Erm...yeah.....
Corien did not know how he had come to be. From what he had been told, his mother had built an affair with an enigmatic human, sometime after the birth of the eldest child in the family, Orion. That much was clear. But the circumstances of his birth remained shrouded from him, hidden by small banter and thin lies. The elves seemed distressed about the topic of Corien's true fater, as if speaking about Cyric himself would be more appealing. Beyond this, information about his birth eluded him, hidden in the deep recesses of his mother's mind.
Corien's childhood had been surprisingly pleasant. At that time only Orion and he frolicked about, wanderlusting like all normal children. They would imagine themselves as brave adventureres, like Drizzt Do'Urdern, or the great mystic Elminster. Their parents treated them like gifts to the heavans, tending and teaching them whilst the pair toiled through mage school. Their father passed on knowledge of swordsmanship, but was quickly overtaken by the brothers, who sought challenge after challenge. Life looked to be a grand, miracilous present bestowed upon Corien by an unseen force. Until Ander was born.
When Ander came along, Corien's mother had quickly shifted all her focus and love into the youngest child, much to Corien's dismay. As he had grown, his counterparts had begun to recognize the difference in races, resulting in a mental wall within the elven minds. At this point, all Corien had wanted was to fit in and be cherished. The realization of his mother's bias had hit him full force, and he despised Ander for it. The beginning of a great hatred, that would become a part of Corien. Raging flame schorched his soul, a fury that would rival a Dwarven Berserker.
The brat grew fast and quickly learned how to put Corien on the spot. Retaliation through force brought his father's hand to his face, so Corien had resorted to jeering and leering at Ander. Orion was often too busy studying and training to deal with the squabbling young'uns. But when he did, he allied himself with Ander, molesting Corien about responsibility and the like. Corien was left with only three meaningful things: his father, his studies, and his sword, and as Ander and Orion assaulted him, and his mother berated him for not "being useful like Ander", he devoted more time to "the three". His father became his only family, an idol where lessons and opinions were to Corien as wine is to bread. One can do without the other, but the whole meal becomes complete with both. As was the case with Corien. He applied the teachings to his wizardry and fighting skills.
"Those who strike true first may burn bright, but even brighter burns the blade of failure; one shan't succed without understanding that greater is the man who rises from the ashes of defeat with his pride unscathed."
Or proverbs such as, "If you work to be ten times ahead of the others, it is ten times more likely you shall reach a greater height."
Morals were taken to his soul, and they stood as a basis for all his life. If he was beaten by a foe in the ring, Corien would never accept defeat and would work on every stroke he took with a blade. If he did not think he had a larger arsenal than another, Corien would doggedly find more advanced encantations. Soon, these things consumed him. All the desires and efforts had been pooled into three different lakes. And lately, all his focus had seemingly been in vain.
English Assignment
Corien snapped back to reality. A pond glared at him with his own reflection. Hurt, auburn eyes lashed out, diminishing any other feature of his face, only reminding Corien of his plight. Lifting his eyes, a slender and curvaceous elf, who had shimmering azure eyes that lit his spirits grinned at him. Oh, the beauty! It was indescribible for Corien, it was as if an eagle had swooped upon his worries and carried them into the abyss. Such were Corien's emotions every time he glanced or stole a peek at the fair maiden, Rynn. She was stupendously beautiful, elegant, and dangerous (many time Corien had been bested by her in combat), which made her all the more attractive. He stood to greet her and words were spoken, though not from his lips.
"Rynn! Glad to see you m'lady."
"Izuael, I saw Corien and you at Elder Courtrest's dualling class just after noon. I don't think I need or want to be in either of your companies, especially since neither of you can best a mere lady at swordsmanship. Begone underlings!"
She was only able to hold her mirth in for a brief moment. Then, it spilled forth, like a tide of a summer breeze, holding Corien's focus. How it reminded him of what a deva might sound akin to. With this in mind, both he and Izuael went to her side.
"So how went the Cleansing of the Great Oaks?"
"Fine, I suppose."
"You aren't fooling anyone Corien."
Corien sighed once more, "Yes Izuael, once again you're right. I was lectured on everything from swords to sorcery yet again. But I shan't complain. I have no right."
Rynn spoke, lighting and lifting Corien's hearts, "You're much to hard on yourself. How can you expect to reach standards of near perfection? You already have more talents out of us three. I will be nothing but a Shield Maiden. Izuael will most certainly become a guide for folk journeying through The Forest of Swords. What you want to do is meant form demi-gods not elves."
