Posts
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Sorry...
I'm sorry, but I have not been able to (and will not be able to) update my Cilarion blog for the next few months due to IB exams coming up. I'll start again in end of May. :)
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Prince Eldon, Wielder of Ishandir
“My brave Tripolinians! It is our duty to defend this land, to create an environment where our children can grow up safely, to take care of this world that El Elyon has given us! Now let us retake this land that our ancestors once had! For glory and honour! To give hope to our people, and a future to our children! This, is why we fight. Tonight, the ground will turn black with Naeglim blood, and tomorrow we shall wash it away and plant a future. Are you with me? Tripolinians, are you with me? ARE YOU?” Prince Eldon raised his great spear, and the ground shook as the soldiers rattled their weapons and shouted for triumph. The sun continued its path downwards as night began to claim its domain.
He put his spurs into his chestnut stallion. It rose onto its hind legs and then rushed forward with a dash. The legionnaires behind him rushed forward with him. At the other end of the field Naeglim began to form; putting up their pikes and scythed swords in defensive positions. An arrow flew against Eldon but he was able to dodge it and it just skimmed the rim of his platinum helmet. He sent his horse forward with a final push of his spurs and jumped off into the crowd of Naeglim. Around him the legionnaires joined him. Metal clashed. Grunts of pain and shouts of desperation began to erupt. He swung his giant spear, the spearhead itself was almost half a whole arm’s length! On it were inscriptions of the Blessed Tongue, it was an old, precious weapon which he had inherited from an old mentor. The spear cut through a Naeglim’s throat and hit the next in the shoulder. Eldon removed it quickly and then stabbed it through. They were pressing forward. This was their time and their victory. The legionnaires were cutting through with their square shields and short swords.
Then it came. Its terrifying presence filled the area like a dark cloak covers the light. The Deirm grinned broadly and lifted its great two-hand sword. Eldon was caught by surprise and only barely blocked with the blade of his spear. Sweat had appeared on his forehead. The Deirm’s blows were heavy to block and hard to dodge. A small circle of Naeglim had formed around the two captains. They laughed as they watched Eldon struggle to survive.
Some legionnaires saw their prince’s predicament and came to his rescue. The fight between Eldon and the Deirm continued as the Naeglim around started to fight the legionnaires. Eldon twirled his massive spear, killing a Naeglim and then thrusting it against the Deirm. The Deirm jumped out of the way and then retaliated with a great slash, which Eldon just barely managed to dodge. A legionnaire shouted, voices were crushed underneath the clashing of metal. Eldon held his spear against the mighty blow of the Deirm. He could feel his strength deserting him. He would not hold up long against this Deirm any longer. It was too strong. Suddenly in the midst of the duel a legionnaire had decided to try and help. Eldon recognized him. It was Fieran, an old friend who had been his duelling partner as a young teenager. Fieran stabbed his short sword into the side of the Deirm while its blade was locked with Eldon’s. The Deirm snarled and turned its head to see who would dare to harm it. Fieran spat in its face while trying to pull out his short sword. The Deirm swung its two-hand sword and Fieran’s head rolled to the ground with a thump, his face showing a moment of surprise. Eldon screamed in fury and, while the Deirm was watching its victim, thrust his spear, Ishandir, into the heart of the Deirm. The Deirm grabbed the spear and pulled it through completely, pulling Eldon to himself.
“You only killed me out of luck,” the Deirm spat defiantly. It tried to lift its sword in an attempt to finish Eldon too, but its black blood was pouring out rapidly from its wound. The Deirm sunk to its knees.
“This is for Fieran.” Eldon took up the Deirm’s sword and removed its head.
The Naeglim around them stared in surprise. A Deirm had not died before. Deirm were impossible to kill. Without their leader the Naeglim did not know what to do. If these soldiers could kill a Deirm… they would be next. The Naeglim turned and fled.
Eldon’s company pursued them to the edge of the land. Once they had crossed the river into Naeglar, there was no longer any point in following. The land had been retaken. They had won. They had even killed a Deirm! Something that was incredibly rare and had not been done for decades. The legionnaires cheered and celebrated that evening. It had been a great victory for Tripoli.
