man that had cared for him all those seasons never was his father, he had no idea what his father actually looked like, bar what his mind had created for him, the images of the Orken bandits sent to kill him, but with a crudely crafted crown on the top of their bloody dead skulls.

The two Orken Slayers came at Mian, thrusting their pikes at the heart of the barbarian, he shouted in complaint
“These are my people, why would I harm them? Don’t make me hurt you.” The flag bearer sneered
“Like you did to your own people? This is sickening, end his pathetic life.” The jabs of the pikes increased in momentum, Mian’s axe wasn’t going to be able to stop the sharp pikes at bay for long. Mian considered his knives, he would have to be accurate to penetrate through their chainmail. Then he remembered his pouches of dynamite, he would give them another chance to leave him be before blowing their thick skulls to pieces. Mian pleaded
“I have no feud with you, Orc Slayers. Do not make me end your campaign prematurely.” The two carrying the pikes stopped, looking at each other and then burst out laughing, Mian had enough, fair enough they wanted to kill him, but laughing at his offer was just plain rude. He would have to distract them long enough to hurl the first pouch at their leader, leaving himself then with just the two hired hands to deal with. Ripping open his shirt, he dropped his axe instantly whilst withdrawing the blades, he sent the first one spinning at the neck of the closest pike men, whilst the other reflected off his companion’s chainmail. The flag bearer stared at his soldier clutching at his neck desperately, he was as good as dead. He kicked the spurs of the horse repeatedly, the disbelief on the face of his soldier. Mian chuckled
“Seems like he has abandoned you, honour is a hard thing to find these days.” he then hurled a pouch of dynamite at the two slayers whilst diving behind the charred remains of a wagon.

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Gabriel Gray

Nyrian blocked the harsh blow with his short sword, then swirling to meet another onslaught of attacks from his opponents. His silvery gray hair remained motionless as he dodged an arrow flying towards his neck, he threw his sword to the floor as Suphal called his name, he yelled to his attacker
“We shall finish this another day, Malorn.” He heard a groan of disappointment as he walked off, Malorn was showing promise at least.
“Prince Nyrian, we have a certain somebody who would like to meet you.” Nyrian raised his eyebrow, certainly nobody from Hailion then.
“I’ve told you before, friend. I am no Prince, forget the formalities.” Suphal nodded apologetically, Nyrian knew full well he wouldn’t stop addressing him by his royal title, Soren insisted on it. Suphal waved away the three Golden Archers, naturally concerned about their commander being called to the Throne room, one thing Suphal was uncomfortable with, was their conflicting loyalty to Nyrian, no matter how much he refused their offers of help. The maid went bright red, curtsying to the Drowen prince who had been somewhat of a regular visitor to her bed chambers after dark. Suphal knew all about the Prince’s visits, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about letting it go on, yet Soren insisted Nyrian was a special exception. The main problem with it was if he got the young maid pregnant, she would lose her job and her place of residence, along with naturally being the mother of a Nisoon, not an enviable position in Loriea.
“She is very pretty, isn’t she High Lieutenant Suphal?” said the Drowen Prince, just as the maid had closed the doors behind them.
“She is not an eyesore, true. I trust you realise the situation she would be left in if anything, permanent happened?” Nyrian shrugged his shoulders and said
“It won’t be my problem, I’m sure she would be fine.” Suphal turned from Nyrian as he noted the Nisoon and Soren talking by the throne and said
“My Lord, Prince Nyrian is here.” Soren gave a enthusiastic wave of his hands and said
“Prince Nyrian, let me introduce you to young master Riocht, I do believe you have met him before, a day or so after your sister gave birth to him, in fact.”

The explosion was immense, Jerrin nearly dropped the flag in all the commotion. He kicked his horse harder in the side, this Mian was a dead man, nobody touches an Orc Slayer and lives to tell the story, especially not a damned barbarian. He yelled at the three sentry men, one of whom was lying lazily by the gate. They pushed open the gate, with help of the men on the inside, leading Jerrin’s horse towards the Slayer’s commander, he was due to give a briefing on the town over an hour ago.
The commander cursed at his general’s lateness, he best have lost an arm or two for keeping him in the dark for this long, if not he was sure he could arrange for him to lose them. A messenger boy ran into his chamber, holding his sides whilst trying to say the message
“Sire... The town of Groain... Massacred by a bar... Barbarian.” He looked at the pathetic child, he would make sure he wasn’t sent to him again, he could barely understand a word the child spoke.
“Yes? I do believe I sent my general, not a child to investigate, go get him – before I whip you myself.” The boy whimpered and slipped over whilst bowing, scraping himself off the floor and fleeing from the commander’s sight.

