The Twilight Forests

The Long Story

The Twilight Forests

 

 

“I think we should go in,” mumbled the tough and equally short-tempered Shalk who, despite his lineage, was rather tall for a Dwarf. “We need to wait we can’t just barge in, the Twilight Forests are sacred,” Replied his companion. They both stood on the edge of a thick and daunting forest, the Twilight Forests, whose trees had bark as strong as steel and browner than that of a bear’s droppings. The magnificent forest’s name derived from the colour of its leaves, which was the colour of autumn they said. The Forest went for miles either way of the two men. Its amber leaves creating a barrier of leave litter that separated the Forest from the outside world. A single worn trail was the only trace of civilisation inside the forest, no torches were placed on the ground what tiny light there was came from the fireflies that flickered peacefully in the cool winter’s air. Beyond the forests, to the North were the towering mountains, Death’s Gateway as some would call it. It’s rock as black as the night and its peaks void of any snow, only the barren emptiness that had given the mountain its name. The mountains could be seen for miles and distance beyond that, for those who know of the old stories it was a reminder but for the fool of heart it was nothing but a mountain.

The two men stood on the edge of the forest, as was tradition of any that wished to enter the forests with the blessing of those who inhabited it. “We need to be patient,” he continued, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade to reassure his rampant nerves. The man was not old, though neither was he young.  “Patience, bah!” spat Shalk "Your patience would have us standing here for years! If we are to have this meeting we cannot wait for the traditions of Elves. It would be wise to just let ourselves in," His intent was not misplaced for he took two steps forward, threatening to walk into the Forest himself. He was just a foot shy of the Forest before his companion grabbed him by his collar and dragged him back, Shalk cursed his companion and demanded to be let go. He complied, frowning at the Dwarf's rash decision, "This is not your land Shalk, and we cannot just come barging into the Forests. How would you feel if a party of Trolls entered the sacred halls of Seldamor?"

"Trolls?" Laughed Shalk "The halls of Seldamor are large enough for 100 Trolls, Rogan you dishonour me. Besides Trolls are excellent traders, they have the best sculptures in all of Thelemor. Their works of are sought after by every lord in the lands. Why I myself have a number of Trollven works in the keep," Rogan smiled, Shalk could talk for hours and he had every intention of allowing him to. Because he was right, the Elves were taking their time and they could be here for hours. But if this meeting was to take place they could not waver, the traditions of Elves were strange indeed and if they faltered in any way, if they showed intention of leaving then the meeting would be called off. Rogan would not allow that to happen. "And they have the best armour, their mail is made out of pure Darithium there isn't stronger steel out there,” Shalk was still talking, but Rogan tuned him out. Despite his ever present boredom he wasn’t entirely excited to hear about the lineage of the dragon forges and his concerns about the diminishing supply of dragon fire. He had better things to think about and worse things to worry about. And as the minutes turned to hours, the two companions stood steadfast, neither wanting to be the first to admit their weariness to the other. The moon was high in the sky before the first footsteps were heard; Rogan heard them first his ranger’s hearing giving him an advantage over that of a Dwarf’s. “Shalk,” he said nodding towards the forest, at first he knew not what the man was talking about. But soon enough several cloaked figures were walking towards them. The trees, it seemed, almost bent out of the way of their party. They walked in a V formation, their dark cloaks blending in with the darkness around them. They stopped just shy of the edge of the Forest, only the front figure took down his hood revealing the face of a Twilight Elf. His face was a soft cream colour, with pure white hair falling down in braids from his head with hints of red embroidered within as per tradition. His eyes were a piercing red and his skin was a flawless as a diamond. He looked at Rogan and Rogan looked at him, the Elf extended a hand and Rogan shook it.