Eldon sat alone in his tent, mourning the losses. The men that had died under his leadership. Each one had been his responsibility. Forty-six had been lost. Each name would be honoured and remembered when they returned. But what was honour to a dead man? What was honour to the families that had lost their beloved husband or son? Tears dripped down Eldon’s cheeks. He knew his words would never be able to compensate for the pain that he had caused them.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2009-02-01
He put his spurs into his chestnut stallion. It rose onto its hind legs and then rushed forward with a dash. The legionnaires behind him rushed forward with him. At the other end of the field Naeglim began to form; putting up their pikes and scythed swords in defensive positions. An arrow flew against Eldon but he was able to dodge it and it just skimmed the rim of his platinum helmet. He sent his horse forward with a final push of his spurs and jumped off into the crowd of Naeglim. Around him the legionnaires joined him. Metal clashed. Grunts of pain and shouts of desperation began to erupt. He swung his giant spear, the spearhead itself was almost half a whole arm’s length! On it were inscriptions of the Blessed Tongue, it was an old, precious weapon which he had inherited from an old mentor. The spear cut through a Naeglim’s throat and hit the next in the shoulder. Eldon removed it quickly and then stabbed it through. They were pressing forward. This was their time and their victory. The legionnaires were cutting through with their square shields and short swords.
Then it came. Its terrifying presence filled the area like a dark cloak covers the light. The Deirm grinned broadly and lifted its great two-hand sword. Eldon was caught by surprise and only barely blocked with the blade of his spear. Sweat had appeared on his forehead. The Deirm’s blows were heavy to block and hard to dodge. A small circle of Naeglim had formed around the two captains. They laughed as they watched Eldon struggle to survive.
Some legionnaires saw their prince’s predicament and came to his rescue. The fight between Eldon and the Deirm continued as the Naeglim around started to fight the legionnaires. Eldon twirled his massive spear, killing a Naeglim and then thrusting it against the Deirm. The Deirm jumped out of the way and then retaliated with a great slash, which Eldon just barely managed to dodge. A legionnaire shouted, voices were crushed underneath the clashing of metal. Eldon held his spear against the mighty blow of the Deirm. He could feel his strength deserting him. He would not hold up long against this Deirm any longer. It was too strong. Suddenly in the midst of the duel a legionnaire had decided to try and help. Eldon recognized him. It was Fieran, an old friend who had been his duelling partner as a young teenager. Fieran stabbed his short sword into the side of the Deirm while its blade was locked with Eldon’s. The Deirm snarled and turned its head to see who would dare to harm it. Fieran spat in its face while trying to pull out his short sword. The Deirm swung its two-hand sword and Fieran’s head rolled to the ground with a thump, his face showing a moment of surprise. Eldon screamed in fury and, while the Deirm was watching its victim, thrust his spear, Ishandir, into the heart of the Deirm. The Deirm grabbed the spear and pulled it through completely, pulling Eldon to himself.
“You only killed me out of luck,” the Deirm spat defiantly. It tried to lift its sword in an attempt to finish Eldon too, but its black blood was pouring out rapidly from its wound. The Deirm sunk to its knees.
“This is for Fieran.” Eldon took up the Deirm’s sword and removed its head.
The Naeglim around them stared in surprise. A Deirm had not died before. Deirm were impossible to kill. Without their leader the Naeglim did not know what to do. If these soldiers could kill a Deirm… they would be next. The Naeglim turned and fled.
Eldon’s company pursued them to the edge of the land. Once they had crossed the river into Naeglar, there was no longer any point in following. The land had been retaken. They had won. They had even killed a Deirm! Something that was incredibly rare and had not been done for decades. The legionnaires cheered and celebrated that evening. It had been a great victory for Tripoli.
Eldon sat alone in his tent, mourning the losses. The men that had died under his leadership. Each one had been his responsibility. Forty-six had been lost. Each name would be honoured and remembered when they returned. But what was honour to a dead man? What was honour to the families that had lost their beloved husband or son? Tears dripped down Eldon’s cheeks. He knew his words would never be able to compensate for the pain that he had caused them.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2009-02-01
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
A Naichar's Mission
The Naichar swept his black coat closer around itself. It was cold. Darkness ruled and the moon had hidden itself from the evil that haunted the night. The Naichar gripped its reins tightly. The Aviol leaped through the forest. The black horse snarled at the howling wind and the purple flames streamed heavily out of its nostrils. The Naichar knew it was hungry; saliva was dripping around its sharp teeth. They continued to gallop through the dark woods.
Suddenly the Naichar’s blood went hot. It was as if its insides were boiling, an infuriating pain filled it. It clenched its teeth to keep itself from screaming. The Aviol snarled as it felt its rider pressed the spurs in further. The Naichar softened its grip momentarily and then the instructions were blasted into its brain.
“Kill Omidaka. He is planning on uniting Sayto. The Nuyama and Ashima cannot be allowed to unite. Beliar rules with chaos and so chaos must rule the nations. Find Omidaka and assassinate him.”
The Naichar exhaled heavily. The messaged had echoed strongly three times within his head. The Aviol continued to race through the forest. Harena was not far from here. Omidaka would be there to negotiate with the Ashima. If he was killed on this diplomatic trip the Nuyama would believe he had been murdered by the Ashima. Then they would never unite.
