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Thanks a lot to JaYbOc who created this picture of a Naichar! =)
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Monday, 22 December 2008
A Farm (Eleyna's tale continued)
Eleyna ran, blades of grass swishing beneath her feet. Now and then she could feel small, sharp rocks piercing her tiny, blistered feet. She had been travelling alone now for days. The sun rose and went down and not much food could be found. Her stomach growled constantly. She found some fruits on some trees a couple of days ago which she had picked and brought with her. Her dress had shrunk significantly in size since the fall of Tripoli. Rags of it were now used as a backpack for fruit and at night as a thin blanket. Luckily she still had pants, the skirt of the dress barely covered her bottom, and at some parts where she had torn it unevenly, it didn’t.
She enjoyed running. Normally it gave her a sense of freedom. Now she pretended to be persecuted, with a subconscious fear that she might actually be. She didn’t know how far it was to Merceana, nor even to the next city. Maybe the monstrous Naeglim would have reached it before her… She felt her lips and cheeks begin to pout in anger and sadness as she thought about the bad guys that had killed her home. A cold wind swept the fields and she felt her eyes water. Two tears were released from her eyes. She panted for breath and walked for a bit. The tears slowly slid down her cheeks. The past was hard to leave behind. Moving forward with hope yet remembering what shaped you without feeling depressed.
Her long, light-brown hair travelled freely in the wind as she began to run again. Suddenly, Eleyna spotted a farm house and some fields further away. She felt a smile creep across her face. She had found other people! A mature, pessimistic thought struck her. What if the people that lived there had been killed by the Naeglim already? Eleyna shrugged it off, allowing the child part of her to win.
The sun had just begun its descent as she approached the farm house. It was a typical wooden, Tripoli longhouse. It was large and had many rooms for the different age groups to live in. In Tripoli it was custom that families lived together in one house. The parents had their own separate rooms while the children were split into age groups. Of course, Eleyna had lived in the city where everyone had their own house, but her parents had told her the customs many times. However, on farms families generally lived alone, but in villages and smaller cities the custom still remained.
As she came closer she heard a cow moo and even a horse neighed. There were people! She looked to where she had heard the neigh and spotted a farmer driving the horse forward, ploughing the arable land. Eleyna’s fingers twitched and she could hardly keep herself from running out of excitement. She had found other people! She wasn’t alone anymore!
She tried to knock politely on the door but the knock became harder than what she had intended. A woman opened. She wore a brown apron with sooty black spots covering it everywhere, and in her hand was a hammer. Eleyna felt quite surprised. The woman was pretty broad shouldered yet still had a feminine, handsome appearance. Her chestnut-brown hair was bound neatly in a pony tail to not be in the way. A black soot mark stained her cheek.
“Hello there, what are you doing here? Where are your parents, child?”
Eleyna just stared blankly for a moment before she recalled how to speak. She had not spoken to anyone for days. Her thoughts had been her only company.
“My name is Eleyna. My mum and brother died. My father died when I was young.”
“Oh poor child, I would embrace you but my clothes are rather dirty. Although, so are yours I dare say. What happened to your dress? Do you want come in? I’m sure I can find you some clean, old, small dress somewhere. Are you hungry? We are having dinner in an hour, but I’m sure I can find you an apple or something if you want?” The motherly questions were pouring out like rain from a cloud passing over a mountain. As Eleyna bit into the red apple she felt how hungry she truly was. Her tummy made a loud noise and the woman smiled.
“You must be really famished! In an hour I’ll have some nice meat and vegetables prepared for you and my husband will come in from the fields. Where are you from?”
Eleyna ate and patiently told her tale as the woman listened intently.
“So Tripoli has truly fallen? I guess it’s only a matter of time before they come here then. For that warning you have definitely deserved your stay here.”
“What do you work as? I have never seen a woman so dirty before,” Eleyna said and then blushed after realizing that that could be taken as an insult.
The woman with the sooty apron was named Emmeline. She had been repairing some broken tools in the smithy and had been working on making a new pitchfork head.