"If my mother wishes it, I have an obligation to---"
"Bah! If you are not capable of her goals, why not make reasonable ones?"
"Izuael--"
"Enough, this is not the place for tutoring and raised voices. Is there not a lady in your presence?"
Corien gazed at the figure beside him. Blonde silk flowed to her shoulders, all the while the hard but beautiful features of her face beckoned him. Had he not been a failure, Corien would have loved her. Had he thought himself worthy to associate with such an angelic goddess, he would. Izuael had often told Corien to meet with her, bearing nothing but love before he did and abandoned his current interest. Yes, Izuael had received looks, strength, and socialness beyond Corien's level. Still, the elf had not become arrogant. And it was Izuael's morality, his sense of right, that created a brotherly bond that Corien no longer shared with his kin. Realizing that his thoughts had gone off on a tangent, he awoke and found himself about to embrace Rynn in a 'gesture' of farewell.
"I'll see you two on the training grounds tomorrow. Stay out of trouble Izuael. And Corien...cheer up. You know that at least your friends still love you."
The emphasis on 'love' was evident to Corien. So was the the fact that holding a dream in his arms seemed fleeting and never lasting. Energy passed between the two, the flame of passion evoked by his arms and her form. Torrents of love buffeted Corien, who was overwhelmed by this simple act of friendship. A mere farewell that was wrapped by a cloud of emotion. Colour rose to his cheeks as they seperated. Unable to avert his eyes, Corien stared as she strode towards her home, desperate to follow her and listen to his heart. But he could not act. The thought of his continuous failure riveted him in spot, the feeling of unworthiness washing over his countenance. Izuael laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Ladies like that are rare in the realms. It is your life or fate Corien. I must take my leave as well. But remember, opportunities missed will haunt you as vampires do a crypt."
It's your fate... I am not worthy, thought Corien. Why would she desire a run-down, luckless half-elf with no future? Her and I could never come as one. Izuael's wrong. It's not my fate.
Then why did the feel of her body pressed against his still envelope him? Why did he lust for her affection, but then let the heat rage within him unsatisfied and not nurtured? Why and if, why and if.....
"Rynn! Glad to see you m'lady."
"Izuael, I saw Corien and you at Elder Courtrest's dualling class just after noon. I don't think I need or want to be in either of your companies, especially since neither of you can best a mere lady at swordsmanship. Begone underlings!"
She was only able to hold her mirth in for a brief moment. Then, it spilled forth, like a tide of a summer breeze, holding Corien's focus. How it reminded him of what a deva might sound akin to. With this in mind, both he and Izuael went to her side.
"So how went the Cleansing of the Great Oaks?"
"Fine, I suppose."
"You aren't fooling anyone Corien."
Corien sighed once more, "Yes Izuael, once again you're right. I was lectured on everything from swords to sorcery yet again. But I shan't complain. I have no right."
Rynn spoke, lighting and lifting Corien's hearts, "You're much to hard on yourself. How can you expect to reach standards of near perfection? You already have more talents out of us three. I will be nothing but a Shield Maiden. Izuael will most certainly become a guide for folk journeying through The Forest of Swords. What you want to do is meant form demi-gods not elves."
"If my mother wishes it, I have an obligation to---"
"Bah! If you are not capable of her goals, why not make reasonable ones?"
"Izuael--"
"Enough, this is not the place for tutoring and raised voices. Is there not a lady in your presence?"
Corien gazed at the figure beside him. Blonde silk flowed to her shoulders, all the while the hard but beautiful features of her face beckoned him. Had he not been a failure, Corien would have loved her. Had he thought himself worthy to associate with such an angelic goddess, he would. Izuael had often told Corien to meet with her, bearing nothing but love before he did and abandoned his current interest. Yes, Izuael had received looks, strength, and socialness beyond Corien's level. Still, the elf had not become arrogant. And it was Izuael's morality, his sense of right, that created a brotherly bond that Corien no longer shared with his kin. Realizing that his thoughts had gone off on a tangent, he awoke and found himself about to embrace Rynn in a 'gesture' of farewell.
"I'll see you two on the training grounds tomorrow. Stay out of trouble Izuael. And Corien...cheer up. You know that at least your friends still love you."
The emphasis on 'love' was evident to Corien. So was the the fact that holding a dream in his arms seemed fleeting and never lasting. Energy passed between the two, the flame of passion evoked by his arms and her form. Torrents of love buffeted Corien, who was overwhelmed by this simple act of friendship. A mere farewell that was wrapped by a cloud of emotion. Colour rose to his cheeks as they seperated. Unable to avert his eyes, Corien stared as she strode towards her home, desperate to follow her and listen to his heart. But he could not act. The thought of his continuous failure riveted him in spot, the feeling of unworthiness washing over his countenance. Izuael laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Ladies like that are rare in the realms. It is your life or fate Corien. I must take my leave as well. But remember, opportunities missed will haunt you as vampires do a crypt."
