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Faerdin -> (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (5/6/2012 2:25:53)

Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome!
You may be wondering why I have proceeded to write another story when there is another tale I should be continuing to tell. Well, ever since the last chapter of The Shadow of Ignorance, I have begun to lose interest in writing that story. However, this one called out to me, and the images that came to mind were too difficult to suppress. I simply had to write this and tell the true story of Faerdin. I hope with all of my heart that you enjoy it.

Discussion Thread


[image]https://i.imgur.com/srMegVD.jpg[/image]


Table of Contents

Prologue: The Path to Balance
I. Purest of Hearts
II. The Disappointment
III. Homecoming
IV. Where Ancient Powers Dwell
V. Old Hatreds
VI. The Coming Storm
VII. An Invitation
VIII. Beneath a New Moon
IX. Tension Breaks
X. Scrutiny of a King
XI. Revelations New and Old
XII. Woman

War Crossovers and Other Related Works

Faerdin's Fount of Facepalm - A compendium of fanfic DragonFable Quests from an alternate dimension where all things are possible, including continuations to Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between. Who is Gelevren the Nightingale, and how does he know so much about the Hand of the Avatars? All you know is that Loremaster Maya has a way with getting strange books and that it all reeks of facepalming.

On the Unity of Lorian Elements: A Rune Knight's Ruminations - An essay written by the mysterious Fiweweld, the first Rune Knight of Lore, shortly after finding a strange and powerful weapon with his comrades. This document was unfortunately lost over the decades- old enough to have been written just after the creation of the Elemental Orbs- but has recently been recovered by Loremaster Maya.

Rune Knight, Book Three Series

Twenty-Five Years - A tale that takes place twenty-five years after Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between during DragonFable Book Three. It is situated during the middle of a Thankstaking disaster, the Rise of the Turducken War, and begins Faerdin's involvement with The Rose. A first encounter with shackles.

Why Do You Fight, Rune Knight? - A sequel to Twenty-Five Years which takes place during the Dragon Rose War in DragonFable Book Three. While Magus Hansa has given Faerdin reason to trust The Rose, he struggles internally between aiding and refusing them. The similarity between the Hand of the Avatars and The Rose is explored as well as the moral implications of indoctrination.

Nightingale - A sequel to Why Do You Fight, Rune Knight? which takes place before Gelevren's involvement with the DragonFable Hero in Book Three. As Faerdin struggles with an internal crisis, he discovers a grisly secret of the Vind. Who can say what is truly good and evil?

Twenty-Five Eternities - A return to Valen's perspective in Book Three while he comes to terms with the events of DragonFable Book One. This occurs chronologically after Nightingale, but is somewhat disconnected from it save for some parallels being drawn. Spoilers!

Whispers in the Night - The Hero of DragonFable has just returned triumphant from their victory on the shores of Falconreach. Mere shadows are the only remnants of Lore's greatest adversary. Yet another force lies lurking within... A force of destruction and salvation.

Why Do You Fight, Doom Knight? - Valen is on a mission to return to his rightful glory, and only one person stands in his way... Under the light of the full moon, Valen and his greatest adversary to date face off in an ultimate showdown. Enter Baron Valtrith!



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (5/12/2012 18:30:11)

Prologue
The Path to Balance

Moonlight wove through the trees like a forlorn phantom, painting the landscape white. Whispers of wind caressed the grasses and flowers that so peacefully slumbered beneath night's veil. Unbeknownst to them, however, the Sun's rays would soon rouse them and fill them with a vibrant warmth that would extend to every other creature in the world. In truth, all beings were connected, whether it be by those whispers of wind, the low rumble of the land, the crashing of the sea, or the furious fire's roar. This shared connection brought balance and harmony to Lore and its many elements, and it was through this connection that a lone boy of seventeen felt the rustling of the plants. He felt the earth draw a soft breath and sigh through the tranquil waves of the ocean. He felt fire raging far beneath the soil of the land. Every aspect of his home called out for his attention, for his friendship, for his obedience and loyalty, and yet he knew that it was the unbiased man who truly brought order and understanding to the world.

This boy sat upon the highest ledge of the highest, rockiest cliff in Swordhaven's forest. He wiped azure hair from his hungry, ocean eyes, simply trying to take in the vastness of the land around him. Never before had he felt so whole. It was these rare moments which wrought calm and clarity in his soul when no other could. Lore itself shushed him, steadied him, and encouraged him. That reassurance was all it took to make him smile. It mattered little that he would not know his mother, nor his father, or any other siblings he may have. So long as the world of Lore cradled him, he would be at rest.

A shout rang true through the shadows. "Faerdin. What in Fiamme's blazes are you doing?"

But Faerdin did not hear. He proceeded to lose himself in the peace that came with inner peace.

"Are you even listening?" An elderly man carefully approached the cliff upon which Faerdin sat. He scowled, and such was his frustration that the wrinkles lining his gaunt, angular face felt exaggerated and more apparent than usual. "It is good that you are learning to be at peace with the elements, but that does not give you the authority to wander off and make a thrice accursed spectacle of yourself. Now, get down from there this instant!"

With a jolt, Faerdin's head was wrenched from the clouds. Faerdin crawled his way down the wall of stone, face flushed with embarrassment. Once he neared the very bottom, he leapt down and staggered toward his companion, who tapped his foot with a frown. "My apologies, Master Gredal. I could not sleep, and the urge to leave the castle was too much. This place... this world, I simply cannot grasp it. It.. It is-"

"Beautiful?"

Unable to think of any other word that could possibly capture the experience he just had, Faerdin nodded in agreement.

"Aye, that's how all of the initiates feel at first. Overwhelmed, yet wonderfully so. Don't allow the vastness of the world to intimidate you, Faerdin. It's our responsibility to maintain order and uphold the balance of the elements by any means necessary. Should your resolve fail you just because you love the land too much, all of Lore will be doomed. Do you understand, Faerdin?"

"I think so... But how can one love the land too much?"

A humorless chuckle escaped Gredal's lips. "Oh, there are many ways, Faerdin. The most important being if you lose the will to intervene. To take action and right the wrongs of the world should the balance be disrupted. It is true that we nurture and preserve the elements, but we cannot shirk from the thought of striking at them as well. It is all for the best, as the elements are nearly as fickle as we are. Even we need to have sense beaten into us at times." Gredal's last words seemed to echo with an unusual air of longing and regret.

"I see," Faerdin nodded. "Sometimes, we must harden our hearts and do what we must for the preservation of the balance and the creatures of Lore." He could not resist glancing back to the spot he had previously occupied, wondering if the elements would persuade or discourage him in times of dissonance and chaos. With a tingle upon the back of his hand, his sight whirled to the symbol which rested there. The Sigil of the Avatars.

"Precisely," Gredal murmured with a grin, pleased that Faerdin understood. "You may make a Rune Knight yet, Faerdin. Now, come along. We must get to sleep... it is far too late to be discussing this, anyway. We shall save this for tomorrow's lesson."

"Yes, Master Gredal," he responded hesitantly. A thought was tugging at the back of his mind. "And master-?"

"One month from today. That is when your training will be finished and we may induct you when the snow is freshly melted. And, as I am sure you know since kids your age take an interest in this sort of thing, that is also when you will forge your armor and weapon."

"Thank you." Faerdin nodded for Gredal to lead while his mind swam like blue jays through a sea of air. A Rune Knight in full, Faerdin marveled. At last.

Following his mentor, Faerdin continued to take in the sight of the slumbering forest around him. Even as they made their way through the grasses and foliage, the glittering of fireflies, the distant wails of wolves, every detail in his surroundings saturated his senses. Attempting to focus, Faerdin shook his head and glanced at Gredal. The old man masterfully maneuvered through the trees, taking care not to harm the more delicate plants that sprung from the ground in search of light. Inspired, Faerdin began to murmur. Softly, in the elven tongue that instinct had bestowed to him since the day of his birth, Faerdin sung for the world and for his desire to shield it from anarchy and disorder. The melody became one with Lore as the elements murmured back to him. The rune upon his hand, typically azure, shimmered and glowed like the Moon.

Gredal must have felt the shift in the elements, as he faltered for a single moment. Ignorant of the language of the elves, Gredal simply listened and continued to guide Faerdin back to their home. Little did they know that a great evil was rapidly approaching Lore. Little did they know that the elements themselves would be brought to their knees before the terrible, towering darkness that would attempt to shatter their world. Not even the whispers of wind, the crashing of the ocean, the roaring of fire, or the low rumble of the earth knew. The secrets lay within the velvet mantle of night, concealed by the deceitful smile of darkness itself.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (5/20/2012 2:58:52)

Chapter One
Purest of Hearts

For quite some time, Master Gredal lead his apprentice through the shadows, clearly created by the boughs of the trees above them. Time seemed to slow beneath their melancholy shade, as Faerdin felt hours, years, and even centuries pass beneath the sentinels' watchful gaze. It was an eternity before the indigo sky began to stir, blending and shining with the light of a waking sun. So enthralled was Faerdin by the beginning of the new day that he failed to notice as Gredal paused, then began to lead them in a different direction. The old man's robes, gray like the stone upon which Faerdin had perched, flowed and caught Faerdin's eye. It was then that he noticed how dirty and worn his clothing had become, coaxing him to inquire, "Master? How long had you been looking for me?"

A soft sigh escaped Gredal's lips. Shades of disappointment colored his words, chilling Faerdin with an unpleasantness that even hatred could not match. "For a long time, actually. You left just before supper, and I get worried whenever you do that. I set out to find you several hours before I actually managed that. I understand you wish to see the world, Faerdin, we all enjoy connecting to Lore, but you just can't sneak out in the middle of the night. It's far too dangerous."

"Why is that?" Faerdin was genuinely puzzled.

As though the answer were obvious, Gredal explained, "Our power is much different than those of average spell-casters, Faerdin, and there are those who would try to claim our power as their own. Should anyone seize our unnatural connection to the Elemental Planes, all they would need is our knowledge and allies. Then they would be able to dismantle Lore the way a scientist could take apart their machine."

Realization struck Faerdin. "So that is why our elders refuse to write down our teachings."

"Correct. That is also one reason why assuming the position of an elder is daunting at the very least. The elder Rune Knights must guard our knowledge and traditions, else anyone who commands our power could utterly ruin Lore. There are those who could command our power and yet do not follow our code of honor." Gredal smiled as he looked over the knoll upon which they stood. "Alright, we're here."

Faerdin glanced over Gredal's shoulder to find a sprawling city. A stream of water, likely created as a barrier against opposing forces, emblazoned the marble metropolis with blue. Elegant columns of stone arose from the streets and observed the townsfolk as they passed, emanating strength for the civilians regardless of social status. The streets and even the many houses were pale as alabaster, granting the city a pristine and noble appearance. After momentary confusion, Faerdin's eyes were drawn to a grand palace that was situated at the town's center. All doubt left Faerdin as he immediately recognized where Gredal had lead him.

