It began long before the stories of men remembered, when the world was ruled by the elves, their dominion now mostly reduced to the kingdom of Illithyl
A sun-kissed, dark haired elf stood before a forge. Green eyes focusing on the building flame before him. Yet, his mind was elsewhere, racing in fact…
Sindri took a breath, trying to center himself. Yet it was difficult. For so much had happened, and so much more would happen…
A century of life. The blood of a line of smiths beating in his veins. A line that stretched back to the days of their glory, before his kind had fallen so far. So fast. His pointed ears twitched at the thought. It was hard to imagine. He had grown up knowing nothing but Illithyl, nothing but its walls and towers and the valley that surrounded it. He had seen the maps of the world beyond this sheltered valley, and his mind had always boggled at how large it seemed. How endless.
And yet, here his people were. The last remnant of the kingdoms of old. Hemmed in by mountains, protected by them. But imprisoned too. The last remnant of high elven culture. The very last city. Isolated for so long that it was the rare elf indeed who could directly speak of their past glories. And only their noble outrider knights, agents of the prince, the city's eyes and ears in the wider world, dared to venture beyond it the valley regularly. They had saved themselves, preserved themselves.
But preservation was not survival.
How long could one cage themselves before the soul itself began to die? These thoughts, morose as they were, were what pre-occupied Sindri as he watched the forge heat up. A great surge of nostalgia and melancholy hit him. Soon he would leave. Leave this place, where had lived all his life. And venture beyond. Into that big, wide world. He took another look at the forge. How long until he made a blade here again? Months? Years? His kind aged like the a tree. They great strong and deep. The years were kind to them. Even if he were gone for a decade, he would return unchanged.
Yet the thought of such an absence bit deep.
Here he had learned to hold a hammer, to heat metal and work it. He still had his very first horseshoe…somewhere. He would have to bring it with him when he departed. Another twitch of those pointed ears. Today. This very day, preparations would begin for his departure. The thought excited him -and it scared him. To think he would travel in the august company of Lionel, the first of the Outrider Knights. The hand of the prince, some called him.
He had met the man once, and only briefly. When he had been summoned to the white-gold tower at the very center of Illithyl. He, out of all the smiths in the city, had been chosen for a great undertaking. Long ago, the last of the elven kings had wielded a blade forged from true silver, the tears of the moon, in battle. The blade had bore a fitting name. Dusk. The liminal time between day and night. It had been lost, like so many things before it.
Shattered in battle, and the pieces carried off to the four corners by the retainers of the king. Some were now in fallen cities, some, no doubt, in the hands of orcs and humans…
And yet…
The prince’s seer had dreamed. She had seen the blade reforged by Sindri’s hand. The dreams of the Ivory Seer were not to be lightly dismissed. She was the latest in a long line of spellweavers and all of her august kindred had bore the gift of foresight. Something she too, had inherited. The bloodline’s gift had not decayed with time. One of the few blessings Sindri’s people retained.
There had been no choice, not really. Oh. He could have said no. There had been no knife to his throat. But as his old master had said - one often met their fate on the road one took to avoid it. He could have refused and marched out of the throne room head held high, and he would have ended up on this selfsame journey.
A shake of the head.
He really had to get started on this blade….
With a wistful sigh, he set to work. Fanning the flames. Melting the metal….then shaping it. Every blow considered, measured as one would measure drops of water in a desert. Sindri poured his emotions into his work - his hopes, his fears, his trepidation, his excitement. He worked knowing that it could be the last blade he ever finished in his forge…
By the end, he was sweating. Breathing hard.
The blade would cool in time…and it would be a fine one. He could already tell.
Sindri took a breath, trying to center himself. Yet it was difficult. For so much had happened, and so much more would happen…
A century of life. The blood of a line of smiths beating in his veins. A line that stretched back to the days of their glory, before his kind had fallen so far. So fast. His pointed ears twitched at the thought. It was hard to imagine. He had grown up knowing nothing but Illithyl, nothing but its walls and towers and the valley that surrounded it. He had seen the maps of the world beyond this sheltered valley, and his mind had always boggled at how large it seemed. How endless.
And yet, here his people were. The last remnant of the kingdoms of old. Hemmed in by mountains, protected by them. But imprisoned too. The last remnant of high elven culture. The very last city. Isolated for so long that it was the rare elf indeed who could directly speak of their past glories. And only their noble outrider knights, agents of the prince, the city's eyes and ears in the wider world, dared to venture beyond it the valley regularly. They had saved themselves, preserved themselves.
But preservation was not survival.
How long could one cage themselves before the soul itself began to die? These thoughts, morose as they were, were what pre-occupied Sindri as he watched the forge heat up. A great surge of nostalgia and melancholy hit him. Soon he would leave. Leave this place, where had lived all his life. And venture beyond. Into that big, wide world. He took another look at the forge. How long until he made a blade here again? Months? Years? His kind aged like the a tree. They great strong and deep. The years were kind to them. Even if he were gone for a decade, he would return unchanged.