It's your fate... I am not worthy, thought Corien. Why would she desire a run-down, luckless half-elf with no future? Her and I could never come as one. Izuael's wrong. It's not my fate.
Then why did the feel of her body pressed against his still envelope him? Why did he lust for her affection, but then let the heat rage within him unsatisfied and not nurtured? Why and if, why and if.....
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
"Aim here, where his blade can't parry,"
Corien nodded at his mentor and faced Izuael again. Their eyes met, steeling themselves for the next drill. The talks of yesterday were forgotten. Only the current exercise ran their thoughts. Eaach was out to prove his skill with a blade to their teacher, who could put in a good word for them if they decided to enlist in the king's army.
Corien feinted left, fooling Izuael, then brought the blade up in a circular snap, pulling it into his opponent's under arm. It clattered against the armor with a deafening ring, but the blunted blade was unable to do any serious harm. Over and over they repeaated the drill, neither willing to let the other win two bouts in a row. Their teacher looked on, analyzing strengths and weaknesses, trying to find ways to improve the young swordsmen.
"Enough. I would like to see you two in a real skirmish. Let us see who is the victor for today. One battle. The winner receives bragging rights. The other, shame until tomorrow. Begin."
Both of the young 'uns grinned and turned their swords to the other. Corien's sweat felt like it was soaking through the chainmail, but he felt as light as he'd ever. Though he could never be as dextrous as Izuael, Corien had the brute force of a man, his power overwhelming to most elves. He knew he couldn't let Izuael have any room. And on that note, he charged, straight into his friend's waiting blade, swinging the sword above his head, forcing he elf to back down and avoid the dolorous weapon. Finally Corien pulled his arm towards the earth, cutting through the air and almost onto Izuael's shoulder. But the elf was to dainty to allow that and he slid away while aiming a quick slice into Corien's side. The half-elf knocked the blade away and withdrew.
The adrenaline pumped through Corien's veins, fueling his strength and stamina. He'd found a rhythm. Rush. Cut. Retreat. Repeat. Over and over, wave after wave, Corien attacked Izuael at times almost bringing the elf to his knees. The symphony of battle sung in his heart, bringing him past barriers and limits. Emotions were high strung, fear was battered down the rung. Nothing but the icy hard feel of confidence ran through his blood. Body, mind, and soul were one, united in a common purpose. Defeat the other. All ambience seemed to disappear into the etherworld. Time grinded to a halt. There was no future. It was only Izuael, him, and emotion.
The combat ensued. Neither gave way to the other. Steel met steel in fury, nothing was moving. It was a constant struggle where no side could win. Grace against power, sword to sword, this was a battle of the fates. Both of them feinted and dodged, sliced and missed, and occasionally even landed a glancing blow. Eternity seemed short at the moment. Now was the time where physical power meant nothing. Both had burnt out. It was only a matter of time before something burst open, breaking the floodgates in a short moment of triumph. Who would it be?
Corien was starting to feel the downside of human power and bulkiness. The aching pain of fire in his body ate at his confidence. The unity he possessed was dwindling thin. His body could no longer react as fast as his mind demanded and because of that, his heart became discouraged. He could feel Izuael gaining momentem, each parry sent a new blaze down his arm. Corien backpedalled, losing faith in his ability. He stood on the edge of the ring, watching his emotional high evaporate into the abyss, leaving him alone and weary. Each of Izuael's strikes seemed stronger each time they caroomed into him. Corien felt his legs go out and he toppled to his knees, sweat dripping down his face from his matted hair. He gasped for breath, tasting not only fatigue on his tongue, but the all too familiar sensation of bitterness and envy. And then he felt the blunted blade upon his neck, signalling what he already knew.
"Izuael is your better for the day, Corien. I must leave you two. That skirmish lasted longer than I had expected. Both of you must be truly admirable swordsmen to have lasted that long with that amount of force. I shall put a good word in for both of you. Your potential is amazing." With that their teacher confiscated the swords and made them remove the armor. He stuffed both into a sack and left the fighters to their thoughts.
Izuael wore a look of regret. He approached Corien and lay a hand on his shoulder, patted it, then removed it. He knew from previous times that it was better to leave Corien alone in his own world then to attempt to rectify things. Frowning and clearly displeased with his friend's despair he walked home.
