The Sword of the Hill

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The Sword of the Hill; Please comment!
Topic Started: Aug 20 2008, 05:51 AM (32 Views)
Leviathan Crusader	Aug 20 2008, 05:51 AM Post #1
OMG! Eggman is the Fat Controller! Posts: 2,611 Group: Member Member #1,176 Joined: November 15, 2007 Gender Male What browser do you use? Internet Explorer 7 Age: Wa-	The Sword of the Hill On a warm night, in a place and time further than you might think, it was the Annual Autumn Festival of Erevale. Merchants showed off their wares, dancers, bards and actors plied their trade and hosts of other unique performances, competitions and stalls filled the area. By a flickering campfire, a small group of townsfolk waited in anticipation, mostly children, young and mature alike, and a few adults and elders. They were waiting for a famous storyteller, who only came to these parts during the Festival, and even then only once every five years. His name remained a mystery, much to the consternation of the younger listeners who came to hear his tales. The older folk merely laughed at their attempts to pry the information from the hooded man, as they themselves had tried the same tricks during their younger years; all he ever did at those times was stay silent and give the curious children an enigmatic smile. The speculative whispers and mutterings of the group died down as the storyteller approached. Dressed in a long, brown robe, the orator kept the majority of his face hidden by the hood on his attire. “It adds to the telling of the story,” He had explained on one occasion, “If the audience doesn’t see the narrator’s face, the tale becomes more than a man sitting on a tree stump telling stories. Of course, the mouth has to stay exposed; no-one would hear me otherwise.” The storyteller sat down in front of the group on a large boulder, his usual seat of choice, and began his tale immediately in his deep, rumbling voice. “Once, in a time and place closer than you might think…” <><><><><><><><><> There was a great civilisation, whose empire spanned further, whose arts were more beautiful, whose culture was more civilised and whose magics were more powerful than any other in the land. The people of this great nation came from all over the world, united by the utopian principles it held. But one day, the prince of the kingdom, in whom greed and lust for power resided, devised a plan to kill his father, the king, and take control of the empire for himself. He sought out an evil sorcerer who lived in the far north, accompanied by his personal guard, who were just as criminal as their lord, and ten sleds carrying the finest goods. After being bribed with the contents of the sleds and having been promised more, the sorcerer agreed to serve as the prince’s advisor and royal magician, or sorcerer as the case may be. Now, as you may know, sorcerers are the most despicable of magic-users, the only ones who are exclusively evil, for their magics are forbidden and only the most power-hungry and foolish of men would attempt to utilise such arts. Their magic is dedicated solely to the manipulation of Fate and Destiny. To use these spells requires the obtaining of great power, which is never without it’s price, and also creates a small rip in time and history, for they are changing things, by force, that ought not be changed. The more sorcery is used, the more rips appear, and the more rips there are, the greater the risk that Fate will turn in on itself and be destroyed. Sorcerers walk a dangerous path. And so, heedless of the perils he was harbouring, the prince returned to the kingdom and, with the help of the traitor soldiers and sorcerer’s magic, slew the king and seized the throne. He ruled with an iron fist for five terrible years while the rest of the royal court were killed or fled across the land to hide. Deoradhan, the son of the late king’s brother, worked in a mill with his father. While his father had given up hope for the empire, he never did so himself. Often, he would dream of the day when his cousin was removed from the throne (or even killed on days he was feeling particularly upset) and the rightful heirs to the throne could return. Then, on a cold, winter Sunday night, a stranger appeared at the mill, dressed in a long, black robe and carrying a marvellous longsword the colour of ebony. His eyes had no whites, and the colour of his irises was red. Despite this eerie appearance, the former-royalty took him in and sheltered him from the cold and, to repay them, the stranger, who’s name was Alvaro, said that he would take on any command they pleased and would succeed. Deoradhan’s father kindly refused, but the would-be-prince looked the man straight in the eye and said thus; “You carry a blade, which means you are a warrior. This is my command; my cousin is now the illegitimate king. He rules the land as a tyrant and it is my wish that you help me free the kingdom of his influence.” Alvaro nodded slowly, then smiled. He rose from his seat. “Your training begins tomorrow,” he said. On Monday, he taught Deoradhan how to wield a sword, then