Yet the thought of such an absence bit deep.
Here he had learned to hold a hammer, to heat metal and work it. He still had his very first horseshoe…somewhere. He would have to bring it with him when he departed. Another twitch of those pointed ears. Today. This very day, preparations would begin for his departure. The thought excited him -and it scared him. To think he would travel in the august company of Lionel, the first of the Outrider Knights. The hand of the prince, some called him.
He had met the man once, and only briefly. When he had been summoned to the white-gold tower at the very center of Illithyl. He, out of all the smiths in the city, had been chosen for a great undertaking. Long ago, the last of the elven kings had wielded a blade forged from true silver, the tears of the moon, in battle. The blade had bore a fitting name. Dusk. The liminal time between day and night. It had been lost, like so many things before it.
Shattered in battle, and the pieces carried off to the four corners by the retainers of the king. Some were now in fallen cities, some, no doubt, in the hands of orcs and humans…
And yet…
The prince’s seer had dreamed. She had seen the blade reforged by Sindri’s hand. The dreams of the Ivory Seer were not to be lightly dismissed. She was the latest in a long line of spellweavers and all of her august kindred had bore the gift of foresight. Something she too, had inherited. The bloodline’s gift had not decayed with time. One of the few blessings Sindri’s people retained.
There had been no choice, not really. Oh. He could have said no. There had been no knife to his throat. But as his old master had said - one often met their fate on the road one took to avoid it. He could have refused and marched out of the throne room head held high, and he would have ended up on this selfsame journey.
A shake of the head.
He really had to get started on this blade….
With a wistful sigh, he set to work. Fanning the flames. Melting the metal….then shaping it. Every blow considered, measured as one would measure drops of water in a desert. Sindri poured his emotions into his work - his hopes, his fears, his trepidation, his excitement. He worked knowing that it could be the last blade he ever finished in his forge…
By the end, he was sweating. Breathing hard.
The blade would cool in time…and it would be a fine one. He could already tell.
Lord Lionel was an elf of royal blood. Nobility and bravery flowed through his veins, like rivers flowed through the forests that surrounded them. Despite his young years, he had been training to be a warrior, an archer, an executioner, a scout, the prince's messenger and keeper of royal secrets since he could walk.
While his appearance was friendly and warm, his nonchalant attitude giving an impression of calm, untroubled and approachable, during skirmishes, battles or quests his visage changed and he commanded an authority that made every knee bend, every warrior follow his directions and orders unquestioned.
He was the crown prince's right hand man, his most trusted companion and most reliable informant. Almost a brother to the royal who was mourning his recent father's passing.
Lionel was the first and leader of the Outrider Knights, the warriors that protected the kingdom. He had been elevated to a position second only to the crown itself.
However, with great power also came great responsibility and his one was to find and collect all the shards of the Sword Aendril, the sword of the elven kings, so that the crown prince could finally be crowned, ascend to the throne and unite the elven races.
The difficulty was the missing sword itself. Once broken and scattered throughout the land, finding every last shard of it and having it remade would be no easy task. It would require perilous travels, difficult bargaining and the gifted hands of an elven blacksmith that could take the shattered pieces and forge Aendril anew.
The quest was not without its dangers but failing to find Aendril would leave the elves without a rightful king. It would in turn lessen hope and weaken the various bloodlines that depended on royal blessings to continue. One could tell Lionel was eager to serve, to help restore the sword and thus keen to leave sooner than later.
Having been chosen for the all important duty to remake what was broken, he came to find Sindri the blacksmith and see how his preparation was coming along.
"Greetings, Sindri, that is quite a fine blade you are finishing there. Masterfully done indeed. Are you ready to depart soon? The Outriders are starting to assemble at the main square" explained Lionel watching curious at the latest weapon being forged
While his appearance was friendly and warm, his nonchalant attitude giving an impression of calm, untroubled and approachable, during skirmishes, battles or quests his visage changed and he commanded an authority that made every knee bend, every warrior follow his directions and orders unquestioned.
He was the crown prince's right hand man, his most trusted companion and most reliable informant. Almost a brother to the royal who was mourning his recent father's passing.
Lionel was the first and leader of the Outrider Knights, the warriors that protected the kingdom. He had been elevated to a position second only to the crown itself.
However, with great power also came great responsibility and his one was to find and collect all the shards of the Sword Aendril, the sword of the elven kings, so that the crown prince could finally be crowned, ascend to the throne and unite the elven races.
The difficulty was the missing sword itself. Once broken and scattered throughout the land, finding every last shard of it and having it remade would be no easy task. It would require perilous travels, difficult bargaining and the gifted hands of an elven blacksmith that could take the shattered pieces and forge Aendril anew.