“You’re a blacksmith?” Eleyna exclaimed, greatly surprised.
“My father was a blacksmith and taught me the skills. I’m not a great blacksmith but I can do all that is needed for a farm.”
“Isn’t that a guy’s job?”
“Why would it be that? Women can be blacksmiths too, just like men can be tailors and weavers.”
Eleyna had no answer to that. It was just abnormal seeing a female blacksmith. All the blacksmiths in Tripoli had been men.
“I enjoy the heavy work and it saves us some coins not having to constantly buy new equipment when it breaks. Often I help my husband out on the field, but today some reparations were needed, and there wasn’t too much work outside anyway. Let me tell you one thing child, don’t ever let anyone force you to believe that there is a profession that you cannot become. You are the master of your life and you are the one who makes the choices. Don’t always follow how things ‘have always been’, sometimes traditions need to be broken. Anyway, you are still a young girl. You have a few more years before you meet those important decisions.” Emmeline looked outside and saw that sun had descended significantly. The shadows of objects were getting longer and longer. “You still hungry?”
Eleyna nodded eagerly.
“Good.” A big chunk of salted meat was taken out and Emmeline begin to chop it up into pieces.
Eleyna sighed with great satisfaction. She had found a place to stay.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2008-12-23
She enjoyed running. Normally it gave her a sense of freedom. Now she pretended to be persecuted, with a subconscious fear that she might actually be. She didn’t know how far it was to Merceana, nor even to the next city. Maybe the monstrous Naeglim would have reached it before her… She felt her lips and cheeks begin to pout in anger and sadness as she thought about the bad guys that had killed her home. A cold wind swept the fields and she felt her eyes water. Two tears were released from her eyes. She panted for breath and walked for a bit. The tears slowly slid down her cheeks. The past was hard to leave behind. Moving forward with hope yet remembering what shaped you without feeling depressed.
Her long, light-brown hair travelled freely in the wind as she began to run again. Suddenly, Eleyna spotted a farm house and some fields further away. She felt a smile creep across her face. She had found other people! A mature, pessimistic thought struck her. What if the people that lived there had been killed by the Naeglim already? Eleyna shrugged it off, allowing the child part of her to win.
The sun had just begun its descent as she approached the farm house. It was a typical wooden, Tripoli longhouse. It was large and had many rooms for the different age groups to live in. In Tripoli it was custom that families lived together in one house. The parents had their own separate rooms while the children were split into age groups. Of course, Eleyna had lived in the city where everyone had their own house, but her parents had told her the customs many times. However, on farms families generally lived alone, but in villages and smaller cities the custom still remained.
As she came closer she heard a cow moo and even a horse neighed. There were people! She looked to where she had heard the neigh and spotted a farmer driving the horse forward, ploughing the arable land. Eleyna’s fingers twitched and she could hardly keep herself from running out of excitement. She had found other people! She wasn’t alone anymore!
She tried to knock politely on the door but the knock became harder than what she had intended. A woman opened. She wore a brown apron with sooty black spots covering it everywhere, and in her hand was a hammer. Eleyna felt quite surprised. The woman was pretty broad shouldered yet still had a feminine, handsome appearance. Her chestnut-brown hair was bound neatly in a pony tail to not be in the way. A black soot mark stained her cheek.
“Hello there, what are you doing here? Where are your parents, child?”
Eleyna just stared blankly for a moment before she recalled how to speak. She had not spoken to anyone for days. Her thoughts had been her only company.
“My name is Eleyna. My mum and brother died. My father died when I was young.”
“Oh poor child, I would embrace you but my clothes are rather dirty. Although, so are yours I dare say. What happened to your dress? Do you want come in? I’m sure I can find you some clean, old, small dress somewhere. Are you hungry? We are having dinner in an hour, but I’m sure I can find you an apple or something if you want?” The motherly questions were pouring out like rain from a cloud passing over a mountain. As Eleyna bit into the red apple she felt how hungry she truly was. Her tummy made a loud noise and the woman smiled.
