Embers of Childhood (WFB fan fic)
Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 7:48 pm
You guys know the rutine: Rip her apart like it walked into a Dragon's den covered in honey mustard.
Chapter 1: The Raven.
The sun was glaring down upon the barren road as an executioner stares down their next victim. It was a dry heat, but nothing that was unexpected this time of the year. Along the dusty road, a lone couple rode along in their small wagon pulled by an old mule. Though as elves they aged with much grace, they were too old not to have the strain of life show upon them. Thin creases and small sags had developed on their cheeks, arms, and chins, while their eyes seemed weighted down with the depression of centuries of sadness.
At least they were nearing the forest soon. Despite the dangers it was reputed to hold, there was nothing these two feared there. The White Lions of Chrace, famed warriors, huntsmen, and the chosen body guard of the Phoenix King, made sure of that. When the couple first entered the woods, the fresh recruits were in the midst of some survival training. By the time the couple had come back theses warriors had returned home and the young lions left every monster more frightening then a fox food for the carrion.
One of those well fed scavengers took an eerie interest in them. It was a raven, no bigger than a house cat, but smarter than the average human, and endowed with keener eyes then any elf. It flew from tree to tree keeping watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop down and find something good. It wouldn’t be long. It counted at least twenty carts passing through here in the last day, and the ones making as much racket as those wheels this couple’s were not going to last long. Looking in the back of the cart, the couple must have known this as well and kept a couple of spares.
The moment of action would be near. It could taste the reward for its patience. Soon, but for now it waited. It busied itself pecking at a rock hard beetle for a few moments to pass the time, and then moved on. The wait had come to an end.
“Gods above us, this road needs a good fixing.” yelled an aged masculine voice. Its owner unhooked the mule and tethered her to a tree. With a deep sigh he examined the damage. “This may take a while, Magretta.”
“I needed a break anyways.” said the woman. Without a second thought she jumped off the cart and landed with a cat’s precision. “If I remember correctly, the map says there is a stream nearby. I think I’ll go fill the water skins.” said the woman. She may have been old, but she still retained her grace as she moved.
“We don’t need any map for that,” her husband said with a puff of content. “Just the same, be safe. Who knows what’s still out here, and careful with the leaves in the shape of a sword: They itch!”
The old elf muttered as he searched for his tools. When he found them he began cursing like a soldier. The cherry on top of this was the elf throwing his sand hued cloak to the ground in rage. All of his tools had been thrown out, and he would have to meticulously put them back in their case. He could have easily just thrown them into the back of the wagon, but he was quirky like that. The Raven had seen plenty of elves like this before, and could spot him from a mile away. His brown tunic was too prim and proper given the distance between settlements, and he was more concerned with his appearances to worry about the road ahead.
What confused the bird was the sound the wheals made. It was not unlike a dying weasel that had their tail caught in a trap. Every other elf that was as excessive about their pruning felt the same way of their carts. It was a compulsion they could no more fight then a mouse could defend itself against a dragon. Still, the bird’s efforts to scatter the shiny things that looked like the tools others had used to repair their carts would keep him busy for a while.
Sniffing the air, he caught the woman’s perfume and followed. If she wondered off too far, the raven’s plans would be for naught. Then the bird remembered she was carrying thick sacks the size of a crow. This was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Knowing where she was heading, the raven found a comfortable perch and waited. It wasn’t a long wait. It wasn’t a long wait to strike either.
As the woman filled the second bag, a simple bracelet fell into the stream. Panicking, she jump over after it, but it was just out of reach. It was then the raven chose to strike. Swooping in like a hawk that found a sleeping rabbit, it snatched the bracelet with ease. He landed a few paces from the woman, cawing loudly and proudly.
“Oh you little fiend, give me that.” The woman lunged for the bird but he flew a few paced back. She reached for him again, and the bird flew away from her grasp again. She did it again and again with the same result. The woman sounded out her frustration and chased after the bird again. The swift raven simply continued to fly off further and further into the woods, always within a stone’s throw of the elf. Had it a face that could accommodate it, a smile would have begun spreading. The bird kept flying until it flew into a high branch.