The quest was not without its dangers but failing to find Aendril would leave the elves without a rightful king. It would in turn lessen hope and weaken the various bloodlines that depended on royal blessings to continue. One could tell Lionel was eager to serve, to help restore the sword and thus keen to leave sooner than later.
Having been chosen for the all important duty to remake what was broken, he came to find Sindri the blacksmith and see how his preparation was coming along.
"Greetings, Sindri, that is quite a fine blade you are finishing there. Masterfully done indeed. Are you ready to depart soon? The Outriders are starting to assemble at the main square" explained Lionel watching curious at the latest weapon being forged
Sindri smiled. "My last commission. It came in just before I was called to the tower. I would have gone amiss not to finish it." The elf looked over the blade and took one of his gloves off. He held his hand above the sword for a moment. Warm...but no longer hot, if he was any judge. He picked the blade up with a flourish, and the smile grew wider. "Excellent. A good note to end on methinks."
The blade was gently set aside then. "I've prepared my things. allow me but a moment, ser knight."
The elf inclined his head and left the workshop. He had prepared a variety of dried rations, purchased some waybread and....of course, armed himself. While he was a smith by trade, he was no stranger to a blade. It helped to know how to hold a weapon if one were forging it after all. Sindri had also made a point of purchasing various herbs that he knew to have beneficial properties. He had never left the valley before - but he had tried to be sensible about it.
When he reappeared before Lionel, he was wearing a travelers cloak and clothing, a bedroll, a pack filled with rations alongside a waterskin- and his blade hung at his side. "I believe I am quite ready now, Ser Knight." A slightly sheepish grin. "Though you would know better then if I am properly prepared."
The blade was gently set aside then. "I've prepared my things. allow me but a moment, ser knight."
The elf inclined his head and left the workshop. He had prepared a variety of dried rations, purchased some waybread and....of course, armed himself. While he was a smith by trade, he was no stranger to a blade. It helped to know how to hold a weapon if one were forging it after all. Sindri had also made a point of purchasing various herbs that he knew to have beneficial properties. He had never left the valley before - but he had tried to be sensible about it.
When he reappeared before Lionel, he was wearing a travelers cloak and clothing, a bedroll, a pack filled with rations alongside a waterskin- and his blade hung at his side. "I believe I am quite ready now, Ser Knight." A slightly sheepish grin. "Though you would know better then if I am properly prepared."
Lionel sucked in a light breath, letting the wind brush past his skin and fair hair looking at Sindri with an honest, warm smile.
"My friend... once we leave the safety of this sanctuary... there is no telling whether we ever are truly and properly prepared. The humans have made a sport of capturing elves, to put us to slave away in chains, writing books given our knowledge, preparing remedies given our healing skills, forging weapons too or musical entertainment.
Then you have the orcs and trolls that see us as nothing more than a tasty tender meal.
We may cross paths with the drow, our dark kin who are bent on taking us captive for shameful carnal uses, and so many more perils out there, hard to list and describe in detail all of them" mused Lionel gazing towards the white tower and the horizon beyond.
"Each time you return, alive, mostly unmaimed and free, it makes us appreciate what we have here all the more so" explained Lionel as a matter of fact.
"We are also harbingers of hope for all the captured elves we rescue, all the scattered elves we protect, the travelling ones we safely escort back to the White Tower. So much good to be done despite the darkness that surround us.
Do not let the dangers dishearten you, once the blade Aendril is remade, you shall have many stories to tell by the fireplace at night and many grateful faces waiting to hear you" assured Lionel putting a friendly grip on Sindri and giving it a gentle squeeze
"I shall meet you at the tower shortly. I too must prepare for this quest" mused Lionel seeing Sindri was already two steps ahead of the game
"My friend... once we leave the safety of this sanctuary... there is no telling whether we ever are truly and properly prepared. The humans have made a sport of capturing elves, to put us to slave away in chains, writing books given our knowledge, preparing remedies given our healing skills, forging weapons too or musical entertainment.
Then you have the orcs and trolls that see us as nothing more than a tasty tender meal.
We may cross paths with the drow, our dark kin who are bent on taking us captive for shameful carnal uses, and so many more perils out there, hard to list and describe in detail all of them" mused Lionel gazing towards the white tower and the horizon beyond.
"Each time you return, alive, mostly unmaimed and free, it makes us appreciate what we have here all the more so" explained Lionel as a matter of fact.
"We are also harbingers of hope for all the captured elves we rescue, all the scattered elves we protect, the travelling ones we safely escort back to the White Tower. So much good to be done despite the darkness that surround us.
Do not let the dangers dishearten you, once the blade Aendril is remade, you shall have many stories to tell by the fireplace at night and many grateful faces waiting to hear you" assured Lionel putting a friendly grip on Sindri and giving it a gentle squeeze
"I shall meet you at the tower shortly. I too must prepare for this quest" mused Lionel seeing Sindri was already two steps ahead of the game
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