Evermore's Ascent - Fall from Heaven 2 story

[SIZE=+2]Evermore's Ascent[/SIZE]​

Table of Contents



Emiruk steadily made his way through the dark Temple hallways. Whitish yellow illuminating orbs lined the passageway, embedded into the black granite walls. The Temple at Mortensholm was constructed from the usual black granite favoured by The Veil. Few materials could stand the firestorms that swept regularly through the fields of perdition. Especially here at Mortensholm, where firestorms were almost a daily occurrence.

The city was well known across the Doviello Alliance for its peculiar location. In fact, it was perfectly obvious to everyone that whomever had founded the city could not have chosen a worse location. Mortensholm was right next to a burning desert. Which was why Ritualist Emiruk Strongback had chosen to head the Temple at Mortensholm. Nobody ever bothered traveling to Mortensholm and that suited Emiruk just fine. Plus he liked the view of the burning desert from the Temple anyway.




As was customary, his Savant apprentice Devikk followed closely behind. They both arrived in front of the large iron doors to Emiruk's private library. The Ritualist waited patiently as Devikk shuffled forward to open the door. He struggled with the heavy doors, but they gradually gave way and opened with a loud metallic squeal.

"Devikk, have the doors oiled again" Emiruk remarked. The Savant bowed apologetically to his master, "I'm terribly sorry my lord, but oil has been extremely hard to come by of late. Something about a lack of...source material". Emiruk shrugged, it was unfortunate that Mortensholm was too sparsely populated to provide enough sacrificial victims to produce oil. If the price of solitude and tranquility was a creaky door, then so be it, Emiruk thought.

They both entered his private library. Like every room in the Temple, it had black granite walls and was lavishly furnished. The bookcases were of polished black marble.

- "So where have you put my new tome, Devikk?"
- "It's right by the main desk, Master."

Emiruk walked over the black marble desk, picked it up and examined it carefully. It was an old tome, many hundreds of years old at least. The binding and cover was made of a strange type of leather. Emiruk wondered what the leather was made of from. Too soft to be from nightmare, yet too thick to be from human.

- "Master, if I may ask...where does that tome come from? Does it come from across the Great Sea? I've never seen that type of binding before."
- "No Devikk. In fact it comes from this very land. If I'm not mistaken, it was written in Evermore, a very long time ago."

Devikk stared skeptically at the old tome. "From Evermore, my lord? I've never seen that type of paper before. What is it made out of?"

- "Ahh, I see you've become as curious about lore as I am. The paper is made from trees, possibly from the ancient forest of Evermore itself."
- "Master, I beg forgiveness for my ignorance. What are trees and forest?"
- "Well you see Devikk. In ages past, before the Veil enlightened our continent, the land was covered with this type of plant, called trees. A particularly dense formation of trees was called a forest. Apparently the ancient forest of Evermore sprawled endlessly as far as the eye could see."

Devikk was horrified. "Bloody dagger! How did people ever survive? The forest must've eaten everyone!"

"No no, Devikk. Trees were nothing like our razorweed, they do not feed on blood. Trees were harmless." Emiruk smiled at his Savant's ignorance. It was expected, to be sure. The high clergy of the Veil had rewritten the history of Evermore. Which made his interest in real history a rare, and dangerous, hobby.

Horror turned to deep puzzlement. "Master, I don't understand. I've never heard of these forests during my history lessons. They taught us that Evermore was built by the very first Ritualists on the fields of perdition, not in a forest."




- "That, Devikk, is a load of toad dung. Evermore is the oldest city in all Erebus. It was built by the Elves long before the enlightenment of the Veil."
- "My lord...How could the Svartalfar be involved in the founding of the Veil? It was we who found enlightenment and brought it to the Dark Elves."
- "I'm not referring to the Svartalfar, I speak of the Ljosalfar. They're a clan of elves that lived in Evermore in ages past. They were enslaved and eventually exterminated by Lucian The Fierce, during our glorious rise when the Age of Ice had ended".

A new FfH story? Horray!

Keep it up.

Good to see you back EverNoob, I'll be reading this one with interest.

Evernoob's back! arty:

"So I tell the wench, next time I come home supper better be ready! You should've seen her face! And then..." Rendel was in hell. Or at least something very close to it. He and his scouting partner had been exploring the woods for two days now, and Furtok has never once shut up. As far as he could tell, Furtok only stopped talking to sleep. They had only been exploring the northern forest for two days, but Rendel simply could not wait to get back to Urslo.

- "Anyway, last week I was walking past old Northrom's hut. You know about his daughter right? Everybody knows about his daughter. She's gotta be the prettiest girl in Urslo I tell ya. It's likely 'cause of the perfect teeth she's got. I'm telling you -"
- "Furtok, shut up."
- "Say that again?! That's no way to talk to your scout mate! Our lives depend-"
- "Shut up I said! I think I heard something."

They both froze, listening. There was wind and the rustling of leaves.