"Master, why have we traveled to Swordhaven? I thought we were returning to the Sanctuary."

"Well," Gredal frowned. "I had forgotten that there is something we must take care of, first. While there is indeed much more you should be taught as a wielder of our magic, there is little more I can teach you when it comes to the ways of the sword. I'm proficient in melee combat, but you show... potential. I contacted the Pactagonal Knights, and they were very eager to train one of our order. You'll be pleasantly surprised to see who your new combat instructor is."

Gesturing for Faerdin to follow, Master Gredal strode down the knoll and approached the gates of Swordhaven. Never before had a human construct made Faerdin feel so very small. Heavy gears and cogs roared into life as the drawbridge descended, surprising Faerdin as it always did that such power did not cause the entire structure to crumble. However, the ivory walls held, standing proudly as a testament to the creativity and wealth in the Kingdom of Swordhaven. A familiar cry of, "Long live King Alteon, protector of the people" drifted from the ramparts.

"We will be meeting your new instructor outside of the castle's gates," said Gredal.

"Who is my new instructor?"

For the first time in all of Faerdin's years as his apprentice, Gredal let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't really know. They hadn't specified who would teach you. The King did tell me that this man was very eager to teach, however. Very eager. Hadn't faced a difficult opponent since the uprising of Swordhaven, so he said he would make one himself. Come along, now. We should get to the castle quickly."

As the two began to walk, Faerdin felt something very strange. A stinging sensation ran through his right hand, and as Faerdin lifted it up for closer inspection, he noticed that the sapphire symbol upon the back of it was pulsing. Forced to ignore the eyes of curious villagers upon him, Faerdin attempted to cover his hand. Gredal glanced back at him in askance as they proceeded toward the castle. Something is wrong here, Faerdin thought.

It was then that he heard it. The light scuffle of leather upon stone. Someone was closing in on them.

With a growl, Faerdin whirled around and unsheathed his hand-and-a-half sword. A man, clad in shadowy robes with a cowl that concealed his face, was charging toward them with a sword in hand. Instinct forced Faerdin's arm to rise in preparation for the man's first strike. Sparks flew as steel met steel, and Faerdin's arm trembled beneath his assailant's ferocious attack. The stranger gave Faerdin no other opportunity to assess him, his sword whistling through the air as he lashed out once again. Faerdin ducked under the razor edge and aimed a swift kick to the man's chest. He was satisfied to hear a rush of air from the stranger's lungs as he staggered back.

Now at an advantage, Faerdin lunged and slashed at the man with a two-handed strike. His eyes widened as the stranger repelled him with a lazy flick of his wrist, pressing the attack once more by weaving a complicated web of attacks. Panic surged through Faerdin as he struggled to deflect every blow, each moment allowing the man to take another step forward. Each slash grew faster and stronger, hammering away at the amateur's defenses until he finally tore a groan of defeat from Faerdin and knocked the blade from his hands.

Faerdin fell to one knee a moment after the clatter of sword upon stone. Head held high, Faerdin was certain that his end was at hand. He closed his eyes as he waited for the fatal blow, flinching as cold steel pressed to his collarbone, yet it never came. Glancing up in confusion, Faerdin watched the stranger pull down his hood. He couldn't help but gasp.

Despite the modest rags he had chosen to wear, the man possessed all the poise of a prince. His auburn hair shimmered happily in the sun as he looked down at Faerdin with a welcoming smile. To no one's surprise except Faerdin's, the crowd that had gathered around erupted into applause and cheers. Waiting for the citizens' excitement to die down, the man chuckled. "Impressive, very impressive. You will make a fine apprentice, Faerdin, I'm sure of it. With more training, you could be the greatest swordsman of your order. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Valen, Pactagonal Knight and right-hand man of the good King Alteon."



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (8/15/2012 14:48:39)

Chapter Two
The Disappointment

Faerdin's mind reeled. Wonder and awe nearly suffocated him as he tried to understand what was happening. Valen! Valen, the noble knight whose name was praised in every household, the man who collaborated personally with King Alteon during the fall of the tyrant King Slugwrath, had taken interest in him. Valen sought out the opportunity to train him and become his mentor in combat. A wave of intense emotions washed over him, foremost being an unshakable sense of pride. Change was on the horizon, and Faerdin knew that Valen would be its vanguard. It was now that he would become a true warrior, a true Rune Knight.

"Not a man of many words, are you, Faerdin?" Valen chuckled and offered him a hand. With a soft smile, Faerdin grabbed it and pulled himself up. Wasting no time, he bowed deeply.

"I'm sorry... I'm only surprised. I never expected one of your renown and skill to train someone like me. Sir Valen, it is an honor to finally meet you." Out of the corner of his eye, Faerdin could see Master Gredal watching with great interest.

The knight seemed pleased. "As it is an honor to meet you, Faerdin. Pactagonal Knights do not receive tasks like these everyday, and I want to personally ensure that you are as strong as you can be. Now, shall we-?"

"I'm afraid we can't today," Gredal had finally approached Valen. There was some strange emotion glimmering in his eyes, yet Faerdin couldn't decipher it. "I wanted only for Faerdin to meet his new combat instructor. There is still a lesson planned for today, and I do not intend to change my schedule... I hope you can understand."

"Ah," For a fleeting moment, Valen's grin seemed to falter. So quickly had it occurred that Faerdin wasn't entirely sure if he stopped smiling at all. "Well, then. Don't allow me to trouble you, I know you have a busy schedule. I'm content knowing that my pupil will be one of admirable skill. It won't be long before he masters the sword. I know it."

"Hmph." Master Gredal gestured for Faerdin to follow him once again. Retrieving his blade from where it had landed on the ground, Faerdin gave Valen a quick salute. However, he was shocked to find that the knight had vanished as quickly as he came. The crowd soon dispersed, each citizen of Swordhaven returning to their normal way of life. Just like that, the warm thrum of the city returned like the heartbeats of a great beast recalled to life.

All was quiet as master and apprentice made their way out of the city. It was only once the gates of Swordhaven closed behind them that Master Gredal broke the silence. With a trace of hesitance in his voice, he said, "I am not content with the instructor they have chosen."

"What?" Nothing befuddled Faerdin quite like the words Master Gredal just uttered. "Not content? Valen wants to teach me. I should feel honored!" After a moment, Faerdin added, "Shouldn't I?"

"Oh, Faerdin. You've heard his name only from the bards who praise him, from the boys that want to be exactly like him. Very few understand the true nature of Valen, and I think I'm well acquainted with him. Or, at least, I know him well enough." Gredal frowned. "He is a fine young man, to be sure, but I would never want you to model yourself after him..."

"Why?"

Sighing, Gredal halted at the hill they stood upon only an hour before. "Tell me this, Faerdin. When you're fighting someone, or competing in any sort of way, for that matter, what is it that you most desire?"

The question forced Faerdin to pause for thought. After a while, there was only one true answer he could give. "To win, right? That is the point of any battle."

"Hm," The old man closed his eyes, clearly gathering his thoughts. Tension settled at the bottom of Faerdin's heart; he knew that when his answers made Gredal stop to think, the outcome was never pleasant. "Valen would answer in a similar manner, that I know." Faerdin's spirits lightened for a moment. "That is why I do not think he would be a good role model for you. Winning isn't everything, Faerdin. Far from it. Losing is what forces us to grow, and even in loss we can find victory. Valen fails to understand this."

"So you're saying he would be a bad mentor," The criticism of Swordhaven's hero stung Faerdin, almost as though someone had slighted him instead. "Is that it?"

"No, Faerdin, never that. No one in Swordhaven could rival his skill with a sword. I mean only to warn you. Learn what you can from his abilities in combat, but never allow him to make a competitor out of you. We do not compete and we do not feel envy toward those of a higher power; we do what we must for the people of Lore and for the balance of Lore's elements."

Faerdin shifted uncomfortably. Frowning, Gredal put his hand on Faerdin's shoulder. "I'm sorry... I know how much you admire a warrior like Valen. His heart is kind and true, but even those with the best of intentions can be lead astray. I only want the best for you, Faerdin, and I feel that you should look up to someone who is wise. Not someone who wins."

Opening his mouth for a retort, Faerdin searched for some argument he could make in Valen's defense, but could find none. Wordlessly, he obeyed Gredal's command and continued to follow him back through the forest. Anger seethed and fermented in his mind until he heard the whispers once again. As the elements, the very fabric from which Lore had been woven, murmured to him and watched over him, Faerdin allowed his negative emotions to melt away. It was then that Faerdin looked up at his master, and the familiar chill ran down his spine. I shouldn't let emotions cloud me so easily... I know he only wants to help, Faerdin thought.

The invigorating scent of magic was heavy in the air as Faerdin and Gredal drew closer to their destination. It flowed through them, returning strength to their aching muscles and enveloping them in the safety of runic spells. With a broadening smile, Faerdin found himself more thankful than ever to be returning home. At last, he felt prepared for the road ahead; the title of Rune Knight would be his to bear.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (9/17/2012 1:48:51)

Chapter Three
Homecoming

Leaves crunched beneath their feet as Faerdin and Gredal followed the familiar traces of their home. Such power always seemed to pervade the air near their sanctuary. One could feel it lingering not only in the air, but deep within the earth, growing fainter with the passing of each day and yet lingering still. Rarely did any place have such an abundance of magic in the air, and Faerdin understood why. In the histories he had read under Gredal's instruction, Faerdin learned that it had been set upon the hallowed ground where the Elemental Avatars first graced the dragons with their presence. Naturally, it served as the perfect location for the Avatars' most dedicated disciples.

Gredal raised his hand to halt Faerdin where he stood, glancing at the empty space in front of him as though a great wall stood before them. The symbol upon the back of his left hand shimmered as he murmured the rhyme that every member of their order is taught from the day of their induction. Faerdin could recall it as easily as he could his own name, and its wording was thus:

May the elements be forever bound
By the strength of the Rune Knights, most profound.

Beckoning for Faerdin to follow, Gredal continued down their unseen path. The density of the forest around them seemed to lessen with every step, forming a clearing upon which the very air seemed to tremble. As tension finally left his weary frame, Faerdin watched the castle of his brothers fade into existence.

In contrast to the sprawling estate of the good King Alteon, the palace of the Rune Knights seemed humble, yet there was an undeniable sense of power that emanated from it. The stone from which it had been made was dark and rough, weathered undoubtedly due to prolonged exposure to the forces of nature. His order prided itself on its connection to the elements, and so the delicate, prismatic runes that were carved along the walls of the fortress protected them from all manner of attacks excluding those made by nature itself. For the first time in a long while, Faerdin allowed himself to relax. He was finally home.

"Has anyone ever told you how that spell works?" asked Gredal. A strange calm had softened the harsh tones of his voice and, for a moment, Faerdin wondered if he also felt at ease.

Faerdin shook his head. "No. I never really thought about it until now."

