The Hero and the Traitor

The Hero and the Traitor

Arrows whizzed by as the horns signaled for the attack. The legions of men and elves charged forward, making their way towards the clamoring lines of the orcs. As they charged, a young boy fell to his knees, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. He looked ahead, watching as his kinsmen ran headfirst into the spears of the orcs. His armor weighed him down, but it did manage to stop the arrow from killing him.

As he tried to get back to his feet his strength failed him. His sword dropped into the mud as he reached his hand out for help, but no one would help. On the battlefields of Middle Earth, a fallen warrior meant nothing. So the boy lay there in the mud, watching his brothers fall feet before him, but there was no retreat. The horns kept sounding, and the slaughter continued. The elves faired better off than their mortal counterparts, but it meant little when the orcs held the high ground.

Volley upon volley can down from to rooftops of the once great Dwarven capitol of Khazmoh-dan, cutting down the elves and men by the hundreds. Then, the boy felt a tug at the collar of his armor, and was lifted to his feet. He looked over his shoulder at the man who help him, and saw the familiar face of his king,

“On your feet Adaephon, we must take the city, and drive the orcs out of Khazmoh-dan.” said as he handed Adaephon his sword back.

Adeaphon looked stunned as his king drew his sword and charged forward into the fray. He looked back, wanting to flee, to save his own life, but seeing his brothers die before him was too much. As he charged in he saw the sky blacken, as a final volley of arrows flew in from the rooftops of Khazmoh-dan.

Reminds me of the scene in the Hobbit where the Dwarves are trying to push out the goblins from the castle thing. Moira I think...

Chapter I: The Beginning

But this is not where our story shall begin, nor is it what will be. It is only a vision of why MAY be, for you see, the future is not always set in stone. Our story begins many years ago, in the First Era. The races of Men and elves lived entirely separate lives, neither race attempting to coexist with the other.

The elves had their forest paradises and great and elegant cities to the east. Masters of the bow, and in tune with the forces of nature, they lived humble lives of peace. Eternal life was boded to the elves. Their elegance was matched by mastery with the bow.

The dwarves kept to the north, in their great stone halls and palaces of metal machinery. Preferring not to dabble in the worlds of men and elves, they built grand halls into the mountains. Masters of the forge, and true craftsmen, the dwarves were a hearty race, one of solace and fortitude.

And the men stood strong and pound in their keeps and castles to the west. Men doomed to die, they built statues to honor those lost. Cities grew, and collapsed under the ever changing rule of many different kings, from many different lineages.

The world was peaceful, no conflict, no war, nothing. However, one cannot truly expect a world without peace to stay like that. No, there was trouble brewing in the fiery lands of Morrowmiir in the south.

In the elven city of Thallum, capital of the mighty Alakiri Empire an evil awakens. The Alakiri were a band of elves, those tired of the forests and peace, which dispatched into the world. Forming their own empire, they are now known as the Alamer, or Southern Elves.

The throne room is dimly lit, and Lord Hakron sits atop his throne, made of the skulls of his subjects. He is a god like ruler of the Alakiri, and one said to have made a deal with the aedmora for eternal life. Pondering his next move, he summons his most trusted advisors to his side. Several cloaked figures glided through the room and knelt down at their Lord’s throne.

Hakron looked down at the elves with distaste. He hated the world of the living and saw the Alakiri as nothing more than his slaves. “You know why I have summoned you to my feet.” he hissed from behind the mask that covered his face.

The mask was his source of power here on the planet, and it was what granted him the powers of the aedmora he was subservient to. “I grow weary of this world. My will is stronger than that of one million men and elves combined. They try to defy MY WILL! NO ONE SHALL DEFY HAKRON, LORD OF ALL!”

One of his advisors looked up to his lord. “But….my….my lord…have you for…forgotten? Prince Demititius, the Aedmoric King commands ARGH!!!!” As the elf tried to finish his sentence, a gruesome tentacle emerged from Hakron’s hand and extended though the torso of the helpless elf. Still alive, and gasping for air, he was lifted slowly into the air, his friends cowering below.

“My power is limitless, and this world will be mine!” Hakron shouted. Pulling his arm back, the elf flew to his feet. The tentacle retracted, dropping the dying creature to the ground. “This is my world, my domain! None can withstand me, not even Demititius! He is weak and those….”

Harkon was cut short by the sounds of footsteps approaching from behind. He turned, only to be thrust into the air, suspended by tentacles wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

The Alakiri fled the room in fear, all save one; the one Harkon had tried to kill.

“So, this is how my boon is treated!” the unknown person said. He stepped into the light, reviling a dark shadow, no more man than it was a person. Cloaked in shadows, a disembodied voice lowered Harkon down to what would be eye level. Harkon struggled to get free, but he felt only the tentacles tighten their grip on his arms and legs.

“I granted you all the power you ever wanted! I gave you wealth, glory, and the might to crush any foe you pleased! And all I asked in return was that you spread the glory of MY NAME!”

A hand emerged from the mist, removing the mask form Hakron’s face revealing just what his allegiance to the Aedmora had cost him.

His eyes were pitch black, and his complexion ghost white. There was no hair on his head, even though he looked relatively young. His features masked only by the power of Demititius’ mask.

“Surely you cannot expect me to be so kind as to let you have this power.” Demititius said, as the mask erupted into a green flame in his hand. “You promised your life to me Hakron, and if you won’t serve me in life, then you shall serve me in death!”

Flames started to crawl up the trenticals towards Hakron. The same green flames that took his mask will now take his life. His screams pierced the air in the chamber as his body was engulfed into the fire. But something strange happened as the fire died down. There was nothing left of Hakron, no ash, nothing, and Demititius still stood in the throne room.

“You, elf, stand and face your god.” He said, lifting up the helpless elf with one of the tentacles. “You seem to be loyal to the gods.”

“I….I am…my…..my lord” The Alakiri priest stammered, looking up at the shadowy mass before him. His lips quivered as the tentacle slid back inside the shadows. “My….lord, what….what will you do with me?”

“You….you will be the newest instrument in my plans. Hakron was such a fickle servent, and one who needs to be closely guarded to prevent further harm.”

A green flame appeared before the Aedmoric lord, and Hakron’s mask was lowered down to the priest.

“His source of power, it does no good to anyone who doesn’t receive my boon, and will do no good to Hakron either.”

The shadowy mass began to fade into the darkness, leaving the pries alone. “Make sure no one is to enter my realm with this mask, else Hakron be returned to your world.”

And with that, the Lord vanished. The priest looked at the mask, and felt his chest. The hole left by Hakron was gone, and he felt as if it had never happened. Hakron no longer tormented the world of the living. And the world was peacefull once again.

The Alakiri safeguarded the mask, along with the other relics of Hakron for over 500 years. Then, mysteriously, they vanished. The eimpire crumbled, and the cities fell into ruin. Hakron’s keepers no longer held him, and it would not be long before he found a new servent.