A prelude ...
?There he is!? A Nolthrir erupted from the calm nightly waters with his hand stretched out towards a chaotic patch of uncultivated seaweed. A few moments later several more broke through the surface, mostly armed with crystal scythes used to work the seaweed. One man, bearing a dark green robe and his young and strong features broken by pure white hair falling in his rather handsome face, was armed with a silver blade, which reflected the dim light of the crystal onto the rippling water. It was highly unusual to see a Nolthrir armed with a weapon of this kind, especially in the water. Normally crystal tools and weapons are preferred for their light weight and since they aren?t affected by the water itself. ?After him!? the man with the silver weapon hissed. The group of men swam towards the dark patch as fast as they could. They were hunting one of their own tonight, an outcast who made the mistake of returning to the lake he was born in and disturbing the peaceful Nolthrir society. When the crystal appeared from behind the clouds they could see an elf struggling through long strains of seaweed, his hiding place had become an obstruction in escape and it seemed that the man whom, judging by the marks of time and struggles on his dark wrinkly green skin, has had his best time was about to fall prey to the band of enraged young men. Suddenly a small boat appeared from the dark shores and moved directly in the path of the men. ?Halt, who dares disturb the night around my manor?? A low commanding voice echoed across the water as lanterns were lit. The men in the water came to a sudden halt while they noticed two other vessels dooming up at their flanks. All three the boats were manned by armoured men bearing the sign of Lord Brakon. The voice came from the lord himself, standing on the first boat and looking down upon the band of men waiting for an answer. The man with the silver sword spoke: ?Milord, we are in our right ... that man is a sholnar. An outcast who sought to return to the place he was banished from. Let us pass!? The men started to dive under the boats as Lord Brakon signalled his troops to lower the fishing nets, trapping the group of vigilantes. After a few moments they resurfaced. ?But the law states ? ?Lord Brakon swung his fine crystal blade through the water silencing everyone. ?The law states that you are trespassing on my waters, you are to cease your chase immediately and return to my manor without resisting so that I can report this incident to the proper authorities!? Brakon?s guards unsheathed their swords to discourage any violent thoughts. A few sighs were heard and the young men yielded. One by one they were disarmed and helped on the boats. In the meanwhile the old man had managed to escape out of the seaweeds and fled. After the men were brought into the barracks and interrogated it appeared that their leader, the man in the green robes had cut through the nets and managed to escape. They were hunting down an old fool who dabbled in forbidden dark arts and was banished from the Lake for spreading false rumours and trying to create a revolt against the current Nolthrir councils.
The captives are let into a large stone hall, lit up by numerous crystalfueled torches and decorated by half a dozen banners bearing the sign of the Brakon manor, an azure green crystal entangled in fiery Sulphra weeds that only grow in the hot springs on Lord Brakon?s land. This sign commands awe and respect for both those of Nolthrir origin and the people that inhabit the dry land near the lake. The combinations of the three elements represented by the watery nature of the Nolthrir, the energetic crystal and the burning seaweed is a symbol of strength, only given to the most worthy noble family of marine elves. That same family is responsible for guarding the hearth of their society, the grand lake saturated by a variety of seaweed, from poachers and plunders. Lord Brakon owns all three grand crystal castles build on the coastal areas to serve as outposts, along with the second largest elven force inferior only to the peacekeeper army, under the direct control of both Octarchs. Lord Brakon is a potent man with slightly greying hair, falling across his face where one remarkable scar, right under his left eye makes sure you will never forget his face. He emanates natural leadership, dressed in his azure green tunic and pants in another shade of green detailed with crimson decorations. The outfit would probably be a loose fit for most other elves but Lord Brakon was well built and muscular man, especially for a Nolthrir. ?I want you all to return to your homes and forget about the old man you were chasing.? The men stood there still dazed by the recent events ?But ? What about our possessions?? one of them protested. ?Your weapons will remain here, I assure you my farmers can make good use of them. Now in the case I didn?t make myself clear.? Lord Brakon waited a few moments until he had their complete attention. ?Those who don?t wish to accept my generous offer are free to remain in my manor. I have some empty prison cells left to house you in until we can settle this officially.? The group didn?t need any more convincing, they weren?t foolish enough to go against a noble?s orders. Definitely not one as influential as Brakon so the men left without saying another word and disappeared back into the lake.
?You can come out now, old man.? Lord Brakon turned towards a door to his right, behind a pillar, which was standing open just enough for the person behind it to hear everything going on in the hall. A weary old elf, dressed in rags with thin grey hair scattered across his wrinkly head appeared cautiously from behind the wooden door, glancing through the large hall. ?A ... are they gone?? he asked with a vibrating voice. ?Yes, I sent them off ... but tell me old man. Why should I help a sholnar like yourself who broke the law, not once but twice by returning after being banished?? After a few moments the old beggar?s eyes turned to Lord Brakon, finally convinced they had actually left. ?I ? erm ? mi ? You!? Lord Brakon?s eyes widened for a second as the fragile voice of his refugee suddenly rose in tone and left a vibrating echo emanating through his halls. ?I have seen you before ... no ... yes. It is you! Praise to the Gods!? The man fell to his knees with his face in his hands. Brakon was obviously confused by this action and picked him off the floor. ?You have yet to answer my question ... what was your name again?? The man looked up into Lord Brakon?s eyes and smiled for a second before his face turned grim again. ?My name is not important. We have no time to lose... I must warn you. They will come soon. They are coming for you!? He gripped lord Brakon?s arm, nearly tearing the fabric to shreds. ?The dark army will come for you! You must flee... flee to upper Yliakum... there your son will be safe.? Brakon lost his temper and threw the man on the ground. ?My son?! How do you know about that! I haven?t even told anyone my wife is pregnant yet ??
?I ?m sorry milord ... no time to explain ... leave ... leave now if you value your family.? He scrambled back up and dusted his rags, rather pointlessly, off ?Your son, Zan ? must live.? The old man was tiring himself out, after all he had been through today this was becoming too much for him. He tried to catch his breath while Lord Brakon was still figuring out how the old man could possibly know about his child. ?I cannot simply leave everything behind and flee because of the ramblings of an old fool. I have duties to attend to, people that count on me... besides why should I believe yo..? The old man had collapsed in a chair, snoring silently. It seemed his age had finally caught up with him. Lord Brakon sighed and called his servants, ordering them to put him in one of the guest chambers to let him recover.
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Continued in the next post ...