Gesturing for Faerdin to follow, Gredal continued toward the castle gates. "To the mundane observer, our castle is nonexistent. Even if they knew of our home and where it was located, the moment they drew close to it, they would be completely unable to detect it. They would not see it, nor would they be able to hear any sounds coming from the castle, or even be able to feel the castle and its inhabitants. The spells wrought upon these grounds shroud us in a veil that none but the most powerful of spellweavers can pierce."

"Wait," Faerdin said, puzzled. "Only we are taught the rhyme, but I always see Dragon Lords coming and going..."

His master chuckled. "I knew you'd ask that. Just think about it."

For a moment, Faerdin frowned as he thought. A deep, grating sound echoed from within the ramparts of the castle as the front gates opened. How could Dragon Lords possibly bypass such powerful enchantments? Unless- The portcullis halted with an unpleasant boom, distracting Faerdin and causing him to lose his thread of thought. He silently cursed his undisciplined mind.

With a sigh, Gredal explained, "The Dragon Amulets. Dragon Lords need recite no rhyme or code in order to bypass our spells. The enchantments were wrought this way so that Dragon Lords and their dragons did not need to land and waste precious time when carrying out important duties. You must read more of our allies, Faerdin. Dragon Lords, Guardians, and Rune Knights work seamlessly in their goal of maintaining balance in Lore. If we are undereducated or we cannot communicate properly, then we will be doomed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, master."

As they stepped past the threshold, Faerdin fell silent and allowed his eyes to wander the vast courtyard. Only a small fraction of it was composed of stone. In fact, stone had only been used to create the paths, which served as mere borders to a sprawling, breathtaking garden. Faerdin had always failed to describe the flora. They did not seem to be any one variety of plant; to the contrary, Faerdin was unsure if any two flowers were of the same species. The sight of so many different flowers intermingling, prismatic and vibrant as a sea of gemstones, was both humbling and satisfying. It served as a permanent reminder of how large a world they lived in, and that beauty can be found everywhere.

It was on a clearing between the flowers, which was obviously made to avoid disturbing them, that the youngest of their order were gathered. Many being no older than the age of ten, they held their weapons with startling ease. Faerdin was not surprised; he knew that many of the children, like him, were given up to the order before they even knew who they were. They practically began their training the moment they could stand. They never had a chance to be a normal child. They never even knew their parents, Faerdin thought. He immediately discarded the thought.

At the forefront of the group stood a man with a strong jaw and hooked nose. His greying hair gave Faerdin the impression that he was one of their elders, though he carried himself with much more confidence and strength. Upon seeing Gredal, he shouted, "I'll return in a moment. Empty your minds and prepare yourselves!"

"Yes, master!"

Every disciple fell to one knee, their eyes closed as they cleared their hearts and minds. Faerdin knew their lessons for the day would be devoted to disciplining their minds and testing their endurance. He underwent such trials when he was their age. Pleased with his students, the man strode from the grass to the stone path where Faerdin and Gredal stood.

"Master Gredal," The man gravely murmured. "There is something we must speak of."

Gredal frowned. "Of course." Glancing at Faerdin, he said, "Return to your quarters. You have had a long day, and I want you to be rested before we continue your training."

"Yes, sir." As Gredal turned to leave, something tugged on the back of Faerdin's mind. Finally giving in, he called out, "Master?"

"Yes?"

"I will work harder tomorrow. I swear it."

A smile brightened his master's grim expression. "I expect no less of you. Now, get out of here."

Watching as Gredal gestured to his fellow elder and walked to a more private place, Faerdin could not help but wonder what could possibly be wrong. Rarely did he ever see such despair in the eyes of his elders, and when he did, it was indicative of sinister events beginning to brew. Something was wrong, and Faerdin would not be able to rest properly until he knew what it was. Scrutinizing his surroundings to ensure that no eyes were upon him, Faerdin tapped into his stores of mana.

As whispers of wind pleasantly echoed within his mind, Faerdin recalled one of the flowing, intricate runes that Master Gredal had taught him. The howling gales which whirled through his connection flowed to fit the arcane shape. It guided the power, focused it through the symbol like clay into a mold. The symbol on the back of his hand glowed, changing from its familiar blue to a light grey.

In an instant, voices were being carried directly to his ears.

"Are you absolutely certain?" asked a voice that most certainly belonged to Gredal.

"There is no doubt. We all feel it, Master Gredal. It lingers on the very edge of our memory, the very shadows from which Lore is composed are trembling, and it is without doubt that they are preparing for a massive surge forward. The moment that was preordained by the Avatars is rapidly approaching."

"The Great Darkness?"

"Yes. We must plan now, or else-"

The spell slipped away from Faerdin with the ease of a frightened serpent. He slumped against the castle wall, his mind racing. It cannot be.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (10/27/2012 18:29:58)

Chapter Four
Where Ancient Powers Dwell

There was an evil rapidly approaching the Sanctuary. It had only been a matter of time; Faerdin long felt the truth of lost centuries rising up and resonating in his bones, but he never paid his anxiety any heed. He would tell himself that he only needed to sleep. He would remind himself that the terror traveling through his body had only been the product of too many late nights of study.

But when the sun ceded its place in the sky to tyrants of bleached bone, his fantasies would be wrought with visions of some dark secret lingering in the ocean depths. A demon fallen to that miserable maw danced on the edge of his consciousness- whispering, despairing- with all the delusional sense of madness itself. It was indecipherable. It was incoherent, and yet on some fey level of thought it felt incontrovertible.

It only ever spoke six words: "All that you know will end."

All that we know will end, Faerdin repeated in awe. It only incited his insurmountable curiosity further. What does the Great Darkness have to do with my dreams? What is telling me these things? Am I a messenger? Was that one of the Avatars? Only one aspect was certain: Gredal needed to be alerted of his discovery.

And yet-

"Faerdin!"

Only then did Faerdin realize that he had still been standing in the castle courtyard. It must have been ten minutes that he stood there, stuck in transcendental thought while the hook-nosed elder left his students to scatter and disperse. He must have been waiting the whole time for Faerdin to notice. "Did you not hear me dismiss the others? It is time for a study session in the library now."

Faerdin mumbled with an embarrassed flush, "Yes sir." Pausing not for even another word, he bolted like a deer hearing its hunter snap a fallen tree branch beneath their feet.

The muted thud of leather soles upon stone were the only sounds he would hear while he sought to catch up with his classmates. He followed the path along the fountains of color which composed their lush and vibrant gardens, clashing with the ashen rope which forced its way though to the castle doors. Pushing open the ebon portal, he found himself only a left turn away from the others.

Another student had been waiting around the corner. "Lost, Faerdin?" It was a boy who seemed very much to be near his age, and yet he stood nearly head and shoulders above him. His eyes- listless pools of green- were lost in a curtain of raven hair. "It's a big castle, am I right?"

"I suppose. Lestrad, yes?"

"Yep." Glancing into the library door beside them- surely checking to see if any instructors were present- Lestrad inquired, "We're scheduled to spar tomorrow, right? Master Kell posted up the dueling list earlier today. I wasn't sure if 'Eilrua' had been you or someone else. Sounded like an elven name."

Faerdin frowned. He could not truly read his expression through his thick locks. "No, that is my last name."

"Ah," The corners of his lips rose in an almost imperceptible smile. "I've heard from my cousin about the elves. It'll be an interesting fight. Not that I really see the point of sparring anymore... I mean, we've been here for what, seventeen years? Year seventeen means graduation. Give us a challenge."

"Maybe we are supposed to find the challenge ourselves," offered Faerdin. "I know it can be difficult when my sparring partners are aggressive. That is where my weakness lies, and that is the metaphorical gap in my armor I must cover before I go off and protect the Elemental Planes."

With little more than a nod of agreement and a small wave, Lestrad receded into the halls of the castle. Faerdin let out a sigh from the sinking feeling in his heart. It seemed at times that it was the only gesture his fellow students were willing to give. But now was no longer the time for idle chatter. Diligence renewed in his solitude, Faerdin entered the library.

Bookshelves over twenty feet tall touched the ceilings of the sprawling center of knowledge, lining the walls and filling the room with rows upon rows of dusty tomes and essays. White symbols which spanned the roof's length to bathe the chamber in a soft and consistent light were used in favor of torches- a danger considering the abundance of dry parchment. Other disciples of their order were darting here and there across the room like dragonflies in a summer storm, lost and surely looking for answers to a single question.

That question also weighed quite heavily on Faerdin's mind, manifesting in a single phrase. The final exam...

A final test of a Rune Knight's skills was needed before they could graduate. It culminated in an examination of "the student's competence in all aspects of our elemental power," but the instructors never specified what they needed to know in order to pass. There was no goal by the end of the year, as aspiring archmages or mundane elementalists surely had.

"In all aspects." Faerdin wiped his brow. It was far too hot in the room, and yet he pulled the nearest book from its shelf, found a nearby table, and began to pore over its old and angled runes. The warmth would not deter him from studying and succeeding in his life's goal.

The element of fire is a curious thing- capable both of great benevolence and great cruelty. It is a force of nature that more than any other must be tamed within before being bent by a conjurer, lest they risk losing themselves in the fires of the plane's passions and becoming a force beyond themselves- an embodiment of madness, one might say-

In his determination to study, Faerdin failed to notice the sensation running through his body. It felt as though his core was welling up with the cold resolution of winter. Unconsciously he slipped deeper and deeper into the Elemental Plane of Ice, the Sigil of the Avatars secreting a light blue aura. Irritation flared at the droning words of the essay's author. He knew that he should study, and yet it felt irresistibly like a higher power pinned him to that spot. He did not want to be pinned. He did not want to be constrained. He wanted to break though, to wrest free-

SNAP.

An exasperated groan grated through Faerdin's throat at the telltale sound of his table breaking. A long crack split through the center of the table, and it would have been torn in two were it not for the iron frame in which it was held. No one seemed to notice or even lift a head in askance. The occurrence was more common than one may think.

Faerdin threw the book closed and cradled his head in his hands. Maybe I need to take a nap.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (12/15/2012 2:28:31)

Chapter Five
Old Hatreds

"Concentrate!"

Despite the cold that clung bitterly to Faerdin's plated armor, sweat dripped from every inch of him. His eyes stung as he attempted to squint and scrutinize his surroundings. Standing across from him was a similarly metal-clad warrior; a boy of his age whose large stature allowed him to wield a single, monumental axe. Faerdin warily eyed its gleaming edge. One quick strike, and that will be the end for me... He drew solace from the fact that his opponent was tiring far more quickly than he was. Colder days always invigorated Faerdin, though he was never entirely sure why.

Standing a fair distance away from the courtyard, away from his students, was Master Gredal. The subtle creases on his face betrayed a deep frustration. "You will not last a second in the real world if you cannot learn to fight properly. Lore looks to us in times of need. Would you fail them?"

"No, master!"

"Then fight! By the Avatars, fight!"

With a ferocious bellow, the boy opposite Faerdin tore across the ground, his axe held high. Each passing second pulled him closer. Faerdin's heart pounded like a war drum within his chest, and yet it was the primal rhythm that allowed him to remain calm. He hefted his large, rounded shield and stood his ground. Fear flickered briefly in the boy's eyes at Faerdin's lack of action. From across the field, he could have sworn he saw Gredal allow himself a wry smile.

Like a pendulum, the massive blade whistled through the space that Faerdin once occupied. Wasting not a single moment, Faerdin danced forward and swung his shield around, slamming its rim into the boy's helmet with a resounding clang. Momentum spun Faerdin completely around as he flowed through the movement, agile like a serpent, and aimed a spinning kick at the chest of his combatant. The blow from the shield had disoriented the boy. The kick, however, crashed into the boy's breastplate and sent him sprawling to the ground. It took only a heartbeat for Faerdin to stomp on his gauntlet-clad hand and tear the weapon from his fingers. Cold steel met the fallen warrior's throat, sending a chill down his spine as the tip of Faerdin's blade rested upon his collarbone.

A restless blaze of hatred and envy billowed within the boy's eyes. Faerdin had never seen anything quite like it, and it unnerved him.

"Would you call that a fight, Lestrad? I think 'helpless flailing' would be more appropriate." Gredal's voice had acquired a harsh tone; Faerdin knew this well. The fight was not nearly finished.

Drawing from some deep reserve of strength, the boy named Lestrad grasped the hilt of his weapon and clambered back onto his feet. Faerdin widened his stance. The rage in Lestrad's bearing seemed only to ferment and swell with each passing moment. Somehow, this had become a matter much deeper than simple training exercises. Lestrad did not want to win; he wanted to break him. Something is wrong, Faerdin thought.

"Now, try again!"

Lestrad swept his axe through the air like a fan, conjuring a gust of wind so powerful that Faerdin was forced to hide behind his shield. The gale battered him ruthlessly, and by the time he glanced ahead and realized what Lestrad was going to do, he was too late. Carried by the very winds being used to assault him was Lestrad's monstrous weapon, colliding against his shield with the force of an explosion. The blow was more than enough to throw him off balance and slam him onto the ground several feet away, leaving him with only his sword still in hand.

The howling tempest swung the axe back to Lestrad's grip as he charged, preparing an overhead strike and clearly aiming to quickly end the fight. Faerdin scowled. You won't earn satisfaction from me so easily.

Moving not a single muscle, the symbol upon the back of Faerdin's hand glowed a deep, earthy green. The ground before Lestrad shifted ever so slightly. He failed to notice in his blind fury and, when he drew close, Lestrad tripped over the reshaped earth. Before he could recover, Faerdin leaped back onto his feet and pressed his blade against the ground. Columns of stone sprung from the grassy field, a wave of living earth that slammed mightily into Lestrad and hurled him into the air. Only a moment later, they had receded back from whence they came, allowing Faerdin the opportunity to the bend the air as Lestrad had and hurl him effortlessly back down.

The ground shuddered as Lestrad made his painful reunion. He struggled to rise up and continue.

"Are you really going to give up now? Focus!"

At the sound of Gredal's voice, Lestrad determinedly heaved himself back onto his feet, his face contorted with a thirst for blood. He muttered under his breath, but the words were lost as he lashed out with his arm to unleash a fiery inferno. Crimson flames burst from the warrior's palm with the intensity of a volcanic eruption. The very sight of them caused a bead of sweat to drip down Faerdin's temple. His heart pounded frantically, ruining the constant beat that steadied him.

Focusing with all of his might, Faerdin clearly tried to envision the symbol that he knew would save him, but he managed only to conjure a pitiful, melted wall of ice. The fire drew ever closer and Faerdin grimaced from the effort of refining his spell. He cursed himself for allowing the fire to distract him so easily, but he could not help it. No explanation could be offered. The wicked conflagration pulled fear from the most primal part of his being. It always did. Realization quickly blossomed across Lestrad's face. Realization and a cruel smile.

Nothing could frighten him more, but the barrier Faerdin had created began to melt further and further, and the resulting cascade of chilling water pulled memories from the depths of his mind. Panicked, suffocating memories full of desperation and despair. Memories that had remained with him since the moment he could think for himself.

Only water could frighten him more than fire. That was Faerdin's last thought as the sapphire wave he had wrought descended on him. Then all was darkness.

"Faerdin? Faerdin, wake up!"

The first thing Faerdin felt was a deep ache all over his body. He shuddered and tried to stand. Ruby lights flared across his vision as pain seemed to lance through his entire body. A gentle hand coaxed him back down, and it was then he realized that it belonged to Master Gredal. The genuine concern he could see in his master's emerald eyes caused shame and helplessness to fill his lungs, nearly choking him. I should be able to do better than this, Faerdin thought. Why?

"Good, at least you're conscious now... Are you alright?"

"Yes, master."

Gredal frowned. "At the very least, you should rest for today. Lestrad, could you-?"

At the very mention of his name, Lestrad stepped forward and looked down at his weakened opponent. Malice still glittered in his eyes like crystallized venom. With three words, he described for Faerdin why such loathing had pervaded his bearing and his actions. With three words, he summarized feelings of resentment and fear so ancient that they could be traced to the origins of their order itself. "Filthy half-elf."

Not caring to take a second glance, Lestrad turned and strode away. Faerdin was aware only of a wilting, shriveling feeling in his chest as Gredal's concern was replaced with a look of such profound sorrow that he could have been mourning the death of his beloved.

***

Relief swept over Faerdin as he returned to the warmth of his bed, but the feeling of decay lingered deep within his heart. For a while, he allowed his eyes to wander the cold, stone walls of his home. Though it possessed little furnishings of its own, his room housed an inviting simplicity that he could not be more thankful for. What truly lent the room its beauty was its window, which had been specifically enchanted to allow its beholder a clear view of the night sky. It was in the silvery light of the moon that Gredal wordlessly examined the books upon his shelves.

Unable to hold in the dreaded question any longer, Faerdin said, "Master?"

"Yes, Faerdin?" The weariness in his voice revealed a single fact: he knew what Faerdin was going to say.

"Why did Lestrad call me 'filthy?'"

Gredal's shoulders tensed as he kept his gaze on the bookshelf. "That is nothing you should concern yourself with now-"

"Then why do the others looks at me like I'm... different? Why is my room separated from theirs? Why do fire and-?"

"Enough."

Reluctantly, Faerdin held his tongue. After a moment of absolute silence, Gredal sighed and turned to face his apprentice.

"What I am about to tell you does not leave this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

Gredal pulled a chair from the desk beside Faerdin's bed and took a seat. "Well, this is going to take a long while, but I suppose this is for the best... You've known for a long while, I'm sure, that you are different. Your ears are pointed, no human could possibly have your hair and your eyes without magical interference, and your strengths and weaknesses are different from the others. However, your skin is still pale and you are still very similar to us. That being said, you must know that you are a half-elf. Yes?"

Faerdin nodded. "I've always known that."

"Well... I suppose I should start this tale from the very beginning. Could you describe for me the events where our order had been created, Faerdin?"

I know the histories by heart. "Long ago, the elements themselves had been thrown into disarray, and the threat of Lore being plunged into a vast, insatiable darkness was imminent. But in the instant before all seemed lost, the Elemental Lords descended as the Avatars to bless us with the tools we needed to protect the balance of Lore. First, the Avatars coalesced orbs purely composed of their respective elements: the Elemental Orbs. Next, they crafted ruby amulets with which one could communicate with dragons: the Dragon Amulets. Finally, the Avatars combined their power and touched the palm of a single man, blessing him with a fraction of their power: the first Rune Knight to be created-"

"Yes, but have you been told who had been present during this?"

Faerdin opened his mouth to reply, but found that he didn't have one to give.

"Humans," Gredal explained. "Humans and dragons. They were the only ones present when this pact had been made. This pact is the only reason Guardians, DragonLords, and our kind even exist. Do you see why Lestrad acted the way he did now?"

With a heavy heart, Faerdin finally understood. "They don't think I have the right to be here..."

"Unfortunately, you are correct." With crossed arms and a look of utmost displeasure, Gredal continued, "Many members of our order feel... obligated to ensure that this 'noble tradition' is maintained and that the sanctity of it is not violated. Personally, I think it is utter lunacy. You are living proof of it, by Celeritas."

Heat rushed to Faerdin's face. "You honor me, master."

If Gredal heard, he gave no indication. "As for your origins, I will say this. Your father was one of our order, and he had been sent to the depths of the ocean to investigate something... something strange there. The water elves in possession of the Elemental Orb of Water had spoken of previously normal creatures having their minds bent and their bodies twisted and deformed, and they felt an ancient presence lurking on the edge of their senses. Something evil was lurking down there, and even now, we aren't entirely aware of what had happened... When your father had returned about a year later, he... He had brought you. He was raving mad and covered in blood, mourning the death of your mother and begging for us to take you into our custody... When we noticed the Sigil of the Avatars upon your hand, I urged the other elders of our order to accept you. They called you an abomination, and I called you a blessing from the Lords. They weren't so quick to challenge me after that."

Faerdin nodded. To proclaim something as being a blessing from the Elemental Lords required certainty, especially if you were an elder.

"From the sound of it, Faerdin, I would guess that your mother had been a water elf," When Faerdin failed to respond, Gredal shifted uncomfortably and inquired, "Are you alright?"

"Yes... It just makes sense."

Nodding, Gredal rose from his seat and began to walk toward the entrance to his room.

"Master?"

"Yes, Faerdin?"

Unable to find the right words, Faerdin murmured, "Thank you. For everything."



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (1/11/2013 5:45:45)

Chapter Six
The Coming Storm

Dearest Valen,
You are most cordially invited to attend the renewal of vows between the good King Alteon and Queen Lynaria of Swordhaven on the first Friday
of October. The occasion requires formal attire that would be proper to wear among Lore's most noble and notable citizens, as well as foreign
emissaries who might be gracing the presence of His Majesty this night.
Further questions should be addressed to His Majesty's royal advisor, Iago Rafaj.

Sincerely,
Iago Rafaj

P.S. Your plight is known throughout this castle, but Your Majesty was insistent. Your presence would surely be an eternal reward to him.

The parchment still lay upon Valen's writing desk, where it still held his gaze. A nearly unnoticeable frown only drew more attention to the lines that had since begun to form on the young warrior's face, granting his visage the appearance of a far older man. Weariness had already begun to seep deep within his bones. Valen could feel it. Why do they even want me there, he thought. When they don't need me? Do they just want to remind me, now? I already went to their wedding...

A jolt shot up Valen's spine at the sound of his door creaking open. Standing in the archway was a new recruit of the Pactagonal Knights, a meek boy from the Vey family. "Sir?"

"Yes, yes, come in. What is it?"

"Well," The Vey child mumbled. "King Alteon wishes to speak with you."