Corien nodded at his mentor and faced Izuael again. Their eyes met, steeling themselves for the next drill. The talks of yesterday were forgotten. Only the current exercise ran their thoughts. Eaach was out to prove his skill with a blade to their teacher, who could put in a good word for them if they decided to enlist in the king's army.
Corien feinted left, fooling Izuael, then brought the blade up in a circular snap, pulling it into his opponent's under arm. It clattered against the armor with a deafening ring, but the blunted blade was unable to do any serious harm. Over and over they repeaated the drill, neither willing to let the other win two bouts in a row. Their teacher looked on, analyzing strengths and weaknesses, trying to find ways to improve the young swordsmen.
"Enough. I would like to see you two in a real skirmish. Let us see who is the victor for today. One battle. The winner receives bragging rights. The other, shame until tomorrow. Begin."
Both of the young 'uns grinned and turned their swords to the other. Corien's sweat felt like it was soaking through the chainmail, but he felt as light as he'd ever. Though he could never be as dextrous as Izuael, Corien had the brute force of a man, his power overwhelming to most elves. He knew he couldn't let Izuael have any room. And on that note, he charged, straight into his friend's waiting blade, swinging the sword above his head, forcing he elf to back down and avoid the dolorous weapon. Finally Corien pulled his arm towards the earth, cutting through the air and almost onto Izuael's shoulder. But the elf was to dainty to allow that and he slid away while aiming a quick slice into Corien's side. The half-elf knocked the blade away and withdrew.
The adrenaline pumped through Corien's veins, fueling his strength and stamina. He'd found a rhythm. Rush. Cut. Retreat. Repeat. Over and over, wave after wave, Corien attacked Izuael at times almost bringing the elf to his knees. The symphony of battle sung in his heart, bringing him past barriers and limits. Emotions were high strung, fear was battered down the rung. Nothing but the icy hard feel of confidence ran through his blood. Body, mind, and soul were one, united in a common purpose. Defeat the other. All ambience seemed to disappear into the etherworld. Time grinded to a halt. There was no future. It was only Izuael, him, and emotion.
The combat ensued. Neither gave way to the other. Steel met steel in fury, nothing was moving. It was a constant struggle where no side could win. Grace against power, sword to sword, this was a battle of the fates. Both of them feinted and dodged, sliced and missed, and occasionally even landed a glancing blow. Eternity seemed short at the moment. Now was the time where physical power meant nothing. Both had burnt out. It was only a matter of time before something burst open, breaking the floodgates in a short moment of triumph. Who would it be?
Corien was starting to feel the downside of human power and bulkiness. The aching pain of fire in his body ate at his confidence. The unity he possessed was dwindling thin. His body could no longer react as fast as his mind demanded and because of that, his heart became discouraged. He could feel Izuael gaining momentem, each parry sent a new blaze down his arm. Corien backpedalled, losing faith in his ability. He stood on the edge of the ring, watching his emotional high evaporate into the abyss, leaving him alone and weary. Each of Izuael's strikes seemed stronger each time they caroomed into him. Corien felt his legs go out and he toppled to his knees, sweat dripping down his face from his matted hair. He gasped for breath, tasting not only fatigue on his tongue, but the all too familiar sensation of bitterness and envy. And then he felt the blunted blade upon his neck, signalling what he already knew.
"Izuael is your better for the day, Corien. I must leave you two. That skirmish lasted longer than I had expected. Both of you must be truly admirable swordsmen to have lasted that long with that amount of force. I shall put a good word in for both of you. Your potential is amazing." With that their teacher confiscated the swords and made them remove the armor. He stuffed both into a sack and left the fighters to their thoughts.
Izuael wore a look of regret. He approached Corien and lay a hand on his shoulder, patted it, then removed it. He knew from previous times that it was better to leave Corien alone in his own world then to attempt to rectify things. Frowning and clearly displeased with his friend's despair he walked home.
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Corien was vaguely aware that Izuael had left him to his thoughts. The stoic look on him betrayed the torrent storms that ravaged his mind. For what seemed like eternity, he sat there, letting the aching sensation in his muscles subside while berating himself for letting the match slip between his fingers and fall into Izuael's waiting hands. There was no sorrow. He'd been hurt too many times for despair to sink in. Only anger and frustration stewed, filling him with rage so hot that the pain, physical and mental, were buried in the shell of his soul. Why did he let himself down? Why had he let himself falter and allow Izuael to take advantage of his mishap in one swift assault? He shot up and skulked away. The flames of fury ran through his eyes as he wandered around the city of Tumslinvale.
