The girl ran through the ancient forest. With every step, her lungs burned and her muscles ached. She was young and strong, but she had been running for days.
The girl's family were Ljosalfar – or so all the elders claimed – but the hilly border area where she had lived had been so isolated for so long that in truth the lines between Ljosalfar and Svartalfar had long since blurred into nothing. Elves elsewhere had long been plagued by civil wars and strife; for her little cluster of villages, these horrors were almost unknown.
Still, everyone she knew had greeted the news of the upcoming peace conference with joy. The talk throughout her village was that finally the rest of their race might enjoy the tranquility that they had long known.
Instead, the opposite had happened. The peace of her village had been breached, and the horror she and her family had faced might soon be unleashed on the conference as well.
The land was rising as the girl ran, until she found herself following a trail along a high ridge. A sound grew in her ears, that of rushing, tumbling water, and through the trees came a hint of mist, like a forming cloud. She could taste the water on her tongue. A sense of relief rose in her; she was almost there.
Shortly she burst out onto a rocky escarpment. To her east rose the high mountains, where her people did not venture. To the west, the great forested plateau of the elves. And below her feet, linking and dividing them, the great river of her culture’s lore, the Serpent, crashing over its many falls on its way to the sea. Beneath one of the larger cascades, a rocky island stood out above the river, linked to the high bank on one side by a narrow rope bridge. The peace conference attendees would be gathered there, she had been told. She could not see for herself, even as close as she now was. The river was in full flood this time of year, the valley full of fog. It would not dissipate for some weeks.
Carefully, she picked her way down the steep trail that led to the bridge. She had to concentrate on her footing so much, and the visibility was so bad, that she was nearly there before she realized that the bridge was not. She stared at its anchor stones uncomprehendingly, at the thick ropes that should have supported it but which instead hung loose, their frayed ends curling in the damp. Her eyes sought out the island’s shore through the mist, but found nothing; the swirling clouds obscured everything more than a few dozen steps away. She could yell, but she would not be heard over the thunder of the falls; the spring flood could not be forded.
Too exhausted even for despair, the girl turned away. She would go home, and help the other survivors of her village re-build. The people on the island, and by extension the rest of the elven world, would have to save themselves.
Behind her at the bridge head, the small animals and birds that had retreated at her approach re-emerged. The rodents scurried out with particular eagerness. They had interrupted meals to attend to. If the girl had not been so distracted by the sabotaged bridge, she might have noticed the faint unpleasant smell. She might have noticed the crumpled shapes just beyond the edge of the trees, and the half-dozen broken arrows scattered in the underbrush. It might have occurred to her to wonder if the peace conference faced more than one danger. The horror which had been visited on her home had not come with such ordinary weapons.
Sign-ups are now open. I do hope you all enjoy.
Sign-ups so far: 36 (All confirmed.)
Methos
Love
Backwards Logic
Niklas
sirtommygunn
Frozen In Ice
Charles Li
LightFang
thomas.berubeg
Stuck in Pi
reverend oats
BananaLee
CCRunner
stee
Chandrasekhar
The Lemon
D'artagnan59
Splime
TheForestAuro
Icekommander
Izipo
Tasslehoff
Ekolite
J-man
ZPV
Nictel
Catharsis
The13thRonin
Diamondeye
PaulusIII
Winston Hughes
Mergle
rhawn
Ozbenno
KingMorgan
Nahkarma
Reserves (3)
oyzar
RRRaskolnikov
Shadowbound
The girl's family were Ljosalfar – or so all the elders claimed – but the hilly border area where she had lived had been so isolated for so long that in truth the lines between Ljosalfar and Svartalfar had long since blurred into nothing. Elves elsewhere had long been plagued by civil wars and strife; for her little cluster of villages, these horrors were almost unknown.
Still, everyone she knew had greeted the news of the upcoming peace conference with joy. The talk throughout her village was that finally the rest of their race might enjoy the tranquility that they had long known.
Instead, the opposite had happened. The peace of her village had been breached, and the horror she and her family had faced might soon be unleashed on the conference as well.
The land was rising as the girl ran, until she found herself following a trail along a high ridge. A sound grew in her ears, that of rushing, tumbling water, and through the trees came a hint of mist, like a forming cloud. She could taste the water on her tongue. A sense of relief rose in her; she was almost there.
Shortly she burst out onto a rocky escarpment. To her east rose the high mountains, where her people did not venture. To the west, the great forested plateau of the elves. And below her feet, linking and dividing them, the great river of her culture’s lore, the Serpent, crashing over its many falls on its way to the sea. Beneath one of the larger cascades, a rocky island stood out above the river, linked to the high bank on one side by a narrow rope bridge. The peace conference attendees would be gathered there, she had been told. She could not see for herself, even as close as she now was. The river was in full flood this time of year, the valley full of fog. It would not dissipate for some weeks.
Carefully, she picked her way down the steep trail that led to the bridge. She had to concentrate on her footing so much, and the visibility was so bad, that she was nearly there before she realized that the bridge was not. She stared at its anchor stones uncomprehendingly, at the thick ropes that should have supported it but which instead hung loose, their frayed ends curling in the damp. Her eyes sought out the island’s shore through the mist, but found nothing; the swirling clouds obscured everything more than a few dozen steps away. She could yell, but she would not be heard over the thunder of the falls; the spring flood could not be forded.
Too exhausted even for despair, the girl turned away. She would go home, and help the other survivors of her village re-build. The people on the island, and by extension the rest of the elven world, would have to save themselves.
Behind her at the bridge head, the small animals and birds that had retreated at her approach re-emerged. The rodents scurried out with particular eagerness. They had interrupted meals to attend to. If the girl had not been so distracted by the sabotaged bridge, she might have noticed the faint unpleasant smell. She might have noticed the crumpled shapes just beyond the edge of the trees, and the half-dozen broken arrows scattered in the underbrush. It might have occurred to her to wonder if the peace conference faced more than one danger. The horror which had been visited on her home had not come with such ordinary weapons.
Welcome to NOTW XXIII
The War Party
The War Party
Sign-ups are now open. I do hope you all enjoy.
Sign-ups so far: 36 (All confirmed.)
Methos
Love
Backwards Logic
Niklas
sirtommygunn
Frozen In Ice
Charles Li
LightFang
thomas.berubeg
Stuck in Pi
reverend oats
BananaLee
CCRunner
stee
Chandrasekhar
The Lemon
D'artagnan59
Splime
TheForestAuro
Icekommander
Izipo
Tasslehoff
Ekolite
J-man
ZPV
Nictel
Catharsis
The13thRonin
Diamondeye
PaulusIII
Winston Hughes
Mergle
rhawn
Ozbenno
KingMorgan
Nahkarma
Reserves (3)
oyzar
RRRaskolnikov
Shadowbound
.
