( I havent done this for like a long time, So im very vERY VERY rusty) WARNING: Violence, and anger issues The Elf was dead. Lying at Yaerlac's feet. Yaerlac had killed the Elf. His hands were shaking as if he was cold. and the Studded dagger was limply grasped in his hand. It seemed as if Yaerlac moved a sliver. it would surely clatter to the floor. "I did it." Yaerlac muttered between his exhausted breaths. "Merivon is dead." His voice bounced off the Prison walls. And back to him. His eyes were filled with the blaze of Greed. It seemed for a moment as if his black hair turned red and his cloak went up in flames. Yaerlac kneeled by Merivon the elf. Or what was Merivon the elf. And let the knife fall by his knees. He then reached for Merivon's hand like a starved wolf. His eyes shot a wild and rabid look as he pried open Merivon's fingers. But Merivon didnt give way. His eyes snapped open, blood streaming from a cut from his brow and he threw his fist at Yaerlac's face. Yaerlac fell over. And Merivon snapped up. He threw the hood of his green cloak off, revealing his blonde hair. Merivon tightened his grip on the sword he held in his hand. He looked at Yaerlac, and stumbled backwards, But as he fell, he muttered something under his breath. The ground seemed to crack, light spewing out from the floor and Merivon was enveloped by the rift and before Yaerlac could follow, The floor sealed up. And Merivon was gone. Merivon reappeared In a meadow with a singular willow tree. It was the early part of morning, When the lighting, instead of black, is grey. and you strain your eyes trying trying to look at something close to you. Nothing moved as merivon limped out of the rift, and the forest remained silent. Merivon stumbled and fell on his face. keeping his fist clenched on the object Yaerlac tried to steal. He didnt get up. Aranar wiped the sweat from his brow, The forge was burning his hand, and it felt if he kept working for another minute his hand would be a crisp. Aranar didnt like his job as a blacksmiths apprentice, Plus his mentor, Eyilas, made sure he worked his head off. Eyilas was a nice man, though he was certaintly past his prime age. But he was a smith, and according to Aranar's godfather, who raised him, A smith is the greatest mentor. Aranar sighed, And recited his godfathers monologue, It always went along the lines of, "Tough! Hardworking! And Precise! That makes a Succesful person!" Aranar brought the hammer down on the red hot blade, sparks flying and settling down on the anvil. Someone gripped his shoulder and Aranar jumped, and looked backwards, seeing the familiar gray hair and green eyes of Eyilas. Eyilas carefully grabbed the hammer from Aranar. "Hammer softly! We arent in a rush!" Eyilas handed or threw the hammer back to Aranar, and gave Aranar a pat on the back before slunking back into his lounge. Arunar let out a strained sigh and tossed the blade back into the forge. Gods it was painful in this job. Arunar could have been doing anything else but here he was, Getting taught by an old man how to hammer a sword. He was tired and the day was practically done, after al Eyilas didnt care when he left. Eyilas said "You reap what you sow! Put in how much effort you want." Aranar sighed and decided to call it a day, he threw his hammer to the floor and shouted towards the lounge. "Supper Time, Mentor! My work for today is done." He did remove the sword from the forge and picked up his hammer as if not to seem too rude. Cont. Notes and credits
The streets were dimly lit during supper in winter time, It was that Time when it was too bright to light the lanterns but to dark to see clearly. The time when people who value not getting mugged stayed indoors. But later that night, the night vendors would open their stalls and sell goods that they have worked on during the day. Aranar observed the familiar sights around the street, Groups of youngs scholars his age crowded the streets, Either heading home or to the tavern. And the familiar noise of water as boots went along the cobbled path. As Aranar neared the tavern, a small din of talking could be noticed even from outside, and the lights danced around the windowsill. Aranar pushed the door ajar and slipped in silently. He went unnoticed by all, except his friend, Yelius. Who was standing on a table by the back of the tavern. Yelius jumped off and ran towards Aranar. "How was your day with that old bonehead of yours!" Yelius exclaimed shoving Aranar while slipping an arm over his shoulder, Yelius shouted a word to his friend and stuck a finger between Aranar's ribs, making him cringe. But aranar Shook yelius off before he did anything else. He took a seat and thought of what to order for teh night. As he slid his finger across the wooden table, Aranar couldnt help but notice an unusual person talking with the bartender. The mans posture was proud, and he lifted his chin to try look taller. His hair was black but his face was covered by his wide brimmed hat, and on it, he stuck a red feather. Aranar attentively tried to listen to what they said. As aranar picked up a few words he noticed how calm he spoke, and how well mannered he spoke to the bartender, Who in fact was clipping his nails with a rusty knife while slumped on his counter. As aranar expected, the bartender had a much gruff voice and a heavier accent, making his voice feel less 'Airy' "Som' ould' say that our Eyilas' got em' Brain fever" The barkeep muttered. "Im afraid, ye' got the wrong one." Aranars face flushed cold. A different feeling overcame him as the noble man faced him, But Aranar couldnt seem to make out his facial feautures, and his gaze rested on him. Aranar shivered, And noticed a blue crack, the same rifting that appeared in his dream, open in the mans eye. He Opened his fist and tossed a few gold pieces, Which seemed to appear out of no where, at the bartender. The nobleman had bribed the barkeep for certain information about Eyilas. Aranar still didnt like the way the nobleman spoke, and eyed him as he walked out. When the door opened a breeze wafted the nobleman's cape, and the hilt of a studded ruby dagger flashed intimadantly. Aranar's heart skipped three beats. He saw the same dagger in his dream. Aranar shot up from his seat and shoved through the crowd, which was singing some jolly song. Aranar felt his shoulder crash into the splintery wood. When Aranar slammed into the tavern door, he fell out onto the cobbled street. This time no one was wandering about, and the stillness of that time of day overcame him. His stomach empty from not eating, he studied the streets to find the man. It seemed hopeless, the man seemd to have dissapeared. That didnt matter, Aranar needed to warn Eyilas, so he sprinted down the road. But before he reached The smithy he hit something hard. And his head went blurry as someone grasped him and put something cold, and sleek to his neck. Aranar felt his head go limp and his fingers drooped. The chilling voice spoke again, this time sending chills down his neck. "Henathri!" A blue flash. And Aranar saw black. and slumped to the floor. Colours exploding in his head. hi (:
