Post by GeneT on Dec 30, 2003 18:25:58 GMT -5
Chapter 1: Beginnings
Even in the beginning we argued, her and I, until jealousy set her apart and we became unbalanced, forever at odds, forever struggling.
They lay cold and solid upon my Mother’s skin. Blank eyes open and accusing for me to find. But I did not touch them, left them, turned while her trail was fresh and mocking; gray fox hunting through tall grass bent by the morning’s cool mist.
The black bear took me across the spine of the Calia Mountains to the foot of the Great Woods before dying of exhaustion. In the last moments, its spirit, angry at their loss, urged me forward. And then she taunted me. Laughing like my little ones while I knelt in despair, shuddering and uncertain. The golden eagle shrieked, clawed my face until her hold loosened and I took its body offered.
Over the canopy I flew, strong on the wind, letting the trees guide my pursuit. At the clearing of Corandor, the first eagle succumbed to her, faltered in the very air of its birth and folded until my Mother caught its distorted and ravaged form. And I screamed in anger until the Great Woods shook and the trees lay still. No more, I shouted fist to sky. Come to me, I whispered. Come to me. And she considered, wavering in the joy of the chase, the spoils of her disease rotting upon the land, enraptured with victory.
But I was too alive for her to let pass my offer. The clouds stood still, waiting. The wind cautioned and pleaded with me. They are but little things with shallow thoughts of greed, and possession, and dominance. Let them die. And I sang then my first and only wife’s song until the wind quieted, remembering how her words danced in its breezes. She comes, the wind whispered, an ally once more.
The Great Wood’s trees bent away from her as she entered and circled the clearing. Smiling sharp teeth, she could contain her thirst no longer and rushed to tear my flesh from bone. And I waited. Let her hunger take control. My blood ran thick down her throat and she could not stop.
I filled her belly. I ran through her arteries and veins. I seeded her entirely until she was no more.
The Great Wood was my witness.
Chapter 2: Cornered
The force of their Captain’s blow sent Laginir to one knee.
“Do as I say,” he said quietly. “Take them to the clearing.”
Laginir rose and gave the order to the rest of them. “Move.”
They all fought the urge to look back at him, but most of them failed. Laginir alone kept his eyes to the summit, but he was the oldest and longer their mentor’s pupil. They knew he would not turn to watch them leave, but hoped none the less as they stole quick glances of him while retreating through the thinning forest and white snow. Their Captain stood with two swords stuck obliquely in the ground before him, glittering lion-head hilts resting upon both hips, his eyes scanning downhill at the orcs rushing toward him. All of them imagined his voice loud over trees rustling in a harsh winter wind. His last words were heavy in their hearts. Be at peace. Be compassionate. Kill your enemies quickly and regret their loss.
The din of their Captain’s last battle had sung around them all for some time before they entered the small clearing. They had little time to wonder at the flowers of spring, poppies, white sage, and red paintbrushes, or the unexpected warmth. A weathered stone, carved and scripted by ancient hands, sat calmly at the meadow’s center. Laginir began stripping his pack from his shoulders while giving them all orders.
“Daeren. Finral. Bows up. Maengoth, Gil, Aranen loose triangle.”
Listening to the battle below proudly, they waited. It lasted longer than they all thought possible, but then a faint howl rose up from the orcs below, sifting through the haze of a light snow, and they bent their heads. Safmir, iron fist of the Dragon’s Spine Mountains, survivor of the Death Plains, was lost. They would all die this day, or so they thought. Laginir alone stood steady, but he was the oldest and longer their mentor’s pupil.
Daeren and Finral had dropped three or four before the orcs started advancing using ash and pine for cover. “Strength is not in one’s arm,” Laginir quoted Safmir as the orcs rimmed the clearing. “Be patient. Be ready.”
The orcs seemed hesitant despite their advantage of numbers and the soldiers itched with anticipation. Oddly, a single orc advanced nervously into the clearing, stamping his feet into the earth and green grass as if testing the clearing for hidden danger. He bellowed suddenly and the orcs banged their rusted axes and spears on small wooden shields before charging.
The sun breached thick dark clouds and the ground was slippery and glistening with blood. The soldier's circle tightened and many orcs crawled wounded from the clearing or lay still upon the ground before Laginir fell and their defense collapsed into a haphazard arrangement. Aranen staggered under the weight of four orcs, his right side torn ragged and bleeding, and Gil fought on despite being pierced through by an orcish spear. It was hopeless. The dispatch would never arrive and the Center Kingdoms, caught unaware, would fall.
A golden eagle screamed overhead and the orcs looked skyward, beginning to fight with a chaotic intensity, heedless of wounds or technique. Although they would all disbelieve it later, Laginir rose then from horrid wounds and scattered the orcs with the strength of ten men. They fled, gibbering in fear, or died, unable to move and cowering before him as he struck them with empty hands, eyes blazing blue like a clear sky.
The meadow was quiet. The sun ducked into the clouds once more and Laginir, despite having no memory of his wounds, would hear nothing of it. He was the oldest of them and longer their mentor’s pupil. They followed him then, the last Captain of the Lion Guard, out of the clearing of Corandor to the Central Kingdoms. The sky dropped thick snow and covered their tracks.
Even in the beginning we argued, her and I, until jealousy set her apart and we became unbalanced, forever at odds, forever struggling.
They lay cold and solid upon my Mother’s skin. Blank eyes open and accusing for me to find. But I did not touch them, left them, turned while her trail was fresh and mocking; gray fox hunting through tall grass bent by the morning’s cool mist.
The black bear took me across the spine of the Calia Mountains to the foot of the Great Woods before dying of exhaustion. In the last moments, its spirit, angry at their loss, urged me forward. And then she taunted me. Laughing like my little ones while I knelt in despair, shuddering and uncertain. The golden eagle shrieked, clawed my face until her hold loosened and I took its body offered.
Over the canopy I flew, strong on the wind, letting the trees guide my pursuit. At the clearing of Corandor, the first eagle succumbed to her, faltered in the very air of its birth and folded until my Mother caught its distorted and ravaged form. And I screamed in anger until the Great Woods shook and the trees lay still. No more, I shouted fist to sky. Come to me, I whispered. Come to me. And she considered, wavering in the joy of the chase, the spoils of her disease rotting upon the land, enraptured with victory.
But I was too alive for her to let pass my offer. The clouds stood still, waiting. The wind cautioned and pleaded with me. They are but little things with shallow thoughts of greed, and possession, and dominance. Let them die. And I sang then my first and only wife’s song until the wind quieted, remembering how her words danced in its breezes. She comes, the wind whispered, an ally once more.
The Great Wood’s trees bent away from her as she entered and circled the clearing. Smiling sharp teeth, she could contain her thirst no longer and rushed to tear my flesh from bone. And I waited. Let her hunger take control. My blood ran thick down her throat and she could not stop.
I filled her belly. I ran through her arteries and veins. I seeded her entirely until she was no more.
The Great Wood was my witness.
Chapter 2: Cornered
The force of their Captain’s blow sent Laginir to one knee.
“Do as I say,” he said quietly. “Take them to the clearing.”
Laginir rose and gave the order to the rest of them. “Move.”
They all fought the urge to look back at him, but most of them failed. Laginir alone kept his eyes to the summit, but he was the oldest and longer their mentor’s pupil. They knew he would not turn to watch them leave, but hoped none the less as they stole quick glances of him while retreating through the thinning forest and white snow. Their Captain stood with two swords stuck obliquely in the ground before him, glittering lion-head hilts resting upon both hips, his eyes scanning downhill at the orcs rushing toward him. All of them imagined his voice loud over trees rustling in a harsh winter wind. His last words were heavy in their hearts. Be at peace. Be compassionate. Kill your enemies quickly and regret their loss.
The din of their Captain’s last battle had sung around them all for some time before they entered the small clearing. They had little time to wonder at the flowers of spring, poppies, white sage, and red paintbrushes, or the unexpected warmth. A weathered stone, carved and scripted by ancient hands, sat calmly at the meadow’s center. Laginir began stripping his pack from his shoulders while giving them all orders.
“Daeren. Finral. Bows up. Maengoth, Gil, Aranen loose triangle.”
Listening to the battle below proudly, they waited. It lasted longer than they all thought possible, but then a faint howl rose up from the orcs below, sifting through the haze of a light snow, and they bent their heads. Safmir, iron fist of the Dragon’s Spine Mountains, survivor of the Death Plains, was lost. They would all die this day, or so they thought. Laginir alone stood steady, but he was the oldest and longer their mentor’s pupil.
Daeren and Finral had dropped three or four before the orcs started advancing using ash and pine for cover. “Strength is not in one’s arm,” Laginir quoted Safmir as the orcs rimmed the clearing. “Be patient. Be ready.”
The orcs seemed hesitant despite their advantage of numbers and the soldiers itched with anticipation. Oddly, a single orc advanced nervously into the clearing, stamping his feet into the earth and green grass as if testing the clearing for hidden danger. He bellowed suddenly and the orcs banged their rusted axes and spears on small wooden shields before charging.
The sun breached thick dark clouds and the ground was slippery and glistening with blood. The soldier's circle tightened and many orcs crawled wounded from the clearing or lay still upon the ground before Laginir fell and their defense collapsed into a haphazard arrangement. Aranen staggered under the weight of four orcs, his right side torn ragged and bleeding, and Gil fought on despite being pierced through by an orcish spear. It was hopeless. The dispatch would never arrive and the Center Kingdoms, caught unaware, would fall.
A golden eagle screamed overhead and the orcs looked skyward, beginning to fight with a chaotic intensity, heedless of wounds or technique. Although they would all disbelieve it later, Laginir rose then from horrid wounds and scattered the orcs with the strength of ten men. They fled, gibbering in fear, or died, unable to move and cowering before him as he struck them with empty hands, eyes blazing blue like a clear sky.
The meadow was quiet. The sun ducked into the clouds once more and Laginir, despite having no memory of his wounds, would hear nothing of it. He was the oldest of them and longer their mentor’s pupil. They followed him then, the last Captain of the Lion Guard, out of the clearing of Corandor to the Central Kingdoms. The sky dropped thick snow and covered their tracks.