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 Posted: Wed Jan 14, 2009 10:39 pm
. . .Hate to say it but I can't get any part of this plot out of my head, and haven't been able to for several months. Granted, I'm probably a bit further gone from reality than when it was first conceived, but still, I just want to go with it. Soooo. . . . at this point its essentially masturbation, feel free to watch.
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Posted: Wed Jan 14, 2009 11:19 pm
Nerull gazed southward over the more populated expanse of Yiilruv, the sun beginning its decent back into the hills until the morrow, casting dark shades of green across the sill he leaned on. The ancient forest was a maze of elven platforms and bridges, thousands of homes fashioned around and in the colossal trees that made up the forest. The genius of the forest god Faigahn's design was evident all throughout the sacred forest. Beauty, in essence, dripped from the leaves of the tallest trees, bathing everything in its radiant presence down to the smallest flowers sprouting on the ground below. The high elves had been masters of the tree-tops, relatively undisturbed, for dozens of generations back. They had been the natural choice for keepers of such a sacred wood, attracted by the energy of thriving life already present there.
But such times, appeared at least, to have finally began to waver. Deep down the long decent through the valley southwards, near the far foot of the hills that marked the end of their realm, the trees were turning shades of orange and bloody red, an event that had not occurred in memory of even the most venerable. The trees were dead. It worried the population greatly, and many had taken to the same action as Nerull, staring southward, watching the slow and deliberate spread of blood along their land of perfect green.
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Posted: Wed Feb 04, 2009 10:27 am
The bloody leaves continued their flow to the heart of the high elven city, almost a foot daily now. More was known about the strange dying leaves, but still not how to slow or alter their spread. With them, came what the elves were afraid would be their homes new keepers, once they were gone. Small animals and foul spirits completely alien to them appeared around the trees, killing what they could and goading what they couldn't, and for a while the elves took to their ancestral roots, archery and other arts of war becoming wide-spread in their practice once more. For a time, it seamed to be working. The red leaves spread to their green cousins with the same speed, but their keepers were vanishing and had began to fear the high-elves, something every other race through time needed to be taught at least once as well.
However, it was soon after that riders under a solid red banner began to turn up in unexpected locations, raping and pillaging as they could. Since, a third of the population had fled or been wiped from existence. Those who remained behind found themselves in a mind-set of frantic survival, an urge they were not used to feeling in such a way. Chaos was rampant.
For the instant, though, Nerull was fully at peace, lying with his betrothed beneath a window sill, eyes trained now not to look towards the spread of death, but to look at his love, think about the life growing within her, and think of the happiness the three of them would have together. The high elves, were always capable dreamers.
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Posted: Mon Feb 09, 2009 6:41 pm
"Faigahn!!" Nerull echoed with two dozen others as they charged in ambush downwards through low branches to the raiding party below, red banners snapping abruptly into stronger grips. Thirty dark red armored men looked around, weapons being drawn in confused alarm as two of them fell from identical arrows in the narrow gaps of their armors neck. Then they were on them.
Nerull fell with a crushing impact upon the man he had chosen, rapier crashing downwards, superior elven forging techniques skewering the mans skull, as the rest of the falls weight brought his body crashing off his mount to the ground below. As he rode his enemies body to the leafy soil below, Nerull noted two men on the ground already locking their attention onto him and turning slowly with matching long swords, though slightly shorter than his duelists rapier. They also had shields however, Nerull having chosen a chain-mailed sleeve, reinforced on points of the hand. With a crunch, the dead man hit the ground, Nerull landing in a crouch with his hand inches from his swords hilt, still lodged in the helmet and the rest of the mans skull or spine beneath. With a roar of defiance the two men charged him, and with a vindicated grin, Nerull drew the rapier from the slain's head with a tug of effort, letting the blades momentum spin it outwards where he stopped it cold, the maroon goo on it flying outwards with most of the blood as well. As the two men reached Nerull's crouching form, they extended their blades forward, though immediately began shifting them clumsily to the side as the elven hunter dove opposite them and to the right. Eyes firmly trained on his opponents, Nerull caught the blade on his left palm, the reinforced groove there guiding the blade into a slide along the armored sleeve and away. His opponents eyes widened in the instant he realized the trap, as the next instant Nerull's right arm successfully guided the Rapier into his opponents neck several inches, before withdrawing just as quickly.
The high elf landed heavily on his right side, scrambling to his feet to see his second foe trip over his fallen comrade, lean down to inspect him, and receive an arrow in his eye. It was at this point which Nerull was backed into unexpectedly by an enemy locked in fierce grapple with another ally. Lending assistance, the hunter skewered his neck from the back, the strip of metal over the spinal column being too thin to properly protect it from direct blows. Without missing a beat, both Nerull and his brother in arms looked around, before noting it seamed to be over already.