Valen's frown deepened and caused the initiate to step back. Not intending to intimidate the child, Valen kindly inquired, "Do you know why?"

"No, sir. He hadn't told me. He just wanted to speak with you."

Just as I thought, he thought with a sigh, glancing back at the invitation. He knows I'm not going. Valen reached into his pocket for his gold pouch, taking fifteen coins and placing them into the Vey child's hands. "Tell the king I'm busy for the time being. I'm writing to a good friend of ours in Doomwood and can't be bothered."

"Alright, sir." The apprehension at returning to King Alteon with such an answer glinted clearly in his eyes, though he dared not to show it.

Placing his hand on Vey's shoulder, Valen said, "Your message was well-delivered. I fully expect to see Sir Vey among our ranks soon."

He was content to see the Vey child smiling hopefully as he saluted to him. Valen returned the gesture and, not moment sooner, Vey had left the room.

Once again, that dreaded parchment commanded his attention. That physical embodiment of his frustration and endless despair. It was only a second later that Valen found himself leaning over the bin at the side of his desk, the paper crumpled in his hand. A jade monster had taken refuge in the depths of Valen's heart for so long, and it demanded that he let go of the parchment. He was so close, and his fingers had begun to twitch just as the door creaked open once again. Scowling, Valen turned to face the new arrival.

Vey had returned. Hesitance permeated his stature and his very bearing, yet some force compelled him.

"Sir, if I may?" When Valen nodded in approval, the boy stepped further into the room. "I think you should go."

"To what?"

"If there's anything I'm not," Vey reluctantly said. "It's an idiot, sir."

"How do you know? I haven't even told my mother about this, and I was... under the impression that only Alteon's close friends and servants knew." The crushed invitation remained clutched in Valen's hand.

Heat rushed to the child's face. Shrugging, he explained, "People tell me that I'm observant, and I've just heard some things." Drawing from some reserve of inner strength, Vey looked directly in his eyes and stated, "You would be a good friend if you went, Sir Valen."

Whether it was the boy's resolve or his struggle to throw off his timidity, there was some quality about the Vey child that Valen could not help but admire. The determination in his eyes conjured memories, fleeting like the resplendent torrents of color that flare into being when stealing a glimpse of the sun, of a life not too different from his own. A recruit's struggle to prove himself and command the respect of a true warrior- that was an issue Valen could understand and sympathize with, and the reflection could not help but make him smile. Relief swept over the boy as Valen said, "Being a Pactagonal Knight means more than being a good warrior; it means living with integrity, wisdom, and courage. I'm happy you understand that. Thank you, Vey."

Saluting once more, the recruit answered, "Glad to be of service!" For the final time, he withdrew from Valen's room and returned from whence he came. It was during the Vey child's departure that Valen took another glance at the invitation and stuffed it back into his pocket.

***


Gredal watched the gold shimmer in the hands of his apprentice, merrily catching the rays of light that fell into Faerdin's living quarters. There was an entire pouch filled with the coins on his bed; a hefty sum, no doubt, but it would be unbecoming of a Rune Knight's disciple to wander into Swordhaven without the means to bribe away whatever harm came to him. Yet apprehension still clogged Gredal's chest. Even then, doubt was worming slowly into his heart like the roots of a venomous weed, and it was all Gredal could do to stop himself from preventing Faerdin's departure altogether. Something is wrong here... I cannot put my finger on it, but all cannot possibly be well, Gredal thought as his apprentice returned the money to its pouch.

"Are you sure you want to trust me with this, master?"

"Yes... The other elders and I have very important matters to discuss, and so I cannot travel to Swordhaven with you this time." At the crestfallen frown that crossed Faerdin's face, Gredal continued, "I have faith in your abilities and know that you will easily see this task through. Am I understood?"

He nodded. "Yes, master."

Like the iridescent metal they beheld moments before, the Sigil of the Avatars on Faerdin's hand shifted color in rapid succession. He then placed his hand upon his heart, and Gredal smiled. Such had been their order's display of respect for many a century. The elderly man returned the gesture and proceeded out of the room at his side, where they went their separate ways. Some facet of Gredal's mind shifted into its proper place at that moment. Only now did he realize why he felt so worried about Faerdin's lone journey.

He's growing up.

Discarding the thought, Gredal adjusted his robes and approached the ornately carved stairway that would lead him to his destination.

For the longest while, he descended these cold, stone steps. Each footfall pulled Gredal inexorably deeper into the bowels of the castle. Each step hid the afternoon sun all the more completely behind a veil of masonry and enchantment, leaving only torches that lined the walls to light the path. As opposed to the cool grey of the upper areas of the castle, the walls were painted orange and red by the torchlight, like molten rock. The air began to taste musty and stagnant, and Gredal knew that he was drawing close. Though many seasons had passed since the last time he sought it, an aged oak door stood at the end of the corridor to confirm his suspicions.

At Gredal's coaxing, the portal opened to reveal a gravely familiar sight.

Twenty-nine other elders of the Hand sat, almost meditating in a tenebrous and forlorn amphitheater. The blackened and unforgiving crags that made up its walls were so roughly hewn that only the wrath of nature could have forged them. Shadows had engulfed the entirety of the room save for areas illuminated by torches, burning brightly and yet barely able to pierce that suffocating cloak of night. Water sparkled like liquid sapphire at the pool in the amphitheater's core, and plunged within it was a massive column of ice.

The very air chilled Gredal. Scowling, he walked to his proper place among the elders, his every step echoing hollowly across the obsidian floor. Century after century this audience chamber has endured, and still there has been nothing done about a spell that can warm these accursed seats, Gredal wryly reflected. I understand why all of this is necessary, but forcing ourselves into the cold is not necessary and makes fools of us all.

Upon taking his seat, all of the elders seemed to shift and lift their heads in unison. Arcane symbols engraved around the middle of the room suddenly began to flash and hum with untold power. While wave after wave of energy seemed to sear the elder's skin beyond endurance, Gredal felt his mind and his very being drawn inexorably toward the others, every identity melding like pools of molten iron to make a seamless whole. The elders had lost themselves and yet they had not. All earthly concerns, all trivial signs of weakness had melted away to be replaced by single-minded determination. Together, they had become an entity, a spirit of the elements embodied. This spirit lifted its hands and chanted, low and rumbling:

"Blessed creators, it is to you we pledge our eternal and undying loyalty. It is for you that we sacrifice our flesh and blood, for you that we bring balance and justice to your hallowed battleground upon the earthly plane of Lore. It is your Sigil, branded upon our bodies from the moment we are thrust into the warm embrace of life, that we bear and swear to honor until our days have come to an end. It is now that we plead for your mercy and your guidance. O Lords of the Elements, reveal to us the fate that lies ahead of us, when the Great Darkness looms over to conquer your domain!"

Just as quickly as it had begun, a force of incomprehensible strength and fury had shattered the entity and forced Gredal back to himself. The very earth beneath the elders' feet trembled and quaked while their abrupt return caused many to cough and sputter. Suppressing the terrible itching at the back of his throat, Gredal glanced upward.

Suspended in the middle of the amphitheater were the Elemental Avatars.

Cast in a divine and unearthly glow, the eight deities stared down at the recipients of their power. Every present member of the Hand fell off their seats and onto their knees, even Master Gredal. The aspects of each primal element- Fire, Water, Ice, Earth, Wind, Energy, Light, and Darkness- possessed a regal and yet startlingly unnatural appearance. Even in his old age, their very presence struck Gredal's heart with fear and awe as it had when he was a mere neophyte.

"If you so wish," murmured the Elemental Avatar of Fire, Fiamme.

"Answers shall be given," finished Kyanos, the Elemental Avatar of Ice.

Voidstar, the Elemental Avatar of Darkness, raised his voice to growl, "Though they may not be the answers that you seek."

Yet another wave of immeasurable power emanated from the Elemental Avatars, causing many of the Rune Knights to shudder. Each elemental aspect seemed to sharpen and shimmer all the more fiercely with energy. The ground shook once more beneath the mighty aspects' effort to divine the future of Lore, and it was only a moment longer before they uttered:

"Past the elusive veil your answers rest,
Entangled in the perilous shadows.
From the hands of Fate these three clues are wrest
To evade your place in the world's gallows.
Slumbering now are two mighty creatures
Untouched, unbound by our sacred power.
The beast of chaos that destruction lures,
Destined to kill and a world devour,
And its opposite, so noble and pure,
That it will shield your home from annihilation.
Should this titanic duel the land endure,
So too shall you all meet your salvation.
A crimson blade, without impunity,
Shall meet the blessed shield of unity."

The haunting words continued to ring through Gredal's mind, resonating with some integral part of his being. One bold disciple cried out, "But who shall bear the shield? What is the final clue, blessed creators? Who is our champion?"

A low rumble echoed throughout the halls of the Rune Knights. Emotion, perhaps amusement with a trace of undeniable certainty, colored the following words of the Avatars. "One of imbalanced blood and a heart so pure that he may align himself as you have not, mere mortal. We have spoken, and you would do well to heed our words."

That last statement seemed to hang in the air for a moment. Not a single expression in the room was decipherable as the Elemental Avatars dissipated and left the chamber a cold, empty husk without their presence. An eternity passed while Gredal's fellow elders sat in silence, still attempting to process the information their blessed creators had given them. Deep within his heart, Gredal knew their troubles had only just begun.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (3/14/2013 16:38:18)

Chapter Seven
An Invitation

Sparks erupted from the blades of Faerdin and Valen as they closed once again. The reverberating ring of sword upon sword echoed with crystalline clarity through the combat hall while its combatants traded blows. Even the famed knight's limbs trembled with every jab and parry. Sweat cascaded down their sides and nearly blinded them all the while they sought their opponent's downfall. In a moment, their calm training session became a desperate dance with death. How it devolved into such a primal exchange Faerdin was not sure, but he knew that restrained flow of anger permeating Valen's expression. He could feel his frustration radiating in waves.

Though more prepared than he had been during their last encounter, Faerdin was not confident that he would win. I have to try, he thought with rising determination. I have to prove that I am worthy of being his apprentice. I will not shirk from this opportunity because I am weak.

A blur of silver flickered swiftly across Faerdin's vision as Valen pressed his attack. Try though he might to retaliate, it was only a few moments more before Faerdin felt the hilt being torn from his fingers. The icy sting of a blade against Faerdin's neck was enough to make him recoil. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees in surrender, even as the moment dragged on for what felt like a century. If Valen noticed, however, he gave no indication. "Try again," he finally muttered, stepping away and returning to his fighting stance. "Remember to keep your wits about you. Be aggressive, and don't let anything trick you."

Wincing in defeat, Faerdin replied, "Yes, master." Hesitantly, he added, "Are you well?"

The corner of Valen's mouth twitched. "I'm fine, Faerdin. Do not be distracted."

"Forgive me, master."

