Dream of Ilden

Dream of Ilden


Part 1


A/N: ok, i know this part is kinda short...it's sort of an introduction of my three main characters. their backstory of what is going on will be told in flashbacks in the next couple of chapters.

pronunciation guide: Eirne = "Arn"
Eldarón = "El-dah-RON"
Vynn = [think "gwen" with a v]
Terrandul = "Teh-RAN-duel"
Baerl = "Bay-earl"
Mycene = "My-SCENE"


oh yeah, please review!
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The leaves from the aging trees softly fluttered to the ground, crunching under her boots as she gazed nostalgically at the forest. This was where she had grown up; she never thought that anything could happen to make her leave this peaceful place, yet here she was. With her two companions by her side, and her mission ahead of her, she strode onward through the undergrowth, hoping to reach the ruins by sundown. The Woods of Eirne may be friendly, even after dark, but with the growing menace in the south, and the importance of this mission, they were taking no chances. She had even been fitted with a sword, though what she would do with it, she had no idea; she was no warrior, however she liked the sense of having something to defend herself with if the need arose.

Her companions marched onward in silence, and Norah glanced in their direction to observe them. Eldarón was a full-blooded Elf from the kingdom of Terrandul in the North. True to his kin, he was free of facial hair, or any hair for that matter other than his eyebrows, eyelashes, and the long dark hair on his head. His alabaster skin gleamed with an other-worldliness, his dark eyes ageless, though he could have been thousands of years old and one could have never known it. His dark grey traveling tunic was embroidered with the leaf patterns that were so strongly identified with his culture, as was the quiver that he had hoisted on his back. As if these other markers did not give away his identity, his ears had the long Elven points, further emphasized by the fact that he pulled part of his hair back to expose them.

Afraid that he would sense her looking at him, she quickly turned her gaze downward before turning it toward the man that traveled with them. His name was Vynn, and he came from the Eastern country of Baerl. Indeed, his dark brown tunic was emblazoned with the insignia of the royal family, denoting him to be a man of importance, though his overall appearance would not have given that impression. His face was kind, graced with a light beard and a few scattered wrinkles here and there. His chestnut brown hair – tinged with a darker hue – fell in curls down to his collarbones and not much further. He carried with him a broadsword and a double-headed battleaxe that he kept on his back. She remembered that the first time she had ever seen him, she had marveled at the vibe he gave off, and had wondered if he really was just a man.

Norah sighed as her gaze swept away from her companions and off into the distance, straining to catch a glimpse of the ruins they were seeking to provide them shelter for the night. It seemed to be ever so far away, and she wondered if they would ever make it.

The small band was soon rewarded with the familiar sight of the Ruins of Dulcor near twilight. What had once been a magnificent outpost and watchtower for the people of Eirne had, over centuries, fallen into disuse as peace had enveloped this land. The decaying structure jutted up toward the sky sharply, as if it would impale the very moon itself, before sloping away toward the hall. The stones were nearly covered completely in moss, and thick vines grew over it as well, as if threatening to choke the very life out of the structure. While the watchtower was exposed as if it had been cut in half, the hall itself was largely still intact, the worn and faded tapestries on the walls weaving intricate and ancient stories through its thread. Norah marveled as she gazed at them, wondering at the skill of the one who had weaved them. The infamous Battle of Hyrma was illustrated on one, and on another the coronation of King Vester, long-since passed from the land of the living. On another was the Council of Norswyëa and yet another held the image of the glorious capital of the Mayar, whose race had since passed into legend, though some still rumored that there was a remnant left from the Elder days. The tapestries continued down the hall, and while Norah wanted to look at every one of them, her stomach was demanding food.

Vynn was already cleaning out the fireplace and Eldarón was gathering sticks and wood that was suitable for firewood. While her companions labored, Norah shrugged off her sack and searched within the contents for the food that had been packed for them.

There admittedly wasn’t much of a variety waiting for them in the bottom of the sack; some bread and dried meat and some carefully wrapped cheese was all that they had been able to pack. Norah secretly hoped that one of her companions was a good enough hunter to be able to score some game when the supply ran low.

The fire was beginning to blaze by the time that Norah had dug out some of the food and had apportioned it between them. The three companions dined in silence for the most part, occasionally talking about the plan to strike out for the border of Mycene before beginning a southward trek. The logic in this was that there would be more cities along the border that they would be able to obtain supplies at, if needed. Norah kept herself out of the conversation, letting the two men converse and set more concrete plans as she finished her meal and cleaned up the area so it would make decent sleeping quarters. She removed her boots and outer tunic and sank into her thick blanket, pulling her cloak around her as her escorts settled down themselves – Eldarón leaning against the wall, Vynn preferring the stone floor – and after they had stopped fidgeting and getting comfortable, the only sounds one could hear was the crackling of the fire and the vague chirping of crickets in the Woods.