presented him with a glittering sword. On Tuesday, he taught him how to use a shield, then presented him with a golden shield. On Wednesday, he taught him how to fire a bow, then presented him with an ornate longbow and a quiver of ten red arrows. On Thursday, he taught him how to ride a horse, then presented him with a brown and black stallion faster and stronger than any horse he had ever ridden. Lastly, on Friday, he took Deoradhan to the shade of a tree and taught him secret, magical words that would call him if he was in dire peril, then presented him with a gold coin with a hole in the middle that would protect him from the sorcerer’s magic so long as it was in Deoradhan’s hand. The next day, Deoradhan mounted his steed and, with Alvaro as his guide, travelled to the Great Castle, where his cousin ruled from. Alvaro bade him farewell and reminded him to use the magic words if he was in trouble, then left. Deoradhan proceeded alone. He rode up to the gates of the wall surrounding the castle, where he was set upon by the evil king’s soldiers. With the glittering sword, he sliced all their weapons in half and slew them all. Journeying into the inner area, he was fired at by ten bow-wielding giants. Thinking quickly, Deoradhan held up his golden shield, which melted his attacker’s arrows. He then whipped out his bow and fired all of his red arrows, each one finding the heart of a bowman. His path clear once more, he continued on. When he approached the castle, he found that he was cut off from it by a huge moat, easily forty men long. Without his command, his horse bolted towards the moat and soared over the gap with a mighty leap. Having landed safely, Deoradhan dismounted and entered the castle. As he entered, the door shut and locked behind him and he was immediately attacked by the sorcerer, who had foreseen his coming. “So, you think you can defeat the king?” the fate-twister snarled, “Very ambitious, but I’m afraid your journey ends here, Deoradhan.” Quick as a flash of lightning, Deoradhan pulled the coin from his pocket and held it tightly in his fist. The sorcerer spat and hissed at him, but to no avail. Finding that his magic powers would not work on the young man, he pulled a dagger from his cloak. “That coin only protects you from magic. My blade ought to finish you easily!” The old man knocked Deoradhan’s sword from his hand and assailed the hero. As they grappled on the floor, Deoradhan cried out the magic words. Nothing happened for a few moments. Then suddenly, the sorcerer was lifted up by the back of his cloak by none other than the enigmatic Alvaro, whose red eyes seemed to glow with power. He hurled the sorcerer straight through the door and into the moat as if he were naught but a doll. The old man screamed a harsh, high-pitched shriek, and then fell silent as he plunged into the waters of the moat, never to be seen again. With his guards and sorcerer gone, the evil king was usurped by the people and exiled from every country in the land. The royal court returned to the Great Castle and Deoradhan was proclaimed king by popular demand. But the next day, Deoradhan was visited by Alvaro one last time. He was warned by the mysterious warrior that he must dissolve the kingdom for good, lest another similar power struggle erupt in the future. Seeing the wisdom in his words, Deoradhan sent the news out across the land that the empire would forever be split into five parts, each one representing the gifts that aided him on his quest. He ruled the Coin Nation with a fair and just reign until the day he died. As for Alvaro, he took his mighty blade and lodged it deep into a rock to signify an end to war… <><><><><><><><><> “… and to that day, the ebony sword still resides in that stone. In fact,” the storyteller added, pointing to a hilltop about a kilometre away, “There it is, right there.” And sure enough, as the listeners turned, they saw the wondrous blade sheathed in it’s stony scabbard. “The legend says that when the time comes for a new hero to arise and challenge the forces of evil once more,” he added, “Alvaro will return and take his sword from the rock, so that he may aid the hero once more.” “But he’d be really old though!” squeaked a small girl from her mother’s lap. The adults laughed. “A little bit old, I should think,” chuckled the storyteller. “So, Alvaro could still be alive then?” asked a boy in the front row. The narrator looked towards the sword with a knowing smile. Beneath the hood, a pair of red eyes glinted as they saw through the fabric. “Maybe. Maybe.”



ShadictheHedgehog	Aug 20 2008, 06:37 AM Post #2
Now is the Winter of your Discontent Posts: 3,708 Group: Member Member #1,107 Joined: November 10, 2007 Gender Male	Cool story man. Very interesting. Is it like, a short story with just this one chapter, or what?



Leviathan Crusader	Aug 21 2008, 03:25 AM Post #3
OMG! Eggman is the Fat Controller! Posts: 2,611 Group: Member Member #1,176 Joined: November 15, 2007 Gender Male What browser do you use? Internet Explorer 7 Age: Wa-	Got it in one!



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