Valen nodded. Upon raising his guard, Faerdin could not help but continue to analyze his mentor. Some issue was definitely wracking the hardened warrior's mind; Valen seemed not to be looking at Faerdin, but at someone else entirely. The contempt in his visage was muted, but palpable. He's taking out his problems on me, Faerdin thought. Which means that I'll have to best him somehow if he's going to snap out of it.

Being tenacious was not going to earn victory. He really would have to be more aggressive. Or... Why not be both? Faerdin wondered. This thought coaxed a devious smile from Faerdin. When Valen stepped forward to meet him, his plan began to ferment.

Mere inches away from his pupil, Valen brought down his sword only for it to be blocked at the last moment. He attempted to pull away only to find that the crossguards of their weapons had caught together. In a single motion, Faerdin used all of his strength to shove Valen across the combat hall, staggering and nearly tripping him.

But Faerdin did not press the attack. Rather, he danced away and kept his blade at the ready.

With a grimace, Valen regained his balance and flung himself relentlessly after his apprentice. Every exchange of blows lasted only a few seconds as Faerdin continued to pull back and force Valen to follow him. Every exchange only made Valen all the more aggressive and impatient. Like a spider, Faerdin carefully arranged the strands of his web, knowing that his opponent would soon entangle himself and offer the opportunity to strike. After the seventh time they completed this exchange, Valen charged forward with the single-minded determination of a starving bear.

Faerdin then stepped to the side and stretched out his leg, knowing it was the last thing he could have expected.

It was an obvious trick, but the knight was too slow to realize what his apprentice was attempting to do. His eyes widened in shock a moment before his foot caught against Faerdin's leg and sent him sprawling to the ground, his sword clattering against the floor as it slipped from his hands. Valen desperately attempted to pick himself up, and when Faerdin rested the tip of his sword against his collarbone, he glanced up at him with a peculiar mixture of disbelief and rage.

"You tripped me?"

"Master Gredal- my tutor as a Rune Knight- once told me, 'the wisest sages can fall for the simplest tricks if they are blind to their surroundings.' You should practice what you preach." Regretting how harsh the statement sounded, Faerdin mumbled, "Sir. I'll ask again. Is there something wrong?"

The fallen warrior's jaw clenched as he simmered in the thick silence that followed. To Faerdin's relief, however, whatever anger he had seemed to melt away in light of the measures his apprentice had taken to return him to a lucid state of mind. By the time Valen had risen from the floor and dusted off his tunic, he was giving Faerdin an apologetic smile.

"Everything is fine, I assure you," Valen explained. "There's just been... some business, the thought of which causes me a great deal of uncertainty."

Faerdin frowned. "May I-?"

"No, there's no way you can help... It's a personal matter." Realizing that his apprentice's concern would not be so easily dispelled, Valen continued, "Thank you for asking, though. I don't have a lot of people in my life who would take the time to actually do that. You're a good man, Faerdin."

Heat rushed to Faerdin's face.

"What is wrong?" Valen inquired, noting the color that stained Faerdin's cheeks.

Shrugging, he hesitantly said, "No one has ever called me a man before. I'm technically of age, but... I don't feel like a man. And no one sees me as such."

Chuckling, Valen pat his student on the shoulder. "Oh, you will soon enough. You're still growing, and..." His words were lost as a thought seemed to enter his mind.

"Master?"

"Oh, yes. I have a question for you, if you do not mind." Reaching into his pocket, Valen drew a wrinkled scrap of parchment. "There is a ball approaching very quickly, and I... I fear that my duties may keep me from properly attending. It is very important- a celebration for the King- and one from your order has not attended such a gathering in the court of Swordhaven in centuries..."

Faerdin blinked. "You want me to attend a royal ball?"

"Only if you are able. You are a young man, and you should have at least one opportunity to talk to people without armor cluttering them."

Something had frozen in Faerdin's mind. Never before had his company been requested for such a grand and festive occasion. He had only ever left the sanctuary of his people for matters of business with Master Gredal or to escape from the pressure of his training by connecting with nature. But meetings of such a social and outgoing nature seemed hopelessly beyond him. The very thought made Faerdin feel very small, as though he were in the presence of a gargantuan, intimidating beast.

"So, will you go in my stead?" Valen asked once again.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Faerdin asked, "But what of formal attire-?"

"You have none? Oh, that won't be a problem- I think I have some clothes from the previous feast that would likely be a good fit for you."

Grimacing as Valen had done only moments before, Faerdin said, "Of course, sir. I would be happy to attend."



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (4/27/2013 20:49:57)

Chapter Eight
Beneath a New Moon

Night had already usurped the lofty throne of the sun by the time Faerdin wandered beyond Swordhaven's ever-watchful archway. The receding drawbridge boomed behind his back, and Faerdin looked up to the sky. The black velvet blankets that encompassed the heavens paid no heed to the mortals that dwelled below, failing to grant the blessing of the moon's light. Faerdin shuddered and gathered up the cloak upon his shoulders. It was a new moon. The absence of that silver guardian would only make his journey home all the more difficult. The night was dense as fog from a mire, and only the stars remained to light the universe with their admonishing smile.

A normal magician would have woven a spell to aid their eyes at such a time. But Faerdin knew that doing so would only be robbing himself of an opportunity. Gredal had taught him far better than to shirk from the opportunities presented to him. To become one with the elements, Faerdin thought. I must dive into it with impunity. I must immerse myself fully, completely, and without fear. The last word caused images of fire and water to twinkle into being within Faerdin's mind, wrought by his failed duel with Lestrad several days prior.

He suppressed the thought with a toss of his head and began his perilous trek through the woods. Distractions were the very last thing he needed, now that he was deviating from the path the residents of Swordhaven had meticulously paved.

The absence of light would not deter Faerdin from following the path he felt to be natural and true: the path wreathed in shadow.

But even as he felt his way past the pensive trees, the apprentice's mind began to wander once again. The invitation from Valen was still crumpled in his hand. It would only be another week before the occasion Valen had mentioned would arrive. It would only be another week before Faerdin stood before nobles and other esteemed members not only of King Alteon's court, but those of visiting nations. He would be the first representative of the Rune Knights to attend a social gathering in Swordhaven since centuries upon centuries ago.

A branch soundly snapped beneath Faerdin's foot and returned him to reality.

Oh, it's no use, he scolded himself. Flashes of the elements Faerdin had failed to control continued to assail him as the forest floor sailed beneath his feet. Though he could feel every breath taken by the slumbering earth, it was very much aware of his presence. Every droplet of water was an ocean threatening to swallow him. Every glint from a firefly was an inferno. Faerdin nearly choked. The world sought his attention. But for what?

"What are you trying to tell me?"

A certain warmth ran through the back of Faerdin's hand, and it was then that he noticed the rune upon its back. The Sigil of the Avatars glowed. It shimmered iridescently in the scarce light, and he knew. Faerdin knew that he had to calm his mind and connect with the elements. So he closed his eyes.

The presence of the Elemental Planes drew all tension from his muscles and allowed his breathing to slow. Under their guidance, he effortlessly dove through the trees and the animals that lay dormant within their dens, running through him a feeling of peace that he hadn't felt in days. Even his apprehension seemed to melt away, melding him with a force that was ancient as time itself. A sense beyond sight compelled him forward. Yet it was incomplete.

It was imperfect, and Faerdin felt it for the first time.

Then pain. Mindless, earth-shattering, skull-splitting pain. A soundless howl was torn from Faerdin's throat as he fell to his knees; the peace that once thrived through his connection gave way to panic, discord, and a sense of impending doom. All seemed insignificant before the unimaginable agony that seemed to resonate with his very being. Then Faerdin somehow found the strength to grasp the ground and wrench himself onto his knees, only to see a shadow rise up before him.

At the mere sight of this shadow, Faerdin's pain redoubled itself.

All that could be gleaned from a mere glance at this being was that a dark grey cloak rested upon its shoulders. It seemed an ordinary man, but Faerdin's eyes widened as a realization came over him. This was no mere stranger; it persisted long before time had begun to flow. Long before the Elemental Planes had been created to bring order and life to a world of endless darkness.

It was an entity of darkness most primal, and it wanted nothing more than destruction.

"Greetings," it quietly said. "Would you like to buy a Doom Weapon?"

Faerdin's words had caught in his throat.

"Oh... You are one of them." Its air of courtesy was replaced by one of displeasure. It was a slight adjustment, but all the more threatening because of it. "I don't suppose I will be able to fool you... But I do appreciate an opportunity to rid the elements of one more defender."

Runes capable of destroying the specter before him frantically ran through his mind, but the unbearable pain would cause them to shatter.

"You cannot cast your pretty little spells, can you?" The spirit inquired. "One reason why I bother wasting my time on you." The shadows that once seemed pleasant and inviting now trembled before the entity's terrible influence, preparing to envelop him and tear him away from the world of the living.

Then a thought struck Faerdin. The conversation he had overheard. The shadow-being. The Planes are in danger. Lore is in danger. Such was Faerdin's renewed resolve that he focused his thoughts on one thing, and one thing only.

A wave of golden, resplendent light met the tide of darkness and brought it to a shuddering halt. The two elements dissipated, and Faerdin struggled to rise to his feet. Upon doing so, he drew his sword and prepared to fight for his life.

The stranger was gone.

But laughter echoed madly through the halls of Faerdin's mind. The overwhelming pain had faded, but he knew it would return. They both knew, and that is why it laughed. Fear tightening around his heart like coils of iron, Faerdin ran. He ran faster than he ever had before, and he knew that the stranger was watching him. Watching him and laughing, laughing at the fate that lay in wait for the unassuming world of Lore.

Run to your home, friend. Run, and know that I wait patiently.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (8/6/2013 0:58:34)

Chapter Nine
Tension Breaks

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Thus was the sound pounding painfully in Faerdin's chest as he tore through the underbrush. Sweat cascaded in rivulets down his sides, every footfall causing the cold droplets to disembark and splatter across the ground, watering the earth with liquid fear. But the child did not hear it. That dreadful thumping dominated the senses. It melted and twisted his surroundings until they too seemed to tremble and cry out in despair. The trees, once empowered and prideful, shivered beneath the anguished howls of the wind. No animal dared to leave their dwelling save the raven, its beady eyes glinting wickedly whilst it shouldered the mantle of night.

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Not a single thought could his mind produce. Indeed, it seemed as if Faerdin's mind were a blank canvas. Terror attacked that slate with a confusing and clashing array of hues and hid every coherent thought. Only one statement managed to endure: I want to go home. So it was that scrap of thought that he helplessly clung to. He needed to return to the sanctuary and warn the others. They needed to prepare, and it was for that reason that Faerdin ran, his heart fluttering all the more like a withered hummingbird with every step.

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Foliage crunched beneath as Faerdin flew past, the forest becoming into little more than a blur around him as he forced a burst of speed. His chest heaved and fought for every breath but still could not sate his aching muscles. At some times, they nearly gave way and caused Faerdin to avoid only narrowly a very abrupt stop. But he continued. He continued no matter how deeply the fire in his calves and in his sides had burned into his flesh.

