Ayshe\'s Entry \"From the quill of Ch\'ion Luez, imperial scribe to Lord Khalar i\'Illeryion, Vigesimi to the Yliaku Inner Circle.
(The following is the final accounts of the criminal Jityshe Dhendari Alchamet, sentenced to Displacement next cycle at peaktide.)
I see you there, little man. So you are the one sent to hear my story. Sent to listen to me before they throw me into oblivion? You? A Hammerwielder? Ha! Don\'t tell me you enjoy working for these, these keha? Very well. Sit, oh traitor to your proud people, sit and take note of the last words of a crazy, dangerous caged animal.
My name, as you well know is Jityshe Alchamet. Sixth in the litter of the second mate to Yshen Alchamet, legendary warlord of the Black Marsh Enkidukai. Oh I see the contempt on your face. How did one, born to such noble peerage become such a filthy creature? Your contempt is laughable, little one. Listen on and hear the full story. Well known it once was that I was my fathers favourite. Coddled and favoured since weaning. For my youth, instead of play I took to the bloody fields with the best mages and warriors ever to wear the silver and blue sash, and I was always a keen and eager cub. I listened. I watched. While others my age were out amongst the chiha, playing in the long supple leaves, pouncing and dreaming of glory, I witnessed it every day. My teachers respected me so, this I believe. Always were they ready for a new spell to teach, a new ward to weave, a new dance of steel to show. And of course, I insisted. I pushed, for it pleased me so to see my fathers joy when I would return to the lair covered in sweat and, often, blood. Every scar I bore I vowed to never forget. Never would I be struck in the same place twice. Of all the cubs my age, and indeed some much older, I alone carried the most \"lines of valour\".
I see your puzzlement, little one. Allow me to explain. You sit there in your neat little uniform and wonder how anyone relishes scars. Does my missing eye disturb you? It is true that amongst Enkidukai these days, it is considered unfashionable to be so decorated as I. In the Black marsh clan, this is not so. When we pass on, we will be asked to show our scars as proof of valour in battle. I shall not go unnoticed.
But my thoughts wander. When I was still young and without mane, the Black Riders appeared from nowhere and began their swift destruction of... everything. Even after all this time I still do not know anything about them. It seems that their coming, and the subsequent destruction of my home has fallen from the memory of this world. Maybe it was because so few survived. It does not matter. They came one night. I know you, little one, will appreciate what I say when tell you that night and day mean little to us. Just as there is no night and day to one digging an underground fortress, there is no difference between night and day to one who can hunt equally well in either. But to the attackers, there was a difference, they could not abide daylight. Sunset - the last, real sunset I ever saw - came and for us the sun never rose again.
There was not panic. This warms my heart. We always had been ready for attack. That we had no chance, and that we did not know our attacker meant nothing. We fought like only our kin can. We fought and died anyway. Most of us did. I was sleeping in the communal hut with the cubs when I awoke to the battle cry. Then they came. It was not a battle, it was a slaughter. Remember you, that we are not helpless as young, and each and every cub in that hut fought like a demon. Of the seventy or so that were sleeping at the time, five made it out with myself, still breathing. Three sisters and two brothers. One of the sisters bore the silver and blue that marked her as a litter mate, and the rest were from some other warriors.
I can see I am going to have to explain this too. In our clan, all cubs of a certain age are brother and sister. We do not care who is born from whom, and only rarely do we attach any significance to litter mates, or what you might think of as a \"proper\" brother or sister.
We six made it to the town centre where we found some senior mages concentrating on a shimmering circle in the air. My father was there, for he was an accomplished mage. A ring of defenders, nearly a third of the clan, stood by, and fortunate it was for just as we reached the circle the riders descended and the battle was truly met. As the wounded fell, they were bodily thrown through the shimmering ring. One of my sisters was killed almost straight away. It was then that I noticed the ring. Every time a mage fell, it would contract. As our losses increased, the hole became too small for some warriors. The four kin that were still alive from the hut were thrown through by my father himself. When he reached for me I refused and stood my ground against the attackers. Eventually, three mages, my father and myself were left fighting, and although I alone could have escaped through the shimmering ring I did not. The final charge started and I prepared to taste sweet oblivion. My father started a chant and turned in on himself, spun and directed a spell at me. I was flung backwards... through the ring.
I will never forgive him.
The last I saw, before the ring disappeared was him driving his sword deep into a rider. Then I was left unwounded and bewildered, the only standing warrior amongst hundreds on a strange, underground hill turning slowly red with the blood of my clan.
Many died right there. But many survived, including my blood kin, who in time had made friends with the elves to whom the crystal - lit lands belonged. What was left of our clan settled in. When I left, in the fullness of time, there was even a new litter, with more on the way. I wished only joy to our fragmented clan but it was not a joy I could taste, for to me it was bitter.
