Just...lack of inspiration D;
((Sounds like a plan. Though, of course, the roleplay's story can always take on a life of it's own. Let's see!))
((Sorry it took so long. I think it took me an hour and a half to write this intro.))Year 1312
From within the sleeping forest, hoofbeats sounded like the rapid rolling of a drum. The full moon's light shone down through the trees of the forbidden forest, the wood of the fairfolk. Through this place was where the knight, Lord James Williamson, rode hard, as if the whip of the devil was lashing behind him. In a way, this was, in fact, true. The obsidian witch of the Undead Pass was in hot pursuit of the knight, she and her devils speedily catching up to his steed. The witch did not chase after him for anything he had done nor for any twisted sort of fun. The right hand of the dark one reached not for him, but for the bundle that Williamson held tightly against himself.
As the trees grew thicker and the forest ever darker, the knight called out. "Treeants! I am in need of your aide!" Just then, the witch swooped low, her black, tattered robes billowing about her body and face, a demonic growl ripping from the wretch. Before she was able to close in, the branches of the surrounding trees shifted quickly, catching on her clothing and gripping at her limbs. The evil spirits that surrounded her rushed about in transluscent streams and ribbons of black and ill green. Williamson took one quick glance to watch as she shrank away, distracting herself with roars of rage and shudder inducing shrieks. The knight knew all too well that the witch would free herself from the trees' powerful grasp with her black magic, so onward he rushed his horse, until he came to a part of the forest, where a sudden reverence flowed through the wood. There, a bright and pure spring seemed to glow in the darkness. In this body of water, he knew that the most divine spirit of all the forest lived.
Williamson dismounted his horse, cradling the bundle carefully as he moved to stand at the edge of the waters. Before he could speak, the gentle voice of a woman called out to him.
"Sir Williamson, dear friend of the fae... why have you come at the darknest time of night, and in such fear?"
Before his eyes, the human-sized, pale queen of the fairies appeared over the rippling waters, her form like that of an angel with what seemed like thousands of gossamer wings.
The man's eyes fell briefly to the ground, almost ashamed of his plight, but he flicked his hand up to pull the blankets apart, revealing the face of a baby, its slant face, thick curly brown hair, and pointed ears obviously not the traits of a human infant.
"This changeling, I found in place of my son," the knight told the great fairy, who looked upon the child with empty, prism colored eyes. "The obsidian witch is after him now. I hope you might return him to his rightful parents and tell me where my son might be."
With a delicate. slender hand, the fairy turned the babe without waking him, revealing an emerald symbol upon the child's back.
"This is the new prince of the forest trolls. This is not the first child of fae royalty that she has tried to steal. His mother probably switched her child with yours to hide it from the witch. The forest troll queen is a gentle creature, so I can assure you that your child is safe. However, I am afraid of the witch's acts, and afraid for what she might do to the fae, to all magical creatures. That is why I have created a place where we can be safe until her evils have diminished."
The knight looked confused, but only watched as the fairy spirited a thick, leatherbound book with no name, and empty pages out of thin air. Then, she handed to him a key, whose head was made from a large opal attached with metal prongs. "This key, I entrust to you, dear friend, to you and your every descendant from this time on. If ever you wish to return to us, all you must do is unlock the cover and open the pages, and call the name of a friendly creature. I will remain on the page in the very middle, as I exist in the very middle of the forest. But, if you open the page of an unkindly or mischievous creature, he may pull you inside against your will. You must never allow the witch to look into this book. She cannot unlock it, but if it is open, my powers cannot keep her evil out.
"Give me the child," the fairy queen commanded softly with outstretched arms, and the knight handed off the troll changeling to her, then took the large book into his arms and hid the key on his person. When he looked back, the great fairy and the child she held had disappeared, the spring having lost its divine light.
He had little time to grieve, however, because with the absence of the treeants, the witch was now free again, and he could hear her cackling behind him becoming louder and louder. Quickly, he turned, drawing his sword as the witch approached with the speed of the biting winter winds.
"You're too late, witch!" Williamson laughed, holding his blade at the ready. "Every last fairy and gnome and troll in this forest is gone. You'll never be able to use them for your witchcraft ever again!"
With a hateful scream, the witch swooped her hand towards the knight, the power of the evil spirits running him through, killing him instantly without even a wound. Sir Williamson fell to the Earth, his eyes wide with shock as his head slumped to one shoulder, his hand still clutching the hilt of his sword tightly even after he had drawn his last breath. Defeated and distraught, the witch continued her horrid cries as she rushed off through the night, wailing to herself over her loss.
The horse had fled at the witch's appearance, going to alarm the villagers that Williamson had protected. And though they were a bit fearful to enter the wood, they too could feel the diminished power of the place, and were able to force themselves deep enough to find their lord's body. With heavy hearts for their beloved protector, they took his fallen form back to his wife. Though the knight's wife wept and mourned for her husband, she had found luck later that week when the villagers had found her baby boy. They had heard the child's crying just outside the village, and the sound had led them to the dead body of a strange, faeish woman, in whose arms the infant had been tightly held. As time went on, the generations handed down the opal key, not knowing of its powers, or of the book. And the book of the fae was lost, buried in time in that same forest, waiting for its trusted keeper to someday find it.
((I don't mind the delay at all. It's totally fine. I wasn't expecting anything nearly this long, and so well written too! I'll try and do long posts, but usually my longest posts are just long paragraphs. Nevertheless, I shall try.))
((I apologize for how absurdly standard my post is. It's all that came to mind -_- ))
· Mon Dec 27, 2010 @ 06:02am · 0 Comments