Nyrian gaped at the young Nisoon that stood before him, he couldn’t believe this was the small bundle he cradled in his one hand all those seasons ago
“My sisters son he is, just look at those green eyes!” he exclaimed, he walked towards Riocht with his arms wide open, embracing his nephew. Riocht’s eyes welled up, he had family again, real family. He asked his uncle
“What’s my mother like, Nyrian? Will I be able to see her?” Prince Nyrian’s smile faded, speaking of his sister always soured his mood. Lord Soren cleared his throat
“Riocht, even if your mother wanted to see you, which I’m sure she does. You must understand that if you did go to Hailion, you would no doubt confirm the Emperors suspicions that you are, truly the one to form the men of wraith.” Nyrian laughed, looking around at the serious faces surrounding him
“You can’t be serious? That prophecy changes every time I hear it, do not listen to such rubbish, Riocht, you’ll be fine.” Riocht took out his sword, running his hand past all the niches and scratches on the blade
“I’m afraid your wrong, Nyrian. Lord Soren had shown me the scrolls, even if this is just a coincidence, the Emperor believes it to be true and about me, I have had the blood of his allies on my blade many a time.” The Drowen Prince watched as he saw the same hatred his sister had shown him all those seasons ago, when he was exiled from the lands of Hailion due to him not being born female.
“Then, you must be the one Liosnor and our friend here went to save from Suran? Eight seasons fending for yourself in these horrific times, has the Emperors agents let any potentially useful information slip during interrogation? That is, if you have ever done so?” Riocht looked offended,
“Of course I have, most of them either end their own lives, or get killed by their own before I get the chance.” Nyrian looked disappointed “But I’m pretty sure the Emperor killed off a Drowen spy I caught.” The room fell silent, Suphal looked at Riocht and mouthed ‘why?’ whilst Nyrian asked
“He was Drowen? Working for the Emperor? This is bad news, Lord Soren. Very bad news.” The King agreed
“Indeed, something will have to be done to stop this defection. Did anything happen after this ‘spy’ was killed?” Riocht glanced at Suphal, who just caught on about where this was leading, he didn’t want Riocht to sound like a maniac after all the effort he had put into bringing him into the Elven Lord’s protection.
Jerrin kept his eyes to the ground, making his way past the Orc Slayers, their pikes slamming against the ground simultaneously, the commander wasn’t satisfied with the boys report, he wanted Jerrin’s testimony in person. Jerrin would be lucky to leave the room with his life, two of his men were left behind, cowardice was one of the few things the commander wouldn’t adhere in his regiment.
“Jerrin, son of Harold ‘Thornraiser’. You were sent by the high order to investigate the irregular rise in dark minions throughout the Western boarders. Instead you find a local barbarian and provoke the deaths of our two youngest recruits. Their deaths are on your conscious, as well as your death.” Jerrin complained
“My liege, his resources were vast, his skin darkened by his foul deeds, I did all I could for the two, if I could have died and they survived, I would have laid my life” his commander cut him off
“Lies, deception and slander. You did none of those things, you will be hung at dawn, but rest assured – So will the barbarian.” Screams came from the revelation of his fate, he fell to the floor, begging for his life
“Please, give me one more chance to make things right.” His commander snarled
“I’d rather not. Guards! Take him to the pit!” Jerrin wailed with sorrow, as the two slayers dragged the man away.

“Nothing that’s important my Lord. Now, if I could pardon myself from your company, I believe I might explode with all this new information. Perhaps Suphal could show me around more of your fine land?” A relieved Suphal replied
“I would be more than happy to, young Nisoon.” In which they made their way out of the throne room, leaving Soren and Nyrian to their own devices.
Riocht looked at his Elven friend, he had only spent two days of his life with this Elve, yet he trusted him like a brother. Not that he knew what a brother was like, being an only child. Or was he? Those weren’t his real parents, who are to say he hasn’t got a massive family out there just waiting for him to meet him? He tapped his Elven friend on the shoulder and asked
“Have I got any other relations? Perhaps some I could be introduced to, without arousing much suspicion?” Suphal stopped
“Riocht, I don’t think you appreciate how much danger you are truly in. We only introduced you to Nyrian because he was here anyway, once he caught wind of the news a Nisoon was around, he would have suspected it was you.” Riocht bit the bottom of his lip, it did make sense that he would have to keep his arrival quiet, especially since that dream of all those creatures ripping the Elves apart, he didn’t want anything like that to actually happen just because of him.

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DavidGil

Only responding to part of the first post, Gabriel. I probably seem like a dick but if you get into the habit of doing what I suggest, it'll help. Also, I won't bother highlighting every change I suggested. You can refer to the first post and compare mine.

Not touching on much this critique but where the paragraphs should begin and end. It is related to speech. You may think it doesn't matter because you're only interested in what people think of the story right now but it does matter.

You can't just say, I know this isn't the best of my abilities and I'll worry about what you mentioned when I'm stumped when there is a lot of grammatical flaws. It matters when posting online.

And please, do make sure each paragraph has a line gap. Last time I'm stopping by as well I think so if I am annoying you, you won't have to worry about it anymore.