Don't look now. An honest to goodness update. I know; be shocked and amazed. A real update. It's long; in fact, as the title states, it's supposed to be a prologue to the novel I'm currently attempting to write before Doug gets home (at least a decent enough 1st [if not 2nd or 3rd... hopefully] draft). Let me know what you think, honestly. Just keep in mind that it is kinda long and is a very, very rough draft. So without further ado, I hope you enjoy...
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Swirls of smoke rose higher, above the trees. The sun was setting; splashes of reds, yellows and oranges danced in the sky and in between the clouds. The evening sky stood out against the green leaves of the trees of summer. It was getting late.
Alacuriel continued walking down the dirt path. A small coin pouch flew above his head from his hand and hung in the air. After a few paces, he dropped his hand to his side, palm facing behind him, and the pouch surged forward into his awaiting hand. He continued playing games with the pouched coins until the source of the smoke came into view as he came closer to the clearing ahead of him. An inn with its hearth lit and the small homes were everywhere he looked.
“Selwyn. Just the place I was looking for,” is all he said before continuing his steady stride into town. Quickly he tucked his pouch away in his tunic.
His steady stride was ruined as his foot caught on a tree root poking up out from the ground. Falling forward, he put his arms out in hopes of breaking his fall. Slowly Alac got up and brushed himself off and winced in pain.
“My arm,” he muttered, noticing the long bloodied cut on his forearm. He searched on the ground and noticed his knife had fallen free from his belt. He picked it up and shoved it in its sheath forcefully. For a moment, looking back at his wound, he thought of just leaving it and claiming it was old battle wound as he was walking through the forest and fought with a bear. But in the end he thought it best that he didn’t come into a new town bloodied and battered. Besides, he didn’t know if any bears lived in the area.
Carefully, Alac gently, slowly ran his fingers over his left forearm. As the fingers passed over the cut, new, healed skin appeared as if there never was an injury there before.
He stretched his arm and twisted it all around, making sure it had healed correctly. He’d only treated deeper cuts such as knife wounds a handful of times and didn’t feel he’d had enough practice. Small scratches he was confident about, though he wasn't entirely sure how he was able to heal such wounds at all. And searching for that answer was what had led him to Selwyn.
Deciding that his arm was as good as new, Alac continued into town and stopped at the nearest inn, The Courier’s Flagon, and opened the door. There was a surprisingly large amount of people in the front hall. Walking over to the nearest open table, he sat alone, away from most people, and waved over the nearest barmaid.
“Hello there, sir! What can I do you for?” she said in a drawled accent. Alac smirked at the question, causing her to blush.
“Can I get you something to eat?” she asked with a coy smile. “You look mighty tired. I’d recommend the house dish, spiced vegetables and fried potatoes.”
He grinned. “Certainly, my lady.”
“Kyana,” she said.
“Ah, yes, Kyana. Spiced vegetables it is! And if you could be so kind as to bring me a mug of your finest ale as well.”
“O’course, sir! Comin’ right up!” she said with a wink before turning toward the kitchen.
Leaning back, Alac looked around the open hall. So many people, he thought. Even children too. Why aren’t they at home in bed?
Loud laughter erupted from the corner one table down, interrupting Alac’s musings. He turned abruptly to see who caused the noise and wasn’t at all surprised to see three teenagers laughing heartily. All eyes in the room turned toward them as a silence broke out. From the bar counter, that drawled voice chided the three.
“Now you listen here. It’s a full house tonight and if any of you ruin Kerwin’s story telling for these fine people, it’s on your heads! I will not be the one held responsible for anything that he may threaten to turn you into.” It didn’t dawn on Alac until then that all these people were there for the same reason he was; to hear the fabled stories of Aratas’ past.
One of the youth grunted in disbelief. “Kerwin wouldn’t lay a finger on us.”
“I don’t know, Jac,” a young woman’s voice spoke from the corner. “Kerwin doesn’t seem particularly fond of you and Falaeth. Me on the other hand…” she let her sentence hang in the air.
“Ha!” the boy, Jac, spat. “The only reason he’s “fond of you,” as you put it, is the same reason every other male in eyeshot is fond of you. Don’t take that as a compliment either. It’s just because you’re a—”
“Enough, Jacory!” an old but strong, authoritative voice reproved. An old man with a staff, too short to be human but too tall to be a dwarf, stepped into the light and strode over to the corner table. All on-lookers abruptly turned away as the newcomer began to speak, giving them a semblance of privacy.
The old man poked Jacory in the chest with his staff. “Don’t you ever treat a lady like that again. And don’t tell blatant lies either. I hear one more insult from you about Tari and I’ll turn you into a guppy! It’s more than a mere finger of mine that you should be worried about.”
“Sorry sir,” is all Jac was able to mutter before the authoritative voice rose again.
“And you!” he rounded on Falaeth, smacking the back of his head. “Never let me catch you watching idly by as your sister takes insults. Especially from a twit like him,” he nodded toward Jac.
Falaeth looked down. “Yes, Master Kerwin,” he mumbled, daring a peek at him.