“Damn you bird, damn you! Give that back to me!”
The raven had some semblance of knowledge of elvin speech to know she wanted the trinket back. The game was over anyways, and so he dropped it to the ground. He landed a few paces away. Still angry at the bird, she was half tempted to throw the trinket at him, but that was her husband’s wedding gift to her all those centuries ago. As she picked it up she noticed something else a few paces from her and screamed.
Her husband bumped his head on the side of the wagon the moment he heard his beloved wife scream. Grabbing a short sword from the back of the wagon he ran towards the direction of Magretta. It didn’t take him long to reach his wife but even for a long lived race as the elves, this felt like an eternity.
Panting, he found her, cradling the lifeless body of a boy. “What is going on?” he asked.
“A raven took my wedding bracelet and dropped it over here. When I picked it up I found this boy.” Replied the startled woman
The youth was breathing in shallow wisps. His cloths were covered in scratches and large dark red stains pocked marked his shirt. Through a few sizable tears one could find left of a mail shirt that slowly fell apart. A pair of gauntlets encased the youth’s hands, with a strait sword grasped firmly in one, and an intricately curved dagger in the other.
His eyes were squeezed shut; the intensity of his bruised face made it seemed he was fighting some unholy entity in his dreams.
“A wild beast or bandits must have gotten him. Gave them a good fight from the looks of it.” said the man. "This isn't Asure armor, but its elf make. Where did he get it?"
“Do you think they may be more?” gasped the woman.
The thought did little to reassure the old man.“Get him in the cart!” her husband said quickly.
They took the youth and carried him to the cart. As with most elves, they never lost their strength or their grace till death was ready to claim them in their sleep. Pain racked the boy’s face, and let out horrid groans. Was it one of the underworld’s wraiths that haunted this boy’s dreams, or was it something else? Magretta wondered.
As she said a little prayer to the gods for aid, the raven landed near the boy, dropping a small twig with berries upon the boy’s chest.
The raven’s gambit had paid off.
Chapter 1: The Raven.
The sun was glaring down upon the barren road as an executioner stares down their next victim. It was a dry heat, but nothing that was unexpected this time of the year. Along the dusty road, a lone couple rode along in their small wagon pulled by an old mule. Though as elves they aged with much grace, they were too old not to have the strain of life show upon them. Thin creases and small sags had developed on their cheeks, arms, and chins, while their eyes seemed weighted down with the depression of centuries of sadness.
At least they were nearing the forest soon. Despite the dangers it was reputed to hold, there was nothing these two feared there. The White Lions of Chrace, famed warriors, huntsmen, and the chosen body guard of the Phoenix King, made sure of that. When the couple first entered the woods, the fresh recruits were in the midst of some survival training. By the time the couple had come back theses warriors had returned home and the young lions left every monster more frightening then a fox food for the carrion.
One of those well fed scavengers took an eerie interest in them. It was a raven, no bigger than a house cat, but smarter than the average human, and endowed with keener eyes then any elf. It flew from tree to tree keeping watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop down and find something good. It wouldn’t be long. It counted at least twenty carts passing through here in the last day, and the ones making as much racket as those wheels this couple’s were not going to last long. Looking in the back of the cart, the couple must have known this as well and kept a couple of spares.
The moment of action would be near. It could taste the reward for its patience. Soon, but for now it waited. It busied itself pecking at a rock hard beetle for a few moments to pass the time, and then moved on. The wait had come to an end.
“Gods above us, this road needs a good fixing.” yelled an aged masculine voice. Its owner unhooked the mule and tethered her to a tree. With a deep sigh he examined the damage. “This may take a while, Magretta.”
“I needed a break anyways.” said the woman. Without a second thought she jumped off the cart and landed with a cat’s precision. “If I remember correctly, the map says there is a stream nearby. I think I’ll go fill the water skins.” said the woman. She may have been old, but she still retained her grace as she moved.