I should have died right there, a warrior to the last. I had lost my purpose and I could not stomach this, this honeysweet land of kind and fair Dermorians. I left to seek my own oblivion. I instead found more misery. I became a hunter, but not of food. A hunter of evil and corruptness. It was the only pleasure that I had left. For such a long time I slew the wicked as I pleased. Not for noble reasons, I have no trouble telling you. To satisfy the thirst inside.
When I chanced upon this delicious city of yours, rife with corrupt people who had never seen a battle in their lives I found easy pickings. It was not long before you offered rewards I see, for my capture. I didn\'t care to explain why I killed whom I cared to, and people never bothered to find out. Besides, I was no hero. I was just a simple murderer. Not once did I ever try to justify what I did, and I still care not to. Beggar or rich Guild head, if they did not deserve life they lost it.
My mistake, it seems, was going after the head of the Black Wind tong. He was not stupid, nor weak. The battle was thrilling in it\'s sweet dance of blood and steel, but I prevailed. When I boldly stepped out on to the street, wounded but still pounding with the rush of combat, I met with a dozen guardsmen. I had not anticipated his whisperings to the guard head to have his illegal hall patrolled nevertheless. All but one of the guards was an easy kill. The last, a fresh faced rookie, did something no other warrior had. He bested me, and it was no easy fight let me tell you. He is the one who gave me this wound on my side. As he raised for the killing blow I started to laugh. He paused and asked what was so funny. I asked his name so that I could warn the demons in the next realm about him. And then this proud, young Enkidukai amazed me by smiling. He formally introduced himself, as a warrior of old would have and from my kneeled position I bowed my head and prepared again, to taste oblivion. He stood, sword raised, silent, waiting for my turn to die. And that is how the imperial mages found us, and that is how I was captured alive, cheated of death but... in honour this time.
Notetaker, I suppose you are here to take my last requests is that right? Very well. I have but one. Find the rookie guard and give him my sword. Jefecra is his name, I believe. Perhaps one day he will find use of it. As for my final words, let them be \"I am what I am, and no more. Peace favour those who are true to themselves.\"
(Scribes note: Jityshe Dhendari Alchamet was cast into the permanent anomaly known as the \"Displacement\" portal to unknown destinations at exactly peaktide this day, as per the decree of the Yliaku Lawmaster. Talad spare his soul.)
\"A PREVIEW FOR?
Havena\'s Entry
Nirnaeth Ardentide
Battle of the Dark Sea High atop the Hydlaa Tower the chill wind of the new dawn stung Dayvin?s cheeks. In the distance of the Hydlaa Hills, a black morass slowly took form against the mist. Ever clearer came the sound. The sickening beat of ten thousand heavy boots. The guttural war-cry of a heartless race.
The first volley of arrows sprayed forth. A hundred wounded shapes sunk beneath the feet of their charging brothers. So many were the enemy, the deaths seemed as raindrops breaking the surface of a great sea.
Dayvin?s mind wandered,
?Has our time come so soon?? Draklar\'s body tensed. His boots bit into the earth as the first wave hit. He did not budge. Only blood, limb and fallen axe spilled past him as the hurtling wall of orcs struck. Nadius moved even forward into their ranks as he beat mindlessly into the swath with his punishing fists; his sword remaining sheathed in his maddened fury. Abaddon?s calculated strikes saw the enemy?s front line pressing into a confused and demoralised half-circle before him as he hewed their shields from them, each blow splitting another stunned skull. Pent magiks snapped forth from the harness of Druke?s staff in shocking surges of energy, flattening the charging orcs and shattering their bones. Kada?s twin black blades shredded flesh and life, bringing fear and pain to the enemies of peace.
But, ever more did the Enemy come. The thousands trampled and clambered over their fallen brethren in a lustful bid to bring their jagged blades to meet the defenders? flesh. Outnumbered heroes staggered back before endless waves and undimmed fury. A laughing face, blackly-hooded and hideous, filled the Azure Sky.
Dayvin awoke with a start, sweat beading on his face. He lifted his heavy head from the hard table.
?Shivering.. agh.. it?s a cold night. A pen in my hand.. plans.. army. The invasion!? He swung around as a lithe Dermorian burst open the door.
?Sire!?
The runner?s breathing was rapid.
?The Dark Army begins its advance??.
--
8o
Go here
http://www.saber.co.nz/explorers/story.html to read the full entry and see the battle-map
!
Havena Says:
Use the preview to compare to other very small entries which have tried to keep to the old 300 word limit. Then read the full story (about 3500 words), plus a picture (is that another thousand words? ;P ).
