Shadowguard: Prologue

[Grey Pilgrim]

The dreams were always the same. They began by drifting in the darkness.

Memories would flow and eddy without form or pattern, like clouds chased through a summer sky or ripples racing across a glassy pond. His past was nothing but smoke and shadows, shifting and changing, always out of reach. Until the pain came; it would come eventually, it always did, every reverie.

The gloom lifted, the dark mists were chased away. He saw a face, a maid of the Sy-Tel-Quessir with flowers in her hair. She was pretty, she laughed and held his hands. She danced with him, they whirled and her laughter filled the night. She raised a hand to his face, she touched his cheek, she ran her fingers through his hair. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Music played, the sounds of strings and harp and song flowed around them.

Others were there, he knew, up among the tree-tops, where they danced under a crescent moon. At the edge of his vision he saw them, but did not know nor recognise them. They were shapes without faces, friends without names, moving among the lanterns and the flowers and the ribbons that hung from the branches above. His eyes were on her alone: the curve of her neck, her small white teeth framed by the full pink bow of her lips, the deep green of eyes grown large with love.

He held her close; she was soft and warm, her head nestled against his chest. She sighed and whispered words he could not hear, or could not remember. He felt her heart beating.

Then a scream tore through the night, a high-pitched wail that echoed with nightmare and terror before dying sharply, disapearing into the darkness. The music stopped, the dancing ceased, the night fell silent apart from the trees that whispered above and below and around them. He felt a chill like ice ripple up through his bones. And then the arrows began to fall.

The memories began to quicken, images flashing through his consciousness to fall like an avalanche upon his mind. A rain of fire crashed into the platforms and buildings around him. Cruel barbed arrows alight with pitch and flame buried themselves in wood and flesh alike. Elves screamed and ran for their homes and their loved ones. Wild eyed warriors garbed in green and leather began to gather with weapons in hand, raising curved shields against the storm. He moved to follow them, groping at his side for a sword that was not there. She stopped him, she pulled him by the arm and he heard her sobbing, he heard her pleading. He kissed her once, then gripped her hand tightly and they ran.

The hail of arrows had done their work, the treetops began to burn as they raced through the village. Leaves caught and branches smouldered. He was dimly aware of dark shapes climbing onto the platforms as they passed, he glimpsed naked black blades and eyes glowing red through the smoke and darkness. The clash of steel on steel joined the screams of the dying and the snapping crackle of the growing inferno, verses of pain and horror met by chorus lines of battle.

Without warning he lost his feet from under him and he was sent sprawling. His shoulder jarred painfully as her weight went slack and pulled him down. She had fallen face down, her hair tumbled around her head and shoulders, the shaft of a black fletched arrow jutting from her back. The strength in her fingers had gone. His vision wavered, his legs buckled, he dropped to his knees and turned her over. Tears welled up as he saw the blood pour from her mouth. He cradled his head in his arms, the light in her eyes was fading.

Fire and battle began to engulf them both. All around branches and buildings burned, filling the night with a boiling pall of smoke and ash and stinging sparks. Elves who fought were cut down without mercy, no quarter was spared to women nor children nor wounded. With gleeful hate they were hacked and chopped and butchered. He saw a father sobbing as he watched his daughter torn to pieces, his wife screamed as her baby was torn from her and thrown into a burning pyre. Their laments were silenced by blades already wet with the blood of his people.

His eyes ached from the smoke and grief. He lifted her and got to his feet, he had to save her, he had to get away. He carried her in his arms and staggered to the nearest doorway, a building of wood and thatch that had not caught light. Perhaps they could go unseen, they could hide and he would care for her, their attackers would leave and his home could be rebuilt from the ashes.

It was dark inside, there was no other entrance except the way they came in. He turned as he heard the door slam behind him. Shouts in a harsh, evil sounding tongue echoed around the walls until they were silenced by a woman’s laughter; a cold laughter that sang with cruelty and malice. Her tone was commanding, her words snapped like a whip. He heard them barricading the door and felt the warm, bilious taste of fear burst in his stomach and spread up through his chest. He threw his weight against the door but the wood was thick and strong, it would not budge.

The flame caught quickly. Angry orange tongues of leapt and fought like dragons up the walls and across the roof. There was no way out. The room began to fill with smoke, his eyes stung and his breath wheezed painfully in his chest. She moaned in his arms as the heat became unbearable, even at the edge of death. He looked upon her face one last time, she still had the flowers in her hair. He sobbed and wept as he smothered her against his chest. The tears burned upon his cheeks as he felt her breath give out and her heart stop beating.

He threw back his head and howled with hate and despair and loss. His hair caught fire and his clothes burned. He shrieked as his skin began to blister and melt in the heat, he felt his flesh burst and blood flow down his body. He threw a burning arm across his eyes and prayed for death.

His fiery tomb was torn asunder with a deafening, shrieking crash as one end of the building collapsed. Sparks and cinders flew as the fresh night air rushed in. He summoned the last of his strength and lifted her limp, burning body, shielded his eyes and staggered through the flames to the yawning void that had opened.

And then he was falling through the darkness. They whirled and tumbled like autumn leaves for what seemed hours, years, an eternity. They fell for so long that he thought he must have died too until he felt his legs splinter and break as he hit the water. The air was forced violently from his lungs and his ears burst. He had no strength left and she slipped from his grip. His mind faded as he felt death’s final kiss. He tried to shout her name but he couldn’t remember it, he couldn’t even remember his own.

He felt his mouth ripped open and water poured in. And then darkness swallowed him.

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The Bedine woke him. He felt the hand rest lightly on his shoulder and he was awake. The horror was gone and he heard the soft morning breeze blowing sand against the tent; the sound of the camels grumbling outside and the lilting, ululating song of the porter’s dawn prayers. He smelled spices and sweat and camel dung.

Sala, short and pudgy with yellow teeth crouched before him. His round brown face was turning a dark shade of purple and a sliver of spittle ran from his cracked lips as he fought for air, digging his fingers into the black gloved hand that was crushing his throat.

With a hoarse grunt the elf released his grip and sent the Bedine sprawling across the tent.

“A sand-tongue knows better than to wake a pilgrim at rest.”

The elf’s voice was harsh and rasping, like cloth tearing or gravel slipping over rock, behind the dark veil he wore across his face. His black cloak swirled as he stood, the hard darkened leather of his armour creaking softly as he stretched and pulled the tent flap open and let the steely pre-dawn light stream in.

Sala struggled to his feet, rubbing at his neck and lisping fearfully in broken common.

“Pilgrim make want to wake wiss thun” he stammered.

Veil ignored him and looked out across the desert. The sky had begun to flush with rosy light on the eastern horizon and he shivered as he thought of the fires in his dreams.

A new day was dawning, and his journey would continue.
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((Authors note: I liked the bio and concept of my new character so much I'm considering expanding it here. If people like it I might add further chapters. This is the first proper fiction i've done in while and im tired so it might need a little tidying up))

[Misty]

Wow.... keep writing!

please?

[Aerthrin]

That was awesome GP... great images and storytelling!

Keep it up!

[Joos]

Really good mate. I take it you wont finnish the story of Reyza then?

[Grey Pilgrim]

Really good mate. I take it you wont finnish the story of Reyza then?

yeah i might do, this guy's a lot more interesting though. maybe this will kick start me into writing that. theres a few issues with it though - mainly to do with continuity that was disrupted. if that alfaquake had happened a month later you would have got a cracking story.

[Arkan Bladesinger]

Wow, great writing, GP!

Do continue, please...

OOC /me starts to understand Veil a lot better...

[Joachim]

S'pleausre knowing more about who I'm DMing