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

All that mattered was to follow the command of the leaves beneath him, to hear the pleas of the wind that whistled around the darkened trees:

"Run."

The sands of Time slowed in the wake of impending disaster. It felt as though eras had passed during Faerdin's journey while the miles soared beneath his feet. But then he finally found the spot. He found the entrance, and without stopping, the apprentice chanted:

"May the elements be forever bound
By the strength of the Rune Knights, most profound!"

Hanging onto the horizon, the castle gradually faded into view. It pierced the ebon skies and stood mightily over the land, unmoved by the threat of eternal shadow and glittering with runes like an unconquerable beacon of salvation. Such was his joy at being so close to the palace that Faerdin could not help but smile for the first time since leaving Swordhaven. He moved his legs faster, desperate to open its doors wide and fall into its nurturing warmth-

"Stop him! Grab him right there!"

The world was upheaved and thrown upside down when two figures ferociously tackled Faerdin to the ground. The forest floor scraped his arms and face, drawing blood before someone grabbed his arms and rolled him onto his back. Blinking several times to clear his sight, he finally made out one of the people looming over him: Lestrad. Hatred and disgust was etched into his stony features even as it had been on the day of their duel, but this time his eyes were alight with previously restrained malice. It only took another moment to realize that all of the other boys present were from their academy, even the ones holding him down.

"So," growled Lestrad. "You think you're better than us just because Valen wants you as his apprentice? You think you're better than us because you have magic in your filthy blood?"

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Lestrad leaned down until his face was mere inches away from Faerdin's. He couldn't believe what was happening. "Answer me, half-elf." Once he still failed to receive an answer, the angered apprentice spat in his face. Faerdin coughed and sputtered as the unpleasant globules crawled down his face. A chorus of laughter raged from the surrounding students.

"P-please..."

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

"You're pathetic." Turning to his fellow apprentice, Lestrad raised his voice. "Did you bring it?"

"Right here."

The eyes of the initiates bored into Faerdin's body with an acidic intensity, and he could not help but glance up. All around him were students that he had recognized, some of which he had even thought were partial to him. Gregory- a short, black-haired boy standing toward the back- had accepted Faerdin's hand when he offered it to help him up during a training session. Baldor, who stood head and shoulders above the others with auburn hair, had nodded in appreciation when Faerdin reassured him that he was a competent spellcaster. All of their faces seemed cold and indifferent, and that more than anything caused tears to well hotly in Faerdin's eyes, clouding his vision.

Thump, thump, thump...

And then he saw it. A slim, metal rod of rusted iron was clenched in Lestrad's hand, and the moment the Sigil upon the back of his hand changed to a vivid red, he knew. He writhed and wrenched himself against the grip of the boy who restrained him, but to no avail. There would be no escape, no fantastic and daring scheme. Searing and unendurable pain would be the only fate he knew.

"Hold still..."

He quavered before the poker's cherry red tip, sizzling inches from his face in the cold air while the students nervously and excitedly began to chuckle-

"ENOUGH!"

Some unseen force wrenched the iron rod from Lestrad's hand in a terrible gust of wind, and with a BANG blasted all of the boys present to the ground. Towering above them with an unnatural stillness, the lines in his face all the more evident, was Master Gredal. "All of you return to your dormitories now. Do not delay; I will know if you are. I said now!"

The hands immediately unclenched from around Faerdin's arms and legs, causing him to drop to the ground with a dull thud. He curled up into a tight ball, and though he could feel someone lifting him up and cradling him, carrying him back to the castle, he did not know who it was and neither did he care. A veil had been cast over his whole world. Barely did he manage to choke past the lump in his throat, and once he had, the only sound he could make was a deep, anguished cry.

He cried for his innocence. He cried for his safety. But most of all, as the harrowing sound echoed like a clarion call of the damned for all of Lore to hear, he cried for that hollow place where his heart once lay.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (8/12/2013 1:43:23)

Chapter Ten
The Scrutiny of a King

No longer could Faerdin feel the pulse and promise of life within his center. After the nightmare he had been stricken with- for such cruelty could only be borne of nightmares- he could not feel a great many things. He could not feel the yellow rays as they passed with newfound uncertainty through the window of his chamber. He could not feel the comfort of being cradled in a thick, woolen blanket, and he most certainly could not feel the wistful wisps that arose from the cup of hot chocolate on the table in front of him.

Even the penetrating stare of Master Gredal, who rested in a chair on the opposite side, struggled to break through. Much as it had on the night when Gredal had first explained the reasoning behind their order- the Hand of the Avatars- and their feelings toward his heritage, his face was weighted and aged by inexpressible sorrow.

But it was different this time. Anger, dull but undeniable, was deeply rooted in his master's thoughts. It was for this reason that Faerdin finally made the effort to speak. "What do you think?"

"That you will understand with time. They were cowards, Faerdin, but I wouldn't rest the blame on them. Someone had to give them a reason to do what they did last night. Even Lestrad, and I'll get to the bottom of that. But in the meantime, there is something I am a lot more interested in."

Without a word, Faerdin nodded for Master Gredal to continue. The old man furrowed his brow. "I had a word with one of the initiates holding you down. He said you looked as pale as a ghost before they had even grabbed you, and that you were soaked from head-to-toe in sweat. You were right close to collapsing." Hesitating, Gredal leaned closer and added, "Just what else did you see in the forest that night, Faerdin?"

So the inevitable occurs, the apprentice thought with a wince. Softly at first, Faerdin began to explain what had occurred the night before. To his dismay, he did not even pass over his training session with Valen before Master Gredal ejaculated a harsh curse.

"You promised to attend a royal ball the first Friday of October? Have none of my teachings stuck with you, or do they just go in one ear and out the other?"

His pride stung, Faerdin retorted, "What is so bad about that?"

"They are the nobility of Swordhaven," Gredal explained with exasperation. "And while people such as King Alteon and Valen are reputable, there are others who would just as quickly manipulate us into doing their dirty work as they would toss us into the mud. They see us as tools and they see our magic as an oddity-"

"But they are people." The answer had left Faerdin's lips before he could restrain them. Wincing in preparation for the lecture that was certain to follow, he was completely shocked to find Master Gredal at a loss for words. Silence was absolute for those few moments while Gredal pondered his student's words.

Like a scholar failing to wrest answers from an ancient riddle, his master finally conceded, "You really are learning, then. Please continue with your tale, Faerdin."

With renewed hope, he nodded. Thereafter, Faerdin began to describe the cloaked shadow he had encountered. While he attempted to convey the power of the force he grappled with, there was a creak. An insignificant creak that, Faerdin noticed, seemed not to be so insignificant after all. It had come from the arm of Gredal's chair, which the teacher had gripped so tightly that his knuckles had whitened.

"This is not a matter you should concern yourself with. It is now the business of the elders; I hope you understand that." Rising from his seat, Master Gredal began to leave the room.

"And of Valen's invitation?" Faerdin inquired.

Once again, silence. Then a response more befuddling than any he had received in the past: "It is your choice, Faerdin. I trust your judgement."

***

A peculiar sensation traveled from the tips of Faerdin’s fingers down to his toes whilst he examined the handiwork of the artisans. He had thought the garb Valen had chosen for him was nice at a first glance. It was nice, but certainly not extraordinary. Yet with a wave of his hand, Valen said, "That matters little; the castle servants can have this looking new in no time. Don’t you worry, it’ll look fine on you."

Now Faerdin examined the polished silver only to find an entirely different person before him. This surely could not be the inconsequential runt that the Rune Knights took pity upon. Nay, for the man in the mirror stood majestically in sky blue clothing only ever available to the wealthiest of nobles. His azure locks, once uncombed and messy, were now neat and trimmed to cover his pointed ears. No longer did they cover his eyes of hewn sapphire, which shone sharply in the light. They were carved from the cunning and spirit of the wild but tempered by the wisdom of scholars. This man was composed, self-assured... powerful.

One of Gredal’s old lectures wound its way through his mind: It is not how you mark and cover the exterior, but how you channel from what is deep within. To your own self be true; only then will you allow the will of the Avatars to flow through you. Then a flurry of images blazed before his sight- that iron rod searing before his sight while the other children cackled-

Faerdin dispelled the thought as Valen stepped into his chamber. Though he wore a welcoming smile, his words seemed bittersweet, like a man relinquishing a lost love. "Ah, I see the clothes fit you well. What are you waiting for? The visitors are just arrived. Get down there and mingle with the people!"

Smiling for the first time in days, the newly forged man answered, "As you wish. Thank you, Valen." Leaving the knight surprised by the emboldened tone in his response, Faerdin bowed and exited the chamber.

That rhythmic pounding once again commanded Faerdin's senses. But now venom coursed through his breast from the significance of his situation, not from fear. The first Rune Knight to attend a court gathering in centuries. Just what would be expected of him? Just who did these nobles- lords and ladies who dined with the most accomplished and extraordinary of Lore on a regular basis- believe him to be? It was these thoughts that assailed Faerdin as he walked the marbled corridors of Castle Swordhaven. The walls searched and, pale as bleached bone with the authority of monarchs past, weighed down the apprentice with their ancient stare. It was all he could do to hold his head high and hold to his heart the words of his master: To your own self be true.

I am a Rune Knight. I will not suffer the scrutiny of a king.

So Faerdin allowed himself a smile once he finally approached a set of double-doors. The gilded handles were cool beneath his fingers when he gripped them. Here goes nothing, he thought. Bracing himself, Faerdin cast open the portal with a heave of his shoulders.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (9/21/2013 16:14:13)

Chapter Eleven
Revelations New and Old

Valen swirled the cider in his glass, mulling over the magenta depths as though the sloshing would somehow answer the maelstrom in his soul. He sent the boy off to that ball and that was the end of it. He had done the right thing by doing that; he should not be feeling this. This indecipherable something which he had not encountered in all his years of adventure prior to meeting Alteon and Lynaria. I should be happy for them, Valen admonished while he poured the remainder down his throat. The moglinberry brew was strong in taste- as he remembered during his days of war- but not strong enough to whisk him away from that which brewed within. It fumed and seared his innards yet slipped through his fingers, as ethereal as acrid smoke.

It fumed and it suffocated him in that ashen blackness. Valen coughed into the crook of his elbow and looked up. Page upon page lay scattered and lost across his desk, swept from the neat pile they had once formed in the uppermost corner, painting the mahogany with a meaningless blend of logistics and correspondence. The likelihood of him understanding or caring lessened with every passing moment. There was no more hiding from the problem in his papers. He loved his friends dearly and if he could not work out what internal mechanism jammed in his innards, he would not waste their time any longer.

Wetting the tips of his fingers, Valen extinguished the weak and smoldering candle so as to bathe himself completely in the darkness. The light was not of any use to him when he could not see. Rising from his chair and fumbling through his study, he finally found the woolen quilts of his bed and threw himself upon them with a sigh. Why can't I just go down there for once and tell them that I'm happy for them? I know how I feel, but I just...