“You must be really famished! In an hour I’ll have some nice meat and vegetables prepared for you and my husband will come in from the fields. Where are you from?”
Eleyna ate and patiently told her tale as the woman listened intently.
“So Tripoli has truly fallen? I guess it’s only a matter of time before they come here then. For that warning you have definitely deserved your stay here.”
“What do you work as? I have never seen a woman so dirty before,” Eleyna said and then blushed after realizing that that could be taken as an insult.
The woman with the sooty apron was named Emmeline. She had been repairing some broken tools in the smithy and had been working on making a new pitchfork head.
“You’re a blacksmith?” Eleyna exclaimed, greatly surprised.
“My father was a blacksmith and taught me the skills. I’m not a great blacksmith but I can do all that is needed for a farm.”
“Isn’t that a guy’s job?”
“Why would it be that? Women can be blacksmiths too, just like men can be tailors and weavers.”
Eleyna had no answer to that. It was just abnormal seeing a female blacksmith. All the blacksmiths in Tripoli had been men.
“I enjoy the heavy work and it saves us some coins not having to constantly buy new equipment when it breaks. Often I help my husband out on the field, but today some reparations were needed, and there wasn’t too much work outside anyway. Let me tell you one thing child, don’t ever let anyone force you to believe that there is a profession that you cannot become. You are the master of your life and you are the one who makes the choices. Don’t always follow how things ‘have always been’, sometimes traditions need to be broken. Anyway, you are still a young girl. You have a few more years before you meet those important decisions.” Emmeline looked outside and saw that sun had descended significantly. The shadows of objects were getting longer and longer. “You still hungry?”
Eleyna nodded eagerly.
“Good.” A big chunk of salted meat was taken out and Emmeline begin to chop it up into pieces.
Eleyna sighed with great satisfaction. She had found a place to stay.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2008-12-23
Saturday, 20 December 2008
Thanks!
Hello everyone,
I just want to take a blog post to recognize and thank Pizza who has created this amazing header for this blog!
I wish you all a very merry Christmas!
Thanks for following/reading my blog :)
/Danai
Ps. I hope to post a new story tomorrow evening :)
I just want to take a blog post to recognize and thank Pizza who has created this amazing header for this blog!
I wish you all a very merry Christmas!
Thanks for following/reading my blog :)
/Danai
Ps. I hope to post a new story tomorrow evening :)
Friday, 12 December 2008
The Tale of Delving’s Father
Thaelving led the band of Tripoli soldiers. More than anything he wanted to return to Aheron. His thoughts strayed to his wife, and his son. He fingered his precious Lewhe longbow nervously. The Naeglim could come any moment. He might not ever see his family again. This outpost would be useless against the machines he had seen them roll out against Farath Dûr.
The wind swept through the small outpost. The palisade walls rattled against its heavy beats. The men shivered in their metal suits. Some bowmen were lucky enough to enjoy the boiled leather which was not as cold against the skin. The short brown-skinned Naeglim were appearing out on the fields. To Thaelving’s dismay he could see them reconstructing the catapults. It was a doomed resistance. He wished he could teleport away. Home. A warm home with the family he loved. He sighed heavily. Duty. He hated it. Maybe death would just be a liberation from the longing that had been haunting him for so long. No. He would fight. He would fight for his family. For his country. The air was melancholic and already the rank of death and doom spread through the area. An old proverb struck him, ‘Death is lighter than a feather, but duty heavier than a mountain’. Yet there was honour in completing one’s duty. There was no honour in death. Not self inflicted death at least. If they died tonight at least they would be remembered as heroes who fought for their country. But then again who would survive to tell their tale? No-one.
Thaelving shook the thoughts out of his mind. He had to focus. The Naeglim were coming. The general had already left with his elite cavalry units. They would warn Tripoli while the unit here had to “hold back” the Naeglim. Like that would work. It was suicide.