"Mooooooo!"




Furtok signed with relief. "Rendel, it's just a bloody pack of cows. Wait till I tell Lucian you're jumping at cows!"

"I'm sure it wasn't the cows I heard, it was something else. Stay quiet Furtok, I'm serious." Still, Rendel was beginning to doubt himself. Maybe his annoyance at Furtok was making him jump at shadows.

They stayed silent and still for what seemed like an eternity. Furtok was starting to fidget, clearly struggling to keep quiet. "Nevermind, must've been the leaves, or the cows" Rendel finally admitted.

"Well I don't know about you but I'm starving. Those cows look really delicious, how about we kill one for supper." Furtok said, eyeing the cows appreciatively.

Rendel nodded in agreement and began leading the way down toward the cows, Furtok followed not far behind. A few moments went by without Furtok saying a word. Must be hunger getting to him, Rendel thought with relief. Then more time went by and Furtok was still quiet. As a matter of fact, his footsteps were completely silent as well, yet he clearly remembered that Furtok was a very bad woodsman. Rendel finally turned around.

Rendel glimpsed a dark black shape with eight legs before he died.

Thanks! it's nice to be back

Hooray he's back!

Always love your FFH stories.

The Doviello way of life was in danger. The once frigid tundras and frozen plains were becoming lush grassland. The land had begun yielding its rich harvests. Food had become so plentiful that even the weakest members of the tribe had plenty to eat. The End of Winter was going to destroy the Doviello. Weakness had already seeped into the tribe along with the warmth of the land and Charadon cursed it all.

All the tribe's best Beastmen were gathered around him, in the great tribal lodge. Some of hunters had come in contact with the Orcs and had come across information about the wood folk. Charadon saw this as an opportunity to salvage what was left of the Doviello spirit.




"The Orcs say that the land of the wood folk is full of riches and plunder. Why else would they kill all intruders? They must have something valuable to guard! We're going to take what is ours by right of might!" Charadon yelled out to his Beastmen. Most of them cheered in agreement, but he could see many were hesitant. Weakling cowards he thought.

One of them spoke out. "But we should wait for Lucian to come back from Letum Frigus, surely he'll want to join the raid on the wood people."

Charadon narrowed his eyes. He had to admit that the coward was clever. No doubt the weakling hoped that whatever Lucian might find at Letum Frigus would change their minds about the raid. Charadon fought the urge to bash the man's skull in. Many in the tribe looked up to Lucian after all, killing a man for apparently showing respect to Lucian would create unnecessary dissent. Let him hope, he thought. Expecting to find anything at Letum Frigus was futile. Charadon had witnessed the Illians' defeat firsthand. That ancient place of power was abandoned, with no signs of the Illians.

As if on cue, Lucian suddenly entered the tribal lodge. He clearly was exhausted from his long journey, but his face was calm and unreadable. Everyone in the lodge looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. "There's is nothing left for us at Letum Frigus."

The forest sprawled endlessly, its dark depth inscrutable. Although Lucian held no special affinity with nature himself, he clearly felt the forest's primeval aura permeating the air. "March on!" he ordered his Beastmen. They tentatively ventured into the thickness of trees, clearly intimidated. Impossibly tall ancient trees were omnipresent, like sentinels standing guard against intruders. Intruders like them.

Every Doviello knew the old legends of the elven forest. Legends of trees waking up and wreaking havoc on would be intruders. But that was another age. The god of Nature, Sucellus, was dead and gone. The trees had fallen into a deep slumber, never to wake up again. Or so Lucian told himself.




They had been trekking through the thick forest for three days now, yet his scouts still reported no sign of civilization, or the Ljosalfar. The initial excitement of the raid had worn off and the daily forced march through the dense vegetation was starting to affect morale.

A faint rhythmic thumping suddenly appeared. Their intrusion had been detected and the Ljosalfar were beating their war drums, Lucian surmised. The sound was gradually getting louder very quickly. It must be moving toward them Lucian realized with consternation.

"Quickly, everyone hide!" He ordered by sheer instinct.

By then the sound was very close. Moments later a humongous figure appeared on a hilltop. It was a giant man wielding a huge club. A Hill Giant.




It paused on the hilltop, surveying the surrounding land. Everyone held their breath. After what seemed like an eternity, it descended the hill and continued marching past them. Lucian and his men waited until the thumping could no longer be heard before emerging from their concealment.

"How are we going to fight that?" someone asked asked.

"It walked past us in the opposite direction we're headed. We won't have to fight it" Lucian answered, hoping he was right.

[SIZE=+2][/SIZE]


Two days later...

Evermore was in chaos. Screams of women and children could be heard everywhere across the city, mixed in with the war cries of the Doviello. Evermore, cradle of Elven civilization and home of the Summer Court, had been invaded for the first time ever. Its unrivaled beauty, built up by ages of peaceful existence, lay before the Doviello.