Another part of him answered. Why would they care about you? They have each other. They barely acknowledge how you feel.

They're my friends.

They are not. Friends do not betray one another like this. They left you alone and in the dark. They did not care. They never cared. This part of him felt strange yet familiar... Like a distant relative he had only met during his adolescence. But that did little to calm the feeling of revulsion he felt that such thoughts were his.

Or were they? Valen could not help but wonder. Only then did Valen lift his gaze to the window. There was no moon to grace the sky this night, yet the stars still burned determinedly among the sea of darkness. It was a small and utterly minuscule resistance. Yet even as the candle clung to light and continued to shine against the darkness which engulfed his room, so too did the stars stand resolute and even peacefully in the night's sky, like diamonds embedded in an ebon mantle.

He could learn from the stars, he realized. All these years and he only just realized. If only I retired from this chamber as much as I did the outside world.

If you go down there, you lose! The emerald monster resurfaced in his chest, working alongside the alien yet familial whispers in his mind in breaking down his newfound hope. But he would not give in. The thoughts fell on a deaf and diligent mind that had been refined to a razor point, and if it met the shield of disapproval and shattered, then so be it. Jealousy would not keep Valen from showing how much he cared.

Veins of ice weeded their way through the fibers of Valen's body and forced him to halt while he rushed into his evening wear. It was the first time he had given a name to the feeling in his chest. Jealousy. By the Avatars, I'm a petty fool. I just don't understand myself.

***

"I do not understand what it is you are asking, Gredal."

Gredal met the man's eyes unflinchingly. The hook-nosed man who had approached him the other day- Master Kell- stood before him with so befuddled an expression that he could not help but wonder if he truly heard him. Refusing to tear his gaze from the grey eyes of his fellow elder, he answered, "I think you heard me. I alerted the council to what had occurred the other night. For Fiamme's sake, the children attacked him. Things have only been getting worse since I brought him here!"

Kell's eyes slowly examined the halls around them to ensure no students were still awake and present. He had been cornered in the common room where students occasionally met when their studies were over for the day. Embers still smoldered in the plain, stone pit which served as the centerpiece of the chamber. That had once been the only discernible detail in the room. Now there were also plush chairs and intricately carved tables for the students and teachers alike to retire with. I remember a time when we didn't need those things, Gredal reflected with a furrowed brow. Granted, we also had common sense back then.

"They are only children. Surely you aren't implying that-"

"All I am implying," Gredal murmured quietly, "is that we did not teach these children to hate. Or I did not, at least."

As comprehension seemed to dawn on Kell, his face reddened like the coals which lay within the pit beside them. He squared his shoulders and stood tall, reminding Gredal of how much taller he was. With his dominant height and broadening chest, he only looked more like a hawk than usual. "Are you daring to accuse me that I am the one teaching the children these things? I'll have you know that I teach no differently than those in the Dragon Lord Order and have a good many friends-!"

"Oh? Because I could have sworn that elves worthy of becoming Dragon Lords have been bullied from their ranks as well."

"We do not condone hatred," Kell hissed. "We cannot be at peace with the land if we corrupt our vision with hatred."

Gredal frowned. "And we are at peace now? Kell, listen to yourself. You heard the Avatars. I told you over and over what Faerdin told me that night. Kell, you yourself told me that there was something wrong! Is that peace?"

"Only a minor disturbance. It has been years, years since there has been a significant disturbance in the Elemental Planes. And you are basing these feelings on the rambling accusations of, of-!"

"Of an elf?" Gredal replied coldly. His eyes were narrowed with derision.

"No, of a child! A child, Gredal! He might have seen something in the forest, but you can't base these things on the words of a kid!"

"Our mentors told us to see the world through the eyes of a child. Have you forgotten your training, Kell?"

"Have you forgotten your sense, Gredal?" Giving Gredal no time to retaliate, Kell gathered himself up like a pigeon with feathers thoroughly ruffled as he stomped his way to the threshold. He grasped the frame of the door so tightly that his knuckles became white as bleach, and for a moment, Gredal thought he may whirl around and punch him in the face. Yet his hold softened. "We are only teaching our students what we have been told, Gredal. There were only two races representing the world of Lore when the Avatars approached us. That happened for a reason."

"Then you admit this came from somewhere."

"It came from everyone but you." With that, Kell was lost as a quill on the wind. With Kell, Gredal felt whatever hope he once held for their order slip from his fingers. A low sigh slunk its way from the old man's throat while he leaned against the oak table by his hip. He could not help but look down at the hand which his Avatars had touched so long ago. Generations of work wrenched away by the wind with the ease of sweets being stolen from a child. Ties forged so strongly between the Guardians, the Dragon Lords, and the Rune Knights in the name of prosperity in harmony simply melting as snow might in the morning after a terrible storm.

There is no hope for us.

Yet his Sigil burned brightly in the back of his hand. Or maybe... Maybe there is not hope for us, but there is hope for the future, Gredal thought. He looked out through the window and at the stars which shone like beacons in the desolate night sky. With a pang of guilt at his earlier overreaction, he wondered if Faerdin was alright. Please, please be safe.



Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Rune Knight, He Who Stands Between (8/24/2014 15:20:08)

Chapter Twelve
Woman

Where there once had been a thrum of activity, Faerdin was met only with silence.

He found himself at the top of a sprawling, lavish staircase. Past the ivory steps and resting at their feet was his company- the most esteemed men and women of Swordhaven and of lands beyond- in clothing of every shade, every style. Some men and women seemed obviously to have come from lands within the jurisdiction of King Alteon, while others were draped in far more extravagant and alien pieces. The locks of one woman glittered with beads of gold that caught the eye nearly as well as the snowy colors of her dress. A droplet of sweat tricked down the face of a man wearing thick furs claimed from some mighty beast.

But there was one girl who captivated him above all others. Though the dress she wore was simple, her yellow hair was more resplendent than any of the jewelry the royalty could find. Her eyes, the warm blue-green of the ocean's depths, were more magnificent than any jewel. Her smile, though certainly nervous, caused warmth to blossom at the bottom of his heart and pervade the entirety of his being.

It was at her that his smile widened as he began his descent of the stairs, his polished boots clacking with every step.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Every footfall lead Faerdin inexorably closer to the golden-haired girl. Her eyes- blue-green pools that swam with an unearthly, almost elemental beauty- met his own and had since begun to lure him. They lured him even as the stars beckoned in the night sky. They lured him with such compassion, with such intimacy that the resplendent garb and even the very flesh draping his exterior seemed for a fleeting moment to be stripped away. But he did not feel vulnerable; to the contrary, some emotion- alien, but warm- bubbled up like a hot spring within his heart and, through their locked eyes, trickled out and connected them in the most bare and honest of ways.

What had once inspired an air of assurance now made Faerdin feel worthy of a drunkard's ridicule. What deception is this? Wearing this, being here... It is a mockery, Faerdin reflected. Master Gredal was right. We have no place here. And yet he continued to walk forward. The force that compelled his limbs to move was unfathomable. It was not logic; it was not his mind that was at work, but another part of him entirely.

By the time he reached his destination, he finally acknowledged the force that was at work: his heart. Unfortunately for Faerdin, however, another realization came just as quickly. One that defied his years of scholarship and all of the knowledge his elders had bestowed upon him.

She was a woman.

Not that such a fact had been a problem in the past; there were female Rune Knights. But it was different then. Never before had he been so aware of it. With harsh abruptness, Faerdin understood what Sir Valen had meant in his reasoning: "You are a young man, and you should have at least one opportunity to talk to people without armor cluttering them."

So there Faerdin stood, holding himself with all the confidence of a noble and yet playing the part of fool as well, his cheeks flushed and jaw working.

Then a distraction materialized in the form of a man. Before the sigh of relief even left Faerdin's lungs, it became clear that there was no relief to be had while in this stranger's presence. Their eyes locked with something like unadulterated malice. They burned through him. And after a moment he gathered himself like a disgruntled rooster and spat in the young knight's direction as he groped for the woman's hand, scowling.

"Come along, Aurauris. This boy is obviously of much purer and esteemed blood than we, and seems to have mistaken you for hailing from a house of nobles; 'twould be upmost shame for his family, should someone discover him mingling with a woman who is nothing but the pitiable child of an outcast. Shall we spare him the further disgrace to his status and depart?"

Among the virtues of his order- of which he, it struck him more insistently at this moment, was a representative- are fortitude in all aspects of life. His fortitude waned like a candle's fire before ferocious gales. For no amount of fortitude could aid Faerdin when his heart spoke for justice. And not only had the man assumed that Faerdin was a noble, but he imposed his assumptions of nobles upon every man and woman within the room. It was unforgivable, unbecoming for a celebration of unity between all denizens of Lore.

The Sigil upon the back of his hand shimmered like a miniature sun through his glove, though he failed to take notice.

Neither had the Rune Knight noticed that the music had stopped. The whirl of conversation had dissipated like capricious wisps of wind. Whisked away in this stranger's outburst was the frivolous spirit of the occasion, replaced now by an air of attentiveness that the ball had not seen since its beginnings. Everyone was listening, doting upon each word as though they were diamonds.

He glanced across to search the young woman's eyes. In those pools of ocean blue and pine needle green, Faerdin found the truth that sought to be told for all to hear. He replied, "Pardon my lack of tact, good sir. But perhaps you should consider what she wants."

The man stilled. Whether it was in disbelief or outrage was yet to be seen. His face was as a mask.

"I always consider the wishes of my daughter."

The man's hand touched the hilt of the weapon on his belt for a heartbeat. But with a quick scan of the room, he too noticed what Faerdin had. The hand fell, and with a final sneer of derision, the stranger growled before storming out the ballroom's entrance. "You will take care of her."

Take care of her?

The Rune Knight's visage trailed his combatant until he was scarcely visible in the main hall, now allowing his gaze to fall to the distraught maiden who lay petrified by his side. The various musicians strummed their lutes and sang boisterously in an effort to return some atmosphere as Faerdin recounted what just occurred in his mind. I have somehow offended a stranger and made a spectacle of myself at a royal ball in Swordhaven, and now he has left me his daughter, whom I am hardly capable of speaking to? Oh merciful Lords, what would Gredal say?

A gentle voice whispered through his subconscious with a twinge in his Sigil. You are a fool.

I did not mean that literally!

Once again he looked to the golden-haired girl. A warmth spread from his core and out to the tips of his fingers as he reached out to console her, but his confidence waned and caused him to lower it without another word. Something within him wilted. You have to do something, he told himself. You need to take her out of here. You need to say something. Anything! What would Valen probably say?

Clearing his throat, he caught the girl's eye and gave her as convincing a smile as he could and said, "Parents can be mental sometimes, can't they?"

Smooth. That is how people say it, right?



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