The sun had disappeared behind the western mountains. Dark clouds hovered in the night above. A lightning struck out on the plains. To Thaelving’s surprise a few howls erupted. Maybe El Elyon was watching over them after all. Thunder rolled heavily, as if a hammer had struck an anvil. The rain struck down like large ballistic arrows crushing the earth with its heavy impact. The strides of the Naeglim echoed the rain as they charged.
“Brave men of Tripoli! I will not lie to you, tonight we will die! But it is up to us to decide the manner in which we will die and be remembered! Tonight we will show these scum of the earth how to fight! Tonight, we will bring honour to our family names! Tonight we will shape history! Tonight you will fight for all that you are worth and we will bring down as many of these demons as we can! For tonight my friends, we fight for all that we are worth. And we fight as men. Tripoli is famous for its strong and fearsome soldiers, tonight my friends, we will be that definition and we will prove it true!” Adrenaline rushed through Thaelving as he caught his breath. The men cheered. They would fight. And they would fight well. The previous gloomy mood had been destroyed by the determination to be something. To shape history.
“Archers, ready!” Thaelving roared and checked to see the response. He heard the shuffling of arrows and bows being drawn and ready. “Legionnaires form up at stations!” Again he glanced to certify that his order was fulfilled.
“FIRE!” Bowstrings twanged. Arrows pierced the wind, soaring through it with a will of their own.
Naeglim stumbled in their charge, lethal arrows puncturing their armour. Raging and whimpering howls pulsed out from the charging horde. Some Naeglim attempted to flee but were immediately pierced by the dark, hooded, Naichar. Thaelving had seen a Naichar before. Their accuracy with the bow was legendary.
Three more volleys followed the first one. Naeglim fell, yet more filled their place. They were like cockroaches crawling out after someone had lifted a rock. A massive boulder flew over Thaelving’s head and crashed into the wooden tower that had stood proudly behind the gate. Men screamed and bodies cracked as they fell. The wooden outpost had been obliterated into four jagged poles that had been its foundation. Smoke and dust erupted violently as walls were struck by the catapults. As the walls failed the Naeglim were suddenly amongst them. Thaelving threw his bow and drew his simple, standard Tripoli long sword. Running down the simple palisade stairs he joined the legionnaires and swordsmen who were slowly pushing back the short, scar-faced Naeglim.
The legionnaires’ spears with the large square shields were able to keep off most of the Naeglim from even coming close. The coarse, black-feathered arrows thumped against the silver-blue shields, but were unable to penetrate them. Lightning struck the fields again. More howls erupted amongst the battle cries. Thaelving saw the legionnaires fall in front of him and rushed out.
“Attack!” He thrust his sword into a confused Naeglim. A strike just missed him at the side. He turned to face the Naeglim which snarled and struck again. “For our families!” He dodged and thrust. The Naeglim’s eyes bulged open in surprise. Black blood poured out. “For our country!” He slashed another one at its arm and then spun to complete with a stab. “For the good of this world!” He yelled as his men fought beside him. He saw men shielding each other by picking up fallen legionnaires’ shields. Some where even risking their lives for their comrades by extravagantly exposing themselves to save each other. The Tripoli soldiers were becoming berserkers but with each others’ survival solely in their mind. It egged them on to fight for their lives.
Thaelving’s sword broke as he blocked a Naeglim’s black axe. His shoulder shook violently as the axe sunk through his armour, but luckily the sword had taken the heavy part of the hit and it only just scraped him. The Naeglim pulled the axe out and Thaelving grunted as he stabbed the sharp broken sword into the Naeglim. He picked up a nearby two-handed sword to continue fighting. Sweat poured down his face. He rapidly beheaded a charging Naeglim. His arms bulged out of the strength that was needed to fight. An arrow struck him. He felt his legs fold underneath him. Clenching his teeth he yanked the black-feathered arrow out of his thigh. He thrust his blade through another Naeglim and then fell to the ground again. Another arrow stood out of his other leg. He tried to push himself up but fell again, tasting the bitter earth. He spat out a clot of blood and phlegm. As he got himself to his knees he looked up. The two-souled Naichar stood before him, arrow drawn to the place where its ear would have been.