“Right. Now, I’ve got history stories to tell. Don’t make me come over here again,” Kerwin said, walking off over by the hearth. The barmaid pulled a chair over for him to sit in. The crowd began to stir and gathered round where he sat.
Kerwin looked at the crowd around him. A small smile reached his lips as he recognized faces. Many leaned forward in anticipation of what Kerwin was going to say. Most had heard the old tales before, but the way Kerwin told these stories had a way of entrancing them. Alac found himself leaning forward, awaiting to hear. He’d waited a long time and travelled far to hear these stories; if what this old man said was true, it could explain so many things from Alac’s life…
All hushed as Kerwin began to speak.
“Many, many years ago, the gods were continually with us. Things were much different than they are now. Then, the head gods walked among us. The God of Light, Arorin, would help good men who were in need and blessed those with elven blood. Those who were able to truly harness the power of silver in all our blood were known as Silverborn. Rhear, the God of Neutrality, taught and bestowed the power of magic upon Aratas to all those who diligently sought after it. And Raziel, Goddess of Darkness, gave potentially unlimited power and stamina to those who were willing to follow her. Each of these three gods had a place in our lives, and each knew that place.
“Because of these gifts from the gods, the races of Aratas began to prosper in ways they had never before supposed possible. Each power had its place, and each had the ability to help change the world to become better. The people who strove for power were granted it. Those who studied for years were able to learn the ways of magic and control it with little thought. Those with elven blood, of even the smallest amount, had the chance to become Silverborn, but all blessed by Arorin received greater health. All seemed well for many centuries. But little by little, some were given too much power, until they became corrupt. Being rulers among their own kind was no longer enough. And some who had once been neutral followed in the path of darkness. Armies began to—”
“What else about the silver people, Kerwin?” a small child asked from the foot of the old man’s chair.
“Oh yes, child. I’m getting there. Just be patient,” he chuckled. But Kerwin began to cough profusely and waved over a barmaid. Kyana quickly made her way to him and bent over to hear. “Some water, please. I’m afraid I catch sicknesses so much easier in my old age.”
Kyana returned with the water and Kerwin took a long drink. “Thank you, dear. Now where was I?”
“You began talking about the armies, Master Kerwin,” Falaeth said.
“Ah, yes. The armies. Large armies began to form, with strength and power that had never before been seen on our world. And those with the power and armies wanted more.
“Arorin had blessed the elven blood abundantly with the abilities to heal, control emotions and manipulate metals. Others now became jealous and wanted this gift themselves. And the greed of evil would stop at nothing to achieve it; rape, pillage, enslave, coerce—whatever it took to steal it and continue gaining power.
“Slaughtering’s began to take place. Those with any elven blood were being wiped out by the thousands, and what few who lived were forced to help raise a new generation who used their power in corrupt ways.” Kerwin paused and looked around before continuing.
“Arorin could no longer stand to see his chosen people brought down by such massacres. He gathered all the gods together and held a meeting with the Pantheon. After long meetings, the gods from each sect finally came to a decision; either Raziel could leave quietly and let the world live in peace for 1000 years, or they would be forced to combine their powers to securely lock her away. Seeing her own gods turn against her, Raziel chose to willingly go, revoke her power and let her hold on the world diminish. Arorin too withdrew the powers of silver and those of elven blood never produced the traits to become a Silverborn again. The power struggle between the gods of good and evil relinquished itself and let neutrality and the powers of magic reign. The gods left us.”
Some people gasped, some shrugged. Alac just nodded in agreement and leaned back in his seat. He’d heard this story many times before. And every time it ended the same; the gods left and they were never coming back.
But then he heard Kerwin speak again.
“Yes, they left us. Or we we’d thought.” Alac’s head shot up. He’d never heard that before.
“After half of her time had passed, Raziel no longer felt that this was a fair punishment to be banned for 1000 years. All the head gods fought for followers to their cause, fought for power, she thought; she was no different than Arorin or Rhear in her own eyes.
“Quietly, Raziel began appearing to the world again, never revealing her identity. She caused slight chaos, but continued to lie low. She was going to build an army, from the ground up. And bit by bit, her strength began to grow, her powers taking over our world once more. Her reign began again two hundred years ago. But she was not hidden for as long or as well as she’d hoped.” The old man paused again and glanced around. After a slight nod from Kyana, he continued.
“The whisperings began a century ago.” Alac found himself leaning forward in anticipation. What whisperings?
“Hushed words of a dark powers emerging can now be heard to those who dare to listen. And with these quiet words come rumors of the other gods returning as well, the gods of good, Arorin and the others. But there is only one way for those with good and pure hearts to know for certain; when the power given with elven blood is restored to us.
“We will know that Arorin has returned this time, to lock Raziel up forever by one simple thing. Some say that it will never happen. Some say it will be soon. And some, like myself, say that it has already begun.” Kerwin’s eyes locked onto Alac’s gaze and he couldn’t stand to look away. Alac felt something inside himself, a sort of longing to know more. Anticipation was nagging him.
“Mark my words,” Kerwin promised the crowd, “Arorin and the gods of good have returned with the powers of the Silverborn.”