As his axe cleaved a Ljosalfar warrior's head in two, Lucian could not help but admire the intricately carved archways and treetop villas of the Elven capital. Did such beauty come at the price of strength, he wondered. For it was clear that the Ljosalfar were weak and soft. The Evermore garrison had been completely unprepared for their attack, and even now they barely formed an organized resistance. Courage was certainly not lacking, Lucian noted as he cut down another defender. The problem was they all fought like unblooded neophytes. Today was no doubt their first real battle, and surely their last.





Lucian looked out across Lake Evermore. His men had just returned from a detailed survey of the area. Aside from the bounty of the Forest, the surrounding lands were rich in food and resources. Plentiful enough that fighting amongst themselves was unnecessary. Lucian began to ponder the repercussions of that fact. If strength and fighting were no longer a matter of survival, would there be room for the Doviello way of life in the future?




A gentle fragrant breeze blew as he admired the view. For the first time in his life, Lucian felt at peace. Suddenly, fighting and bloodshed seemed pointless to him. However he knew Charadon would disagree, in the most violent manner.

Lucian walked down the hill toward his men, who were busy dividing plunder and newly acquired slaves. As they noticed him approach they halted their activities and stood attentively, awaiting orders. "I'm not going back to Urslo, anyone who wants to go back can leave. This land belongs to us now, I intend to claim it."




"Thus Clan Lucian was born. Having won Evermore through sweat and blood, they claimed the former Ljosalfar city as their own. Soon after countless Doviello would follow his example, leaving Urslo to strike out on their own and claim their share of the riches the newly verdant lands had to offer."

Love your FfH stories. When can we expect the next gripping installment?

Thanks

I'm 3/4 through writing the next part, I'm slowing down abit since my classes are beginning to pick up. Trying to put something up every 2 weeks or so.

To the casual observer, Emiruk's scrying chamber would appear like any other room of the Temple. It was an ordinary looking dark smallish room, sparsely furnished. However close scrutiny would reveal hidden layers of warding spells inscribed along its black walls. At the center of the room, a group of candles formed a circle.

Emiruk and Devikk sat on the floor just outside the circle. The Ritualist was carefully examining a large axe.

- "Master, I hear you had been searching for this particular artifact for years. How did you find it?"
- "I commissioned a Svartalfar merchant to look for it a few years ago, at the time I didn't think anything would turn up. But the Veil does indeed reward its faithful, Devikk."
- "Master, may I examine it?"

Emiruk nodded and handed over the heavy weapon to Devikk. "It looks to be of orcish design...Master, if I understand correctly, you'll be using this axe as a focal point for scrying into past events. Forgive me Master, but I fail to see how an orcish axe could be involved in any significant events. Orcs are barbarians, they love to kill people, with axes. According to my studies in the art of scrying the past, the most we could hope from that old axe would be countless of images of gruesome deaths. The extreme emotional shock of death from the victims block out any other events one might try to scrye into."

"Devikk, I'm glad you've been attentive to your studies. That is very true. Of course I know the axe will reveal only death. That is exactly what I'm looking for, or more precisely who has died by this axe. However you missed one thing. Look at the axe more carefully."

The apprentice turned over the axe in his hands, examining it more closely. There were faint inscriptions along the axe blade and handle. "There's writing of some kind. But I don't recognize it, Master."

"Those inscriptions are blessings from Bhall, the goddess of fire. That axe is a holy artifact of Bhall dating back from the Age of Magic, later used by the great Orc King Orthus. Back in those days, the Orcs were a force to be reckoned with and many nations fell to Orthus. For example, according to archaeological evidence, the cities of Torrolerial and Trinity were built by a previous civilization before falling to the Orcs. The cities were then later annexed by the Svartalfar. I want to find out more about that dead civilization.”



Thick smoke of incense fills the chamber. Within the smoke visions appear…

He cleaved a boy’s head in two, blood splattering all over his hands and forearms. Then Orthus glanced over at the Sacred Flame. A steady stream of humans emerged out of the fire. “Kill them as soon as they come out!” he ordered.

“You will never escape me, humans” Orthus promised as he viciously sliced a young girl in half. He broke through the rank of humans and grabbed a little girl. But before he knew it young woman appeared right below him and plunged a sword into his gut. He dropped the little girl and clutched at his stomach. “Be glad I’m sick of death” the young woman growled, before turning and running away.

Streets are filled with fire and blood. Hordes of orcs swarm into the city. Orthus’ axe becomes a blur as he cuts down defender after defender. Despite being vastly outnumbered the humans continue to fight, and die.

The young woman from the previous vision is fighting for her life. Behind her are children and the elderly, also fighting for their lives. But the orcs are too much for them, they are cut down one by one. Orthus manages to slash her sword hand. She screams, dropping her sword. Grinning, he raises his axe high and delivers an overhead swing, cleaving her skull in half. “I told you you’d never escape me” he adds.