“Do you wish to live?” It snarled cruelly.
“No-one wants to die,” Thaelving replied cautiously.
“Look around you.” He tried to turn his head slightly. His soldiers were dead, a small battalion of fifteen men were still fighting in a tight circle, but it was a doomed cause. “You have lost. But my master Beliar offers you life. He is convinced that with some training you would make a perfect Deirm in his army.” The Naichar’s voice had a high but sharp tone to it. It felt like an arrow piercing itself into his mind. Thaelving felt himself consider its words. Then his thoughts returned to his wife and son. No. He would die with honour. He would prove his family name’s worth. Only worthless wrecks betrayed their cause and country.
His fading voice echoed his thought.
“No? You refuse my master’s act of mercy?” The Naichar laughed. Its hood as always covering its face. Thaelving thought he almost saw a bit of it and shuddered out of fear. No-one survived seeing a Naichar’s cursed face.
His mind drifted back to thoughts of his family. Faintly he heard an arrow being released. Then again and again. Blood flowed down the remains of the outpost.
“Fool,” the Naichar murmured, releasing its seventh arrow to finally end the man’s life. Thunder rolled, the storm echoing the battle’s harshness. A rain of tears dropped heavily from the skies.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2008-12-13
The wind swept through the small outpost. The palisade walls rattled against its heavy beats. The men shivered in their metal suits. Some bowmen were lucky enough to enjoy the boiled leather which was not as cold against the skin. The short brown-skinned Naeglim were appearing out on the fields. To Thaelving’s dismay he could see them reconstructing the catapults. It was a doomed resistance. He wished he could teleport away. Home. A warm home with the family he loved. He sighed heavily. Duty. He hated it. Maybe death would just be a liberation from the longing that had been haunting him for so long. No. He would fight. He would fight for his family. For his country. The air was melancholic and already the rank of death and doom spread through the area. An old proverb struck him, ‘Death is lighter than a feather, but duty heavier than a mountain’. Yet there was honour in completing one’s duty. There was no honour in death. Not self inflicted death at least. If they died tonight at least they would be remembered as heroes who fought for their country. But then again who would survive to tell their tale? No-one.
Thaelving shook the thoughts out of his mind. He had to focus. The Naeglim were coming. The general had already left with his elite cavalry units. They would warn Tripoli while the unit here had to “hold back” the Naeglim. Like that would work. It was suicide.
The sun had disappeared behind the western mountains. Dark clouds hovered in the night above. A lightning struck out on the plains. To Thaelving’s surprise a few howls erupted. Maybe El Elyon was watching over them after all. Thunder rolled heavily, as if a hammer had struck an anvil. The rain struck down like large ballistic arrows crushing the earth with its heavy impact. The strides of the Naeglim echoed the rain as they charged.
“Brave men of Tripoli! I will not lie to you, tonight we will die! But it is up to us to decide the manner in which we will die and be remembered! Tonight we will show these scum of the earth how to fight! Tonight, we will bring honour to our family names! Tonight we will shape history! Tonight you will fight for all that you are worth and we will bring down as many of these demons as we can! For tonight my friends, we fight for all that we are worth. And we fight as men. Tripoli is famous for its strong and fearsome soldiers, tonight my friends, we will be that definition and we will prove it true!” Adrenaline rushed through Thaelving as he caught his breath. The men cheered. They would fight. And they would fight well. The previous gloomy mood had been destroyed by the determination to be something. To shape history.
“Archers, ready!” Thaelving roared and checked to see the response. He heard the shuffling of arrows and bows being drawn and ready. “Legionnaires form up at stations!” Again he glanced to certify that his order was fulfilled.
“FIRE!” Bowstrings twanged. Arrows pierced the wind, soaring through it with a will of their own.