“We don’t need any map for that,” her husband said with a puff of content. “Just the same, be safe. Who knows what’s still out here, and careful with the leaves in the shape of a sword: They itch!”
The old elf muttered as he searched for his tools. When he found them he began cursing like a soldier. The cherry on top of this was the elf throwing his sand hued cloak to the ground in rage. All of his tools had been thrown out, and he would have to meticulously put them back in their case. He could have easily just thrown them into the back of the wagon, but he was quirky like that. The Raven had seen plenty of elves like this before, and could spot him from a mile away. His brown tunic was too prim and proper given the distance between settlements, and he was more concerned with his appearances to worry about the road ahead.
What confused the bird was the sound the wheals made. It was not unlike a dying weasel that had their tail caught in a trap. Every other elf that was as excessive about their pruning felt the same way of their carts. It was a compulsion they could no more fight then a mouse could defend itself against a dragon. Still, the bird’s efforts to scatter the shiny things that looked like the tools others had used to repair their carts would keep him busy for a while.
Sniffing the air, he caught the woman’s perfume and followed. If she wondered off too far, the raven’s plans would be for naught. Then the bird remembered she was carrying thick sacks the size of a crow. This was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Knowing where she was heading, the raven found a comfortable perch and waited. It wasn’t a long wait. It wasn’t a long wait to strike either.
As the woman filled the second bag, a simple bracelet fell into the stream. Panicking, she jump over after it, but it was just out of reach. It was then the raven chose to strike. Swooping in like a hawk that found a sleeping rabbit, it snatched the bracelet with ease. He landed a few paces from the woman, cawing loudly and proudly.
“Oh you little fiend, give me that.” The woman lunged for the bird but he flew a few paced back. She reached for him again, and the bird flew away from her grasp again. She did it again and again with the same result. The woman sounded out her frustration and chased after the bird again. The swift raven simply continued to fly off further and further into the woods, always within a stone’s throw of the elf. Had it a face that could accommodate it, a smile would have begun spreading. The bird kept flying until it flew into a high branch.
“Damn you bird, damn you! Give that back to me!”
The raven had some semblance of knowledge of elvin speech to know she wanted the trinket back. The game was over anyways, and so he dropped it to the ground. He landed a few paces away. Still angry at the bird, she was half tempted to throw the trinket at him, but that was her husband’s wedding gift to her all those centuries ago. As she picked it up she noticed something else a few paces from her and screamed.
Her husband bumped his head on the side of the wagon the moment he heard his beloved wife scream. Grabbing a short sword from the back of the wagon he ran towards the direction of Magretta. It didn’t take him long to reach his wife but even for a long lived race as the elves, this felt like an eternity.
Panting, he found her, cradling the lifeless body of a boy. “What is going on?” he asked.
“A raven took my wedding bracelet and dropped it over here. When I picked it up I found this boy.” Replied the startled woman
The youth was breathing in shallow wisps. His cloths were covered in scratches and large dark red stains pocked marked his shirt. Through a few sizable tears one could find left of a mail shirt that slowly fell apart. A pair of gauntlets encased the youth’s hands, with a strait sword grasped firmly in one, and an intricately curved dagger in the other.
His eyes were squeezed shut; the intensity of his bruised face made it seemed he was fighting some unholy entity in his dreams.
“A wild beast or bandits must have gotten him. Gave them a good fight from the looks of it.” said the man. "This isn't Asure armor, but its elf make. Where did he get it?"
“Do you think they may be more?” gasped the woman.
The thought did little to reassure the old man.“Get him in the cart!” her husband said quickly.
They took the youth and carried him to the cart. As with most elves, they never lost their strength or their grace till death was ready to claim them in their sleep. Pain racked the boy’s face, and let out horrid groans. Was it one of the underworld’s wraiths that haunted this boy’s dreams, or was it something else? Magretta wondered.
As she said a little prayer to the gods for aid, the raven landed near the boy, dropping a small twig with berries upon the boy’s chest.
The raven’s gambit had paid off.