The town was quiet now as night fell. It was situated between Suldanesselar and one of the Black Gates of the Fallen, making it one of the more sought after locations in Faerun. But the walls had never been breached thanks to the constant wave of adventurers that were produced by the it. That was why schools of magic or swords were in such great demand. It was not a matter of choice, but of survival. The people needed defense and relied on no one but themselves to step up to the task. The Black Watch now manned the gates, wary of any orcs or drow that might approach, their dark helms cloaking their intentions. Only the elite soldiers were enlisted into the Watch. A position that seemed more and more distant to Corien each passing day.
The more I beat myself down, the stronger I shall be. Hence, the closer to being accepted by my brothers and mother. I only have one arrow and it must fly straight to my goal. But I can barely launch it...Corien mused over his failures. The latest battle seemed to be so small in comparison to such grievances as what had happened at the Severed Hand or in Durlag's Tower, but nonetheless it afflicted him with a sense of uselessness that had overwhelmed him all too many times. It had become a routine now, try, fail, then brood. The few victories he'd achieved were shortlived, for the next day he would return and be bested by another. Corien pulled up short. Staring at the ground revealed footsteps. His own. He'd been walking in circles, but how? He was pretty sure that he knew his way home. He couldn't get lost in such a small settlement. And yet, he'd walked the same path more than once. Something was amiss. Corien glanced at his surroundings and his eyes locked onto the dominating structure that was before him.
Twin spires stood, flanking another tower that dominated both. The image of a setting sun was emblazoned above the double doors, which had been maintained and polished with much care. The temple of Labelas Enoreth stood, looking down upon Corien and glaring at him, beckoning the half-elf into it's chamber. Corien could not help but venture forward. Something was calling him from within. His previous thoughts all but evicted from his mind, Corien swallowed hard and ventured forward, awed at how elaborate the decorations were. Had it not been night, sunlight would have leapt through the glass spinning colours intricate beyond a mage's belief. As he climbed the steps, the engravings of the setting sun grew more intricate, weaving to and fro, lacing together and forming one massive art piece. Such was the elven respect to the Lord of the Continuum, the god of knowledge and time. Corien was riveted to the spot as he stood at the door and could no longer resist discovering what was bringing him to the temple and why. Magic was at work, that much was obvious. But who? He flung the doors open and stepped inside making as little noise as he could. Inwardly he cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. But those thoughts were soon put to rest as he entered the main chamber.
The room was sanctified and shaped like the sun. It had been lit magically so one would feel as if he were experiencing sunset. Stained glass lined the walls, aglow with orange, yellows, and reds. The colours penetrated Corien and he felt at ease. He took a few steps deeper into the globe of light and as if on cue, the doors slammed behind him. Before he could even process that thought the room began to hum. Swirling dervishes of light erupted from all places of the room and electrified the air. Flashes of the sun thrummed illuminating the room. Corien instinctively covered his eyes and squinted into the spectacle. It was madness! Bright rays of sunlight shone through the glass though it was the dead of night. The humming grew to the sound of wind, twirling through Corien's ears and flinging holy texts about the room. And then it stopped. All the movement, all the sound, gone. Only the light remained.
A voice that could only be described as one of the Seldarine spoke forth, its words echoing and mystical. Corien was nearly overwhelmed by it's force, but somehow was soothed by the gentle caress of the sound. He listened to it, in a trance, not feeling time, not feeling emotion. All that remained was the voice. And it spoke to him, prophecising the coming toils...
The blood of the three must be united by the one who is free. Only then can the triangle of time and life be completed to form the Blade of Enoreth, forged from the crucibles of friendship and love, to allow the figure of three to come together. Only then can one defeat the pantheon of evil. One will unite the blood. One will defeat the other who is dead but is not. One spirit from the light among dark will join hands. One life of the deep will learn to love, and thus, the histories will be changed. Destiny lies within your moment of choice. You are the chosen half one. Remember that. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. For I am The Lifegiver. And I have spoken. Beware of the other who seeks the blade. Beware of the other who seeks the demise of my people. Only you can save them. Only you are gifted with the knowledge of how precious time is. You are the half one who will understand. My people have become arrogant. You must light the way with those that would unite. Those that would alter time will become one. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. I am The Lifegiver.
Corien's eyes flew open and met with Rynn's, her concerned azure eyes staring into his. She pulled him to his feet and hugged him hurridly while rushing to the door.