“Ryth’dol Ir Manol,” said the Elf “Aragul Ni Chalc Ro Alistair ,” He spoke in the dialect of the Woodlings, as ancient as the Forest they stood in. “Eh?” blurted Shalk, he had stood here for too long and did not have time for Elven tongue. The Elf looked at the Dwarf with a stair that could pierce a dragon’s hide, but Rogan interfered and replied to the Elf. “Ryth’dol Ir Crynol, Aragul Ni Chalc Ro Rogan,” Everyone looked at him with astonishment and wonder, most of all Shalk, he had no idea that his friend knew the ancient tongue of the Woodlands. It made him wonder how much his companion had failed to mention about himself. The Elf replied to Rogan, speaking so fast that Shalk could not even attempt to make out the words. But Rogan didn’t miss a beat, he replied with upmost confidence, all in the Elf’s party nodded at him. “Rogan,” said Shalk, “What are they saying?” he asked

Rogan replied, without looking at Shalk “Just formalities Shalk introductions and the like, he apologizes for the wait and says that the King will see us now, if we are ready to go,”

“Of course we are, we’ve been waiting here for hours now,” Grunted Shalk. Rogan nodded at the Elf and the two at the rear of their party flawlessly produced their longbows and fired two arrows into the air which exploded in two bright red clouds. “Let’s go,” said Rogan and the party then advanced. No one spoke, for whilst Rogan’s grasp of the Woodlings tongue was vast he had no intent of creating small talk. However Shalk did not have that intention, “Rogan?” he asked trying to get the man’s attention, “I am not accustomed to being treated like a child, I demand that you explain the situation to me,” Rogan looked at the Dwarf, he was notorious for his short temper and being a respected Dwarfen Forge-Lord he did not take well to be treated as anything less. “Fine,” the man said “The Meeting is to be held in their great hall, these Elves are to escort us there, anything else?”

“Yes,” said the Dwarf coolly “This Elf, the one you spoke to, who is he?” Rogan looked at the Elf in question, he was about to answer that question when a voice from the front of the pack drew Rogan and Shalk’s attention. “My name is Alistair, I am the Head Commander of the Twilight Rangers and Brother to the King of our Lands, I expect that is knowledge enough for you Dwarf?” Alistair said staring at the Dwarf as he waddled along after the flawless strides of the Elven Rangers. Shalk growled, he didn’t mind Elves but he avoided them all the same and it pained him that he even had to attend this meeting or be escorted like some defenceless child. Rogan on the other hand had no problem with their situation, in his line of work he often encountered the Elves and they had grown a mutual respect for each other. He had even been given the right to enter the Twilight Forests at will, however with Shalk at his side it was best to stick to tradition. Shalk knew of this; however the friendship between Rogan and the Elves still did not help to ease his nerves. There was too much riding on this, too much to be betrayed by Elves. His worries grew and grew, until he could take it no more. He grabbed Rogan by the arm and demanded his attention, “What is it?” whispered Rogan trying not to alert the rest of the party.

“Are you sure about this?” Shalk angrily whispered. Are you certain that these Elves can be trusted or that we even need their help? And above all is it wise that we should even reveal it to them?” whispered Shalk furiously eying Rogan’s pack with worry. Rogan caught his eye, deep down he shared his friends concern though he tried not to show it. “We have no choice, we need to get it examined and the Elves are the only ones with the knowledge to do it. You had the Dwarfs examine the steel and they found nothing, now it is the Elves turn,”

Shalk gritted his teeth; there was nothing about this that he liked. “I’m sure that if my kin found nothing than the Elves would do no better,”

Rogan stared at him in anger “Stop letting your pride get the better of you! Your Kin found nothing because they know only steel; the Elves are different, what they lack in Forges they make up in with knowledge. If we are to find knowledge of this blade then the Elves are the only chance we have,” Rogan pulled his arm free of Shalk’s grip, had the Dwarf no idea of the risks that he was taking? The commotion had gained the attention of the party; they stopped and stared at the two. Rogan returned to walking avoiding the stares of the surrounding Elves and of his disapproving companion. He chose to walk beside Alistair; maybe walking with one that is not blinded by pride would ease his growing anger. “The walk will take some time,” said the Elf “It is better that we are to know why you wish to speak to the King,”

Rogan looked at the ground; he had to phrase his answer wisely. The truth could jeopardise everything, but Alistair would be able to spot a lie. He chose to go with a mixture of the two. “I am here to speak to the King about…about a threat concerning the safety of his Kingdom,”

Alistair looked out into the distance, thinking, mouldering over the answer that the man had given him. “Hmmm, and what threat is this?” asked the Elf not entirely sure of the nature of the claim.

“If it is all the same to you, I would prefer that the…finer details be kept secret until