Hardly fifteen seconds had passed, and the thirty raiders were all dead through various neck or back related blows. Of their twenty four, two had fallen, but nobody besides them were seriously injured. Thirty for two. A fair trade to protect Faighan's sacred woods. The party went about rounding up the animals, loading the carts and beasts with the dead and doing a minor bit of general maintenance on themselves and their gear. Those corpses that didn't fit on animals would be dragged fairly unceremoniously behind.
Nerull went over to the bodies of his comrades, checking for identity in a detached fashion. There had been enough dead from the raids already to numb even the most compassionate survivors to it. Nerull, however, was disturbed to feel that every fallen was merely an excuse for increasingly cruel vengeance on his own part. Numbly, he made idle conversation with his comrades, his time in the world outside of battle and his home a blur of condolences and panic. And planning. The elders were calling meetings nightly to arrange new tactics and give new information to the public.
But it was always the same. . . kill them, don't let them kill you, and don't look at the trees. . . The blood-tinged leaves, crept into even the heart of the woods now, some of the true giants of the forest succumbing at a slightly decreased rate, but still succumbing nonetheless. Nerull's abode was on the far side of the woods heart from the taint. The sacred grove, the very central point of the woods, might still resist the spread. The nine trees there were at least two hundred hands higher, and at least twice as large around, as any others in the forest. That was his only hope, as Nerull was shocked to find himself at home again, walking through the open frame door his home possessed, and seeing his betrothed rising with love in her eyes as he did.
He smiled back at her, meeting her as they rushed towards one another, and kissed her, the day, the death, the world itself, melting fully away in her arms. After a time, they parted lips, slowly, barely, and Nerull whispered to her, "Aira. . . I'd go mad in this world without you. . ." "Then stop leaving me for so long", she whispered back, before meeting their lips again.
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2009 6:44 am
Looking into the deep green abyss, he know that the following trek would be one full of hardship and survival. The evergreens, whose sturdy backbones lay out the path ahead, grew to the point where each apex was nothing more than a solitary point floating in space. In number, no one could ever truly know how far this plot of trees extended, a maze of arborous treachery, in whose shadows lurked the worst of men, the most vicious of animals. The forest itself, a lush green atmosphere whose floor was an entanglement of roots, weeds, fungi, and the remnants of animals who fell to Nature's wrath. Once a battleground to many different species, an ominous peace had fallen over it.
That is, until 6 months prior.
The forest had entered into a system of hibernation. The deciduous trees would sleep, giving the appearance of death, but would supply the most delicate regions of the forest with the manna they required to survive. As a shield has a mass of iron, so did this forest have a mass of flowing woods and foliage. Its undergrounds simply a mass of root, linking each tree as synapses do the neurons of the mind. And together they would co-exist.
But as much as the forest would try to fight for itself, it could not defend the breadth of its trees, the plethora of flora and fauna, against the might of Elves. But this tale is not about the survival of this forest, a sacred place that would lead a young Iruven to ascension, amongst a pantheon of Gods who would all emerge at their own pace, a grove which would stand the test of time, outliving all that they held dear.
This forest would play a significant role in the lives of many. None of those, however, who would come to pass through it would realized this. This forest, as it was written, housed more than just that. It would also hold Yggdrasil, the World Tree, whose energies were spent ensuring this forest's survival.
So here begins the tale of the Fall of Yggdrasil, and the long periods of darkness before the ascension of the Gods, the changing of the Universe.
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2009 6:53 am
And so it was written that when the Yggdrasil fell, the Universe cried for time immemorial, whose tears flooded the deepest reaches of space, whose cries were heard by the meekest beings, whose pain reached out to all those living. So begin the eternal cycle. So was born the Lotus.
- The Histories of the Universe - Posa, Lord of Water
His small hut lay at the shore of a river, surrounded by a field of low grass, and minimal wild life. The river would stretch from mountain to mountain, a natural defense for this tiny abode, hugged between two peaks. The river, on both ends, would disappear into the crags of each formation, constantly flowing the fresh, cool water whose wildlife would be his food. The sun would be visible for 12 hours each day, immediately above the hut at midday, a perfect clock for one who had no concept of time. His name was Locke, a mid-elf from Lorelain, the Red-Elven Cities to the South. He, however, was not one of their kin, and his differences culminated in exile. Upon embarking for a new life, Locke knew he would one day return to his home city, and retake what was his. The high elves would not succeed in this attempt to rule the world, for it did not matter the number of cities one held, not the amount of resources readily available. The true inheritors would be of good character, regardless of their flaws. Those who were most in tune with the melody of the world.
They would be the Gods, one day. But not today.
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