"Ah good, you've awoken Corien, The Black gates are open and the forsaken rush forth! Undead, gnolls, orcs, and more. Tumslinvale is under seige! The elders are riding to Suldanesselar as we speak! Come along now, we must grab our arms and join the ranks of the militia. Izuael is already on the wall with the archers. There's no time to waste. Hurry! Battering rams are nearly at the gate!"
"How did you find me?"
Rynn gave him a glare, obviously annoyed, "Are you that thickheaded? You're in your home!"
Corien halted, startled at her revelation. He looked around the room and found he was no longer in the elaborate chamber of a temple, but in the confines of his own room. As she pulled him out of his home and towards the armory, he puzzled over what might have very well been a dream. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. For I am The Lifegiver. And I have spoken. Had Labelas really appeared to him? Followers of him despised half-elves, so how could this be? And how was the town suddenly under seige? As the sounds of battle entertained his ears, Corien quickly pushed thoughts of this prophecy aside and focussed on getting to the armory as quickly as possible.
If I messed up any of the facts to do with Labelas Eneroth, please tell me. I'm no expert on D&D deities....
The town was quiet now as night fell. It was situated between Suldanesselar and one of the Black Gates of the Fallen, making it one of the more sought after locations in Faerun. But the walls had never been breached thanks to the constant wave of adventurers that were produced by the it. That was why schools of magic or swords were in such great demand. It was not a matter of choice, but of survival. The people needed defense and relied on no one but themselves to step up to the task. The Black Watch now manned the gates, wary of any orcs or drow that might approach, their dark helms cloaking their intentions. Only the elite soldiers were enlisted into the Watch. A position that seemed more and more distant to Corien each passing day.
The more I beat myself down, the stronger I shall be. Hence, the closer to being accepted by my brothers and mother. I only have one arrow and it must fly straight to my goal. But I can barely launch it...Corien mused over his failures. The latest battle seemed to be so small in comparison to such grievances as what had happened at the Severed Hand or in Durlag's Tower, but nonetheless it afflicted him with a sense of uselessness that had overwhelmed him all too many times. It had become a routine now, try, fail, then brood. The few victories he'd achieved were shortlived, for the next day he would return and be bested by another. Corien pulled up short. Staring at the ground revealed footsteps. His own. He'd been walking in circles, but how? He was pretty sure that he knew his way home. He couldn't get lost in such a small settlement. And yet, he'd walked the same path more than once. Something was amiss. Corien glanced at his surroundings and his eyes locked onto the dominating structure that was before him.
Twin spires stood, flanking another tower that dominated both. The image of a setting sun was emblazoned above the double doors, which had been maintained and polished with much care. The temple of Labelas Enoreth stood, looking down upon Corien and glaring at him, beckoning the half-elf into it's chamber. Corien could not help but venture forward. Something was calling him from within. His previous thoughts all but evicted from his mind, Corien swallowed hard and ventured forward, awed at how elaborate the decorations were. Had it not been night, sunlight would have leapt through the glass spinning colours intricate beyond a mage's belief. As he climbed the steps, the engravings of the setting sun grew more intricate, weaving to and fro, lacing together and forming one massive art piece. Such was the elven respect to the Lord of the Continuum, the god of knowledge and time. Corien was riveted to the spot as he stood at the door and could no longer resist discovering what was bringing him to the temple and why. Magic was at work, that much was obvious. But who? He flung the doors open and stepped inside making as little noise as he could. Inwardly he cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. But those thoughts were soon put to rest as he entered the main chamber.
The room was sanctified and shaped like the sun. It had been lit magically so one would feel as if he were experiencing sunset. Stained glass lined the walls, aglow with orange, yellows, and reds. The colours penetrated Corien and he felt at ease. He took a few steps deeper into the globe of light and as if on cue, the doors slammed behind him. Before he could even process that thought the room began to hum. Swirling dervishes of light erupted from all places of the room and electrified the air. Flashes of the sun thrummed illuminating the room. Corien instinctively covered his eyes and squinted into the spectacle. It was madness! Bright rays of sunlight shone through the glass though it was the dead of night. The humming grew to the sound of wind, twirling through Corien's ears and flinging holy texts about the room. And then it stopped. All the movement, all the sound, gone. Only the light remained.
A voice that could only be described as one of the Seldarine spoke forth, its words echoing and mystical. Corien was nearly overwhelmed by it's force, but somehow was soothed by the gentle caress of the sound. He listened to it, in a trance, not feeling time, not feeling emotion. All that remained was the voice. And it spoke to him, prophecising the coming toils...