Naeglim stumbled in their charge, lethal arrows puncturing their armour. Raging and whimpering howls pulsed out from the charging horde. Some Naeglim attempted to flee but were immediately pierced by the dark, hooded, Naichar. Thaelving had seen a Naichar before. Their accuracy with the bow was legendary.
Three more volleys followed the first one. Naeglim fell, yet more filled their place. They were like cockroaches crawling out after someone had lifted a rock. A massive boulder flew over Thaelving’s head and crashed into the wooden tower that had stood proudly behind the gate. Men screamed and bodies cracked as they fell. The wooden outpost had been obliterated into four jagged poles that had been its foundation. Smoke and dust erupted violently as walls were struck by the catapults. As the walls failed the Naeglim were suddenly amongst them. Thaelving threw his bow and drew his simple, standard Tripoli long sword. Running down the simple palisade stairs he joined the legionnaires and swordsmen who were slowly pushing back the short, scar-faced Naeglim.
The legionnaires’ spears with the large square shields were able to keep off most of the Naeglim from even coming close. The coarse, black-feathered arrows thumped against the silver-blue shields, but were unable to penetrate them. Lightning struck the fields again. More howls erupted amongst the battle cries. Thaelving saw the legionnaires fall in front of him and rushed out.
“Attack!” He thrust his sword into a confused Naeglim. A strike just missed him at the side. He turned to face the Naeglim which snarled and struck again. “For our families!” He dodged and thrust. The Naeglim’s eyes bulged open in surprise. Black blood poured out. “For our country!” He slashed another one at its arm and then spun to complete with a stab. “For the good of this world!” He yelled as his men fought beside him. He saw men shielding each other by picking up fallen legionnaires’ shields. Some where even risking their lives for their comrades by extravagantly exposing themselves to save each other. The Tripoli soldiers were becoming berserkers but with each others’ survival solely in their mind. It egged them on to fight for their lives.
Thaelving’s sword broke as he blocked a Naeglim’s black axe. His shoulder shook violently as the axe sunk through his armour, but luckily the sword had taken the heavy part of the hit and it only just scraped him. The Naeglim pulled the axe out and Thaelving grunted as he stabbed the sharp broken sword into the Naeglim. He picked up a nearby two-handed sword to continue fighting. Sweat poured down his face. He rapidly beheaded a charging Naeglim. His arms bulged out of the strength that was needed to fight. An arrow struck him. He felt his legs fold underneath him. Clenching his teeth he yanked the black-feathered arrow out of his thigh. He thrust his blade through another Naeglim and then fell to the ground again. Another arrow stood out of his other leg. He tried to push himself up but fell again, tasting the bitter earth. He spat out a clot of blood and phlegm. As he got himself to his knees he looked up. The two-souled Naichar stood before him, arrow drawn to the place where its ear would have been.
“Do you wish to live?” It snarled cruelly.
“No-one wants to die,” Thaelving replied cautiously.
“Look around you.” He tried to turn his head slightly. His soldiers were dead, a small battalion of fifteen men were still fighting in a tight circle, but it was a doomed cause. “You have lost. But my master Beliar offers you life. He is convinced that with some training you would make a perfect Deirm in his army.” The Naichar’s voice had a high but sharp tone to it. It felt like an arrow piercing itself into his mind. Thaelving felt himself consider its words. Then his thoughts returned to his wife and son. No. He would die with honour. He would prove his family name’s worth. Only worthless wrecks betrayed their cause and country.
His fading voice echoed his thought.
“No? You refuse my master’s act of mercy?” The Naichar laughed. Its hood as always covering its face. Thaelving thought he almost saw a bit of it and shuddered out of fear. No-one survived seeing a Naichar’s cursed face.
His mind drifted back to thoughts of his family. Faintly he heard an arrow being released. Then again and again. Blood flowed down the remains of the outpost.
“Fool,” the Naichar murmured, releasing its seventh arrow to finally end the man’s life. Thunder rolled, the storm echoing the battle’s harshness. A rain of tears dropped heavily from the skies.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2008-12-13
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