Letalis Oriour

[Lord kanarik]

This actually started as background for an RP character, but I got a little overenthusiastic, and it got a bit longer than I expected. I think I might want to write more about this guy, so I thought I'd post it here for you all to enjoy/critique/rip apart. Comments welcome.

Cheers, Gaz

Story


Underneath a misty, gray evening sky in the Blackspine Mountains, a baby was born to Rashana Silver-tongued, a female shade of a small clan near the northern reaches of the Forest of Arnheim. As is the custom, the small boy was given to the forest to prove his strength. As his mother left him in a slight depression in a rock, the small boy looked out at the world with wide and curious eyes. All night, as the frost blanketed the ground, the baby was witness to the cruel beauty of the forest: The graceful murder of a small brown shrew, the terrible joy of the owlets that consumed it, and above all, the deafening silence and silky stillness of the full moon.

As dawn broke and the sun shone through the trees, Rashana found her son’s small huddled form. As she held him to her breast, their eyes met, and she was startled by what she saw. His ice-blue eyes, deep glacial pools of emotion, were oddly out of place on the face of a newborn. They were alive with love, sorrow, anger, happiness and hate, all intertwined in an endless, rippling dance. The fire in his frosty stare transfixed his mother for an endless moment, before his eyelids dropped, leaving no sign of his burning gaze.

Rashana had observed the surprising intelligence in her son’s expressive eyes, and she was convinced that he was in some way special, destined for glory and power. After seeing his son, Kaelon Silver-tongued was also elated, naming his son Letalis Oriour, in hopes that his name would be spoken with fear and reverence across the shadowed lands.

At first, these hopes seemed well founded; the boy possessed the hot rage and vicious temperament of a fearsome warrior. Most regarded this ferocious youngster with pride, and Letalis thrived, finding joy wherever he went. But after the small boy intentionally bit off the ear of the clan leader’s son during a scuffle, sentiments turned sharply against the boy. While viciousness was prized highly, nobility was prized higher. This fact was made abundantly clear to young Letalis, often with the flat of a sword.

As Letalis grew older, the hopes of his proud parents began to fade. He was quiet and reclusive, often preferring the company of the forest to those of the other children. He rarely engaged in their raucous, aggressive games, exhibiting restraint, which was often mistaken for weakness. He also developed a hooded gaze, masking his eyes, and without their light, he appeared completely nondescript. Without his eyes, he betrayed no emotion, his face was completely blank, and he appeared to have no body language to speak of. This apparent lack of emotion was disconcerting and suspicious to the shade clan. Few elves would even approach him.

So Letalis started to construct an emotional mask to hide behind. He began with the easy feelings, like rage, or hatred. It was simple enough to let fury slip onto his face when he was supposed to be angry. Or fear. Fear was simple, really, just widen the eyes, grit the teeth, and breath heavily. In fact, no emotion was truly difficult. The hard part was faking something he didn’t feel.

But with practice, his mask slid into place with more and more ease. And as he got better, traces of his rebellious fury began to vanish. Letalis became a smooth and cultured figure. He was always quick with a smile, with a joke when applicable, and cut an appropriately vicious figure when hunting slaves. In fact, Letalis was now quite the popular figure among the clan. He found no shortage of friends or lovers. His ice-blue eyes, once so noticeable, were kept hidden behind his lidded gaze. The only signs of his true feelings were visible from direct eye contact. And really, nobody wanted to know his true feelings.

When lessons began, he took in all the information and studied well, memorizing it and analyzing it with an almost religious fervor. Although he never exhibited extreme skill in combat, he enjoyed working with the weapons. However, in the philosophy lessons, in which the young shades were taught to give complete fealty and allegiance to their leaders, he grew increasingly disillusioned. He never spoke, but he kept his own counsel on to whom he would be loyal, and this was based on calculated necessity, rather than blind obedience. He began to wonder why he had to stay in the forest and grow old guarding the borders of his homeland. He had no great love of the interminable guard duty. But he kept these thoughts to himself, as he grew more and more discontented.

Letalis’ escape came as a complete surprise, especially to himself. In early spring it was announced that there would be blood festivities in honor of the clan leader. Hundreds of human slaves were to be butchered, many extravagant feasts would be held, and the youth of the clan would have the chance to participate in various games. Participation, of course would be determined in a random drawing.