The blood of the three must be united by the one who is free. Only then can the triangle of time and life be completed to form the Blade of Enoreth, forged from the crucibles of friendship and love, to allow the figure of three to come together. Only then can one defeat the pantheon of evil. One will unite the blood. One will defeat the other who is dead but is not. One spirit from the light among dark will join hands. One life of the deep will learn to love, and thus, the histories will be changed. Destiny lies within your moment of choice. You are the chosen half one. Remember that. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. For I am The Lifegiver. And I have spoken. Beware of the other who seeks the blade. Beware of the other who seeks the demise of my people. Only you can save them. Only you are gifted with the knowledge of how precious time is. You are the half one who will understand. My people have become arrogant. You must light the way with those that would unite. Those that would alter time will become one. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. I am The Lifegiver.
Corien's eyes flew open and met with Rynn's, her concerned azure eyes staring into his. She pulled him to his feet and hugged him hurridly while rushing to the door.
"Ah good, you've awoken Corien, The Black gates are open and the forsaken rush forth! Undead, gnolls, orcs, and more. Tumslinvale is under seige! The elders are riding to Suldanesselar as we speak! Come along now, we must grab our arms and join the ranks of the militia. Izuael is already on the wall with the archers. There's no time to waste. Hurry! Battering rams are nearly at the gate!"
"How did you find me?"
Rynn gave him a glare, obviously annoyed, "Are you that thickheaded? You're in your home!"
Corien halted, startled at her revelation. He looked around the room and found he was no longer in the elaborate chamber of a temple, but in the confines of his own room. As she pulled him out of his home and towards the armory, he puzzled over what might have very well been a dream. Heed the words of Labelas Enoreth. For I am The Lifegiver. And I have spoken. Had Labelas really appeared to him? Followers of him despised half-elves, so how could this be? And how was the town suddenly under seige? As the sounds of battle entertained his ears, Corien quickly pushed thoughts of this prophecy aside and focussed on getting to the armory as quickly as possible.
If I messed up any of the facts to do with Labelas Eneroth, please tell me. I'm no expert on D&D deities....
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Well, I've decided to cut the current up since what I've ben doing is extending it too long and it's going where I don't want it to. So instead of finishing it I'm going to leave you with this and let this thread be buried forever. It's a one piece (yes only one) thing that I just put together that has a lot of openess (probably too much) that can be interpreted as anything. So sit back and read this last story. Once again feel free to comment on it or SPAM.
An Ode to Fate
"Stare into the crystal ball my dear and observe what could be, would be, and can be if only you poen your mind. Open your eyes and see. Open your heart and believe," was what the unsettling hag had told me. She said to peer into the glass and listen to her distant and dreary rumbling. A part of me wanted to leave, not wanting to learn what eerie prophecies this 'divinator' (as she had called herself) had in store for me. But the half of me which dominate; the side that yearned for a way out of this pit of despair and a second chance to amend for my mistakes and sins, could not turn away from her. And what I saw would seal my fate...
Mattias would not let himself falter. Though beaten in every way he could not accept that his life, his legacy, was for naught. As the drained warrior lay battered upon the floor, he serveyed what he thought, nay, knew to be his last minutes in Faerun. But he pushed the doubt away and his hulking figure rose from the debris, shattered but not broken...and in that moment, he gave up all he desired and became that bitter shell that is a man who accepts his death but will do anything to fight it to the last sour drops of blood. Mattias brought his double-bladed sword to a ready position and let fate fly him over the expanse that was his life.
"I give you one more warning. Can't you see you cannot win? The living cannot comprehend the depts of death. My work will succeed. Already the gate lies open! The other world comes to me! Already one of the outworlders wanders close to my snare with a wand that spits fire. The undead will ravage the present and dominate the future. And your petty meddling will end should you not join hands with me."
"You'd be a fool to believe I would stop my work when I have come so far. Even in death I shan't join your cursed rabble. May the hells and the dead fell my wrath!"
But the words did not come from the warrior. I had uttered them. And it was I who stared into the abyssal knight's eternal glare of hate. It was I who was facing death.
Mattias brandished his weapon and let history do the telling...But it was I who was holding the sword. It was I who stared into the abyssal knight's eternal glare of hatred. It was I who was facing death. And I was afraid.
The globe pulsed and the warrior disappeared. I was no longer in a dream world, speaking words I did not know, wielding unfamiliar weapons. I had discounted this as a false reality; a special effect. After all, hadn't I been in an alley on the streets of Newark poor and jobless? Her eyes burned into me, I can still fell them engraved and etched into the corners of my mind. She spoke.
"Are your eyes open? Has your heart beat new blood? Time will tell. Your fate is sealed. Embrace it."