A few hours later the peculiar buildings came into view. Their plate roofs were curved like slides on each side, but at the edges began to slant upwards. Each corner also held various animal figures. Some buildings had four different figures, others only one. One building even had seven differing figures. The target, Omidaka, would be in the building with seven figures. The more figures the more special and honoured the building was.
The Naichar and Aviol stood hidden in the forest, camouflaged by darkness. Dismounting, the Naichar led the Aviol to the edge of the woods. Small, purple flames continued to pulsate out of the Aviol’s nostrils, creating a rhythmic beat. The Naichar gazed through the black hood that covered its head and face. It could see out, but no-one could see in. If they did, they were cursed with immediate death. Its face could not stand light. If a ray of sun struck its face the Naichar was burnt into a pile of black ash, just as if it had been killed.
A light burned in the window of the house, it was a short, dying candle. Were they still awake? Or was the candle just burning to make it seem that way?
“Zhast haerg,” the Naichar commanded the Aviol in Beliarthong. It snarled but obeyed. It had seen the last Aviol get pierced with one of the black feathered arrows because it had disobeyed. It also clearly recalled the days as a small foal when the Deirms had battered its brain into understanding the harsh language. Every misunderstanding had resulted in a whiplash. By a triple-braided and burning whip. The Aviol still carried the marks on its back. The worst had been when the Lord of Evil himself had slit open a blood vein and taken some of its blood. For that day of training every disobeyed command had resulted in the dark clad figure stirring the cup with his finger. The pain had been indescribable. The Aviol had writhed in pain and screamed. The mere memory subdued the Aviol to any command said in Beliarthong.
The Naichar let its main soul out. Leaving its own body the silver soul travelled down into the village. The guards did not expect anyone from here. The village did not even have a wall. The weak wall was facing the south. Did they think Beliar would leave them alone? That they only had the Nuyama to fear?
A window was open on the west side of the house. The soul slipped through. There was a great silence. A scent of melted wax filled the room. There was a small shrine room where incense still let out a sweet scent of prayers to the gods that the Ashima praised. The Naichar soul gave it a satisfied look. Beliar had invented those gods himself. Some of the first Diragh had gone and preached their ‘truth’ long ago.
Finally the soul located Omidaka. He was sleeping on a mattress with a pillow shaped like a prism. His two Sayto swords lay next to him. A Nuyama warrior never went without them. One was longer and two-handed, used for fighting. The other was shorter and used to disembowel oneself if one failed in a battle. That way ones family’s name would not be dishonoured. Both swords were slightly curved.
The Naichar quickly flew back to its body. It pulled out its giant, raven-black bow. It swept its black cloak around itself and glided down towards the house. Everyone was asleep. The house was completely still. The air seemed to stand still. The floor did not even creak. It was a perfect night for a Naichar.
The Naichar hovered over the sleeping man. This was it. It turned for a second to look out in the hallway and immense pain filled it. It turned around immediately. The burning pain that had filled it instantly ceased. A Naichar could never turn its back on a mission. The Naichar breathed heavily from the shock of the pain. It had completely forgotten about the obligation that it had to all missions made through the blood channels. It notched an arrow. The man was still peacefully sleeping. The Naichar felt a surge of desire to take out its anger and previous pain on something. It gave the man a small on his foot. Omidaka woke up gaping at the tall, dark figure hovering above it. The Naichar released its arrow before he could scream. Screaming was not unnecessary to feel pain. Although it was always delighting to hear them scream. It gave a sense of achievement. The arrow went straight through the mouth and neck of Omidaka hitting the wall with a thud and a splash of blood. The Naichar pulled two more arrows and released simultaneously. The two arrows hit Omidaka in the chest, puncturing a lung and the intestine system. It was time to get out.
Standing in the doorway the Naichar suddenly remembered. It took out a small, sharp, star-shaped throwing knife. It was the Ashima’s trademark weapon. It went back to stand over the fallen body of Omidaka. The Naichar threw the star straight at the neck. The wooden floor thumped again. A pool of blood had gathered. It was definitely time to leave. The Naichar glided over the wooden floors, sliding as quietly as ever. The dark, vile aura left the house as the Naichar removed its presence. Warmth flooded into the houses in the village as the Naichar rode away on the Aviol. The damage had been done.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2009-01-07
Suddenly the Naichar’s blood went hot. It was as if its insides were boiling, an infuriating pain filled it. It clenched its teeth to keep itself from screaming. The Aviol snarled as it felt its rider pressed the spurs in further. The Naichar softened its grip momentarily and then the instructions were blasted into its brain.
“Kill Omidaka. He is planning on uniting Sayto. The Nuyama and Ashima cannot be allowed to unite. Beliar rules with chaos and so chaos must rule the nations. Find Omidaka and assassinate him.”
The Naichar exhaled heavily. The messaged had echoed strongly three times within his head. The Aviol continued to race through the forest. Harena was not far from here. Omidaka would be there to negotiate with the Ashima. If he was killed on this diplomatic trip the Nuyama would believe he had been murdered by the Ashima. Then they would never unite.
A few hours later the peculiar buildings came into view. Their plate roofs were curved like slides on each side, but at the edges began to slant upwards. Each corner also held various animal figures. Some buildings had four different figures, others only one. One building even had seven differing figures. The target, Omidaka, would be in the building with seven figures. The more figures the more special and honoured the building was.
The Naichar and Aviol stood hidden in the forest, camouflaged by darkness. Dismounting, the Naichar led the Aviol to the edge of the woods. Small, purple flames continued to pulsate out of the Aviol’s nostrils, creating a rhythmic beat. The Naichar gazed through the black hood that covered its head and face. It could see out, but no-one could see in. If they did, they were cursed with immediate death. Its face could not stand light. If a ray of sun struck its face the Naichar was burnt into a pile of black ash, just as if it had been killed.
A light burned in the window of the house, it was a short, dying candle. Were they still awake? Or was the candle just burning to make it seem that way?
“Zhast haerg,” the Naichar commanded the Aviol in Beliarthong. It snarled but obeyed. It had seen the last Aviol get pierced with one of the black feathered arrows because it had disobeyed. It also clearly recalled the days as a small foal when the Deirms had battered its brain into understanding the harsh language. Every misunderstanding had resulted in a whiplash. By a triple-braided and burning whip. The Aviol still carried the marks on its back. The worst had been when the Lord of Evil himself had slit open a blood vein and taken some of its blood. For that day of training every disobeyed command had resulted in the dark clad figure stirring the cup with his finger. The pain had been indescribable. The Aviol had writhed in pain and screamed. The mere memory subdued the Aviol to any command said in Beliarthong.
The Naichar let its main soul out. Leaving its own body the silver soul travelled down into the village. The guards did not expect anyone from here. The village did not even have a wall. The weak wall was facing the south. Did they think Beliar would leave them alone? That they only had the Nuyama to fear?
A window was open on the west side of the house. The soul slipped through. There was a great silence. A scent of melted wax filled the room. There was a small shrine room where incense still let out a sweet scent of prayers to the gods that the Ashima praised. The Naichar soul gave it a satisfied look. Beliar had invented those gods himself. Some of the first Diragh had gone and preached their ‘truth’ long ago.
Finally the soul located Omidaka. He was sleeping on a mattress with a pillow shaped like a prism. His two Sayto swords lay next to him. A Nuyama warrior never went without them. One was longer and two-handed, used for fighting. The other was shorter and used to disembowel oneself if one failed in a battle. That way ones family’s name would not be dishonoured. Both swords were slightly curved.
The Naichar quickly flew back to its body. It pulled out its giant, raven-black bow. It swept its black cloak around itself and glided down towards the house. Everyone was asleep. The house was completely still. The air seemed to stand still. The floor did not even creak. It was a perfect night for a Naichar.
The Naichar hovered over the sleeping man. This was it. It turned for a second to look out in the hallway and immense pain filled it. It turned around immediately. The burning pain that had filled it instantly ceased. A Naichar could never turn its back on a mission. The Naichar breathed heavily from the shock of the pain. It had completely forgotten about the obligation that it had to all missions made through the blood channels. It notched an arrow. The man was still peacefully sleeping. The Naichar felt a surge of desire to take out its anger and previous pain on something. It gave the man a small on his foot. Omidaka woke up gaping at the tall, dark figure hovering above it. The Naichar released its arrow before he could scream. Screaming was not unnecessary to feel pain. Although it was always delighting to hear them scream. It gave a sense of achievement. The arrow went straight through the mouth and neck of Omidaka hitting the wall with a thud and a splash of blood. The Naichar pulled two more arrows and released simultaneously. The two arrows hit Omidaka in the chest, puncturing a lung and the intestine system. It was time to get out.
Standing in the doorway the Naichar suddenly remembered. It took out a small, sharp, star-shaped throwing knife. It was the Ashima’s trademark weapon. It went back to stand over the fallen body of Omidaka. The Naichar threw the star straight at the neck. The wooden floor thumped again. A pool of blood had gathered. It was definitely time to leave. The Naichar glided over the wooden floors, sliding as quietly as ever. The dark, vile aura left the house as the Naichar removed its presence. Warmth flooded into the houses in the village as the Naichar rode away on the Aviol. The damage had been done.
Copyright © Danai Gabre, 2009-01-07
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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