The day arrived, and all of the shades gathered around to witness the running of the slaves. As Letalis arrived, he smiled at the sight before him. Tall black pines, so thick that it was only possible to see some fifty feet in any direction, surrounded the main clearing of the village. The paths were crowded with Druchii, intent on the spectacle before them. The humans were shackled in the middle of the clearing, shuffling nervously, and talking in low voices. The beginnings of panic could be seen clearly in their brutish faces. A hush drew over the crowd as the clan leader stood. At his motion, the slaves were released, and the crowd whooped as they fired their repeater crossbows. The whine of bolts filled the air, along with the screams of slaves, and the tang of fresh blood. Many slaves fled into the trees, pursued hotly by elves both young and old. With an impish grin, Letalis motioned to his companions and joined in the festivities.

Later, the feasting tables were host to the crowd of raucous elves, adrenaline fueling song and tales of the glorious hunt. As the debauchery continued, many toasts were raised to the glorious clan leader. With a pompous gesture, the leader called for silence, and announced the contestants in the games. As fate would have it, Letalis was to go last with one of his companions from the hunt, in a duel to first blood. As all adjourned back to the clearing, Letalis and his opponent shared a grin that was both friendly and a bit malicious. Most of the competition passed in a blur for Letalis, as he was slightly inebriated from the copious amounts of wine he had consumed. And then it was his turn.

Letalis and his opponent looked to the clan leader before beginning the battle. Next to the leader sat a sleazy elf with only half an ear, who spat and made a rude gesture toward Letalis. Letalis felt a rising tide of hot resentment boil to the surface at the sight of his oldest rival. However, Letalis bit his tongue and forced the feelings away. He simply bowed, a small smile on his face, and turned toward his opponent.

The fight began like a dance, as the two shades circled each other, thrusting and parrying with fair skill. The footwork quickly became more complex, their cloaks billowing behind them, as they fought with more and more speed. With each second, the blows came faster and harder from both combatants. But with each revolution, Letalis caught a glimpse of the sneering clan leader’s son, seated next to his father. Letalis forced down his resentment, again and again, but began to hear his blood pounding in his ears. It grew louder, drowning out the roar of the crowd and the clash of steel. His vision shrank, now only encompassing himself and his opponent. Oddly, he began to see patterns, as both swords made ethereal silver trails in the air. Letalis began to dance under and around his opponent’s sword, barely needing to use his own, which was growing ever lighter.

Letalis felt as if prodded toward his opponent. As he danced forward, the other elf made a quick lunge straight at Letalis’ arm, hoping to draw blood and end the match. Swaying lightly to the side, Letalis raised his arm and brought his blade downward with a guttural howl, shearing through the muscle and bone of the elf’s forearm. As bright red blood spewed forth from the gory stump and spattered onto the ground, Letalis stepped closer and drove his blade through the stomach of the unfortunate combatant. Once, twice, thrice the wickedly pointed tip of the blade burst out of the dying elf’s back. Spinning around with a scream, Letalis brought his blade horizontal, beheading his opponent. As he completed his rotation, his eyes were wide with jubilant fury.

Letalis felt as if he was just breaking the surface of the wild sea, as he took a gulping breath and heard the roar of the crowd. But then his face went stiff with shock as he realized what he had done. An angry howling reached his ears as a furious mob descended toward him, blades drawn and ready. His carefully cultured mask shattered, leaving his face an open book. Fear, sadness, pride, hate, and decades worth of pain washed across his face in an instant. A sword tore down his back, snapping him into reality and causing him to run for his life. Blades were descending all around him, tearing into his flesh, leaving bloody trails on his white skin. Somehow he made it out alive and sprinted into the forest, trying with all his might to escape the fate he had made for himself.

Days later, a passing bird saw a tattered shade perching in a tree, staring into the horizon as if stunned. Letalis’ wounds had healed, but he was still lost in a torrent of chaotic emotions. Another week found Letalis slowly recovering, replacing the broken pieces of his emotional mask, and trying to regain his ability to function. Eventually, his mask was mostly whole again, and Letalis set off to find a way to survive. But now his mask was cracked, and he did not know how long it would take before another outburst shattered it again.

[Greenwhy]

Cool story, Eagerly awaiting the next installment if there is one. Until the end I thought it was a metaphorical mask but at the end it seems to be a physical item? explain? Very heavy use of commas, especially at the start. I have no creative writing credentials myself so I'm not sure my criticism is worth much.

[Lord kanarik]

Fair enough. I did mean it to be metaphorical. I guess I used too much literal diction toward the end. I'll fix that eventually.

[Saintofm]

Love it. The dance of death was reviting.

[Syjahel]

I really enjoyed this. It seems fine grammatically to me, and I did think it was a metaphorical mask, but that's just my opinion Dark Elf psychology fascinates me (they must have got from High Elves to Druchii, but how?) and Shades are a group that haven't had much GW attention. So I'm looking forward to more!

[Sweeping death]

Loved the story and would like to read more!