I wandered the streets that night. Her musing made no sense. 'What kind of fool does that for cash?' I'd thought. But when I awoke the next morn, I was no longer in a world filled with terrorists, gangs, and guns. I landed in a land filled with elves, dwarves and magic.
And now, as my final battle awaits, the puzzle that was her words has come together. This is what was meant to be. This is what was promised to me. My eyes see fate. My mind understands it all. My heart has felt it all. And as I rise from the debris I see my life. My mistakes. My failure. But my last moment of triumph comes here in death. There is no doubt. This is fate. This is what was then. I close my eyes. My lifelong enemy and destiny speaks. But I no longer fear. And I utter those familiar words.
"You'd be a fool to believe I would stop my work when I have come so far. Even in death I shan't join your cursed rabble. May the hells and the dead fell my wrath!"
I swallow my pride. I clench the hilt of the ever-familiar sword. Let history and let tales tell my story...my legacy...my love...my fate....
And that's a wrap. I hope this thread can finally be buried for good now
An Ode to Fate
"Stare into the crystal ball my dear and observe what could be, would be, and can be if only you poen your mind. Open your eyes and see. Open your heart and believe," was what the unsettling hag had told me. She said to peer into the glass and listen to her distant and dreary rumbling. A part of me wanted to leave, not wanting to learn what eerie prophecies this 'divinator' (as she had called herself) had in store for me. But the half of me which dominate; the side that yearned for a way out of this pit of despair and a second chance to amend for my mistakes and sins, could not turn away from her. And what I saw would seal my fate...
Mattias would not let himself falter. Though beaten in every way he could not accept that his life, his legacy, was for naught. As the drained warrior lay battered upon the floor, he serveyed what he thought, nay, knew to be his last minutes in Faerun. But he pushed the doubt away and his hulking figure rose from the debris, shattered but not broken...and in that moment, he gave up all he desired and became that bitter shell that is a man who accepts his death but will do anything to fight it to the last sour drops of blood. Mattias brought his double-bladed sword to a ready position and let fate fly him over the expanse that was his life.
"I give you one more warning. Can't you see you cannot win? The living cannot comprehend the depts of death. My work will succeed. Already the gate lies open! The other world comes to me! Already one of the outworlders wanders close to my snare with a wand that spits fire. The undead will ravage the present and dominate the future. And your petty meddling will end should you not join hands with me."
"You'd be a fool to believe I would stop my work when I have come so far. Even in death I shan't join your cursed rabble. May the hells and the dead fell my wrath!"
But the words did not come from the warrior. I had uttered them. And it was I who stared into the abyssal knight's eternal glare of hate. It was I who was facing death.
Mattias brandished his weapon and let history do the telling...But it was I who was holding the sword. It was I who stared into the abyssal knight's eternal glare of hatred. It was I who was facing death. And I was afraid.
The globe pulsed and the warrior disappeared. I was no longer in a dream world, speaking words I did not know, wielding unfamiliar weapons. I had discounted this as a false reality; a special effect. After all, hadn't I been in an alley on the streets of Newark poor and jobless? Her eyes burned into me, I can still fell them engraved and etched into the corners of my mind. She spoke.
"Are your eyes open? Has your heart beat new blood? Time will tell. Your fate is sealed. Embrace it."
I wandered the streets that night. Her musing made no sense. 'What kind of fool does that for cash?' I'd thought. But when I awoke the next morn, I was no longer in a world filled with terrorists, gangs, and guns. I landed in a land filled with elves, dwarves and magic.
And now, as my final battle awaits, the puzzle that was her words has come together. This is what was meant to be. This is what was promised to me. My eyes see fate. My mind understands it all. My heart has felt it all. And as I rise from the debris I see my life. My mistakes. My failure. But my last moment of triumph comes here in death. There is no doubt. This is fate. This is what was then. I close my eyes. My lifelong enemy and destiny speaks. But I no longer fear. And I utter those familiar words.
"You'd be a fool to believe I would stop my work when I have come so far. Even in death I shan't join your cursed rabble. May the hells and the dead fell my wrath!"
I swallow my pride. I clench the hilt of the ever-familiar sword. Let history and let tales tell my story...my legacy...my love...my fate....
And that's a wrap. I hope this thread can finally be buried for good now
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Originally posted by The Z
D-oh! Wow. My spelling has gotten pretty bad
Nah, just a typo... Doesn't mean that you type badly. You just forgot to look.
You should have seen my latest assignment
When I looked it through after reading it, I was very pleased I'd done that. You won't believe the amount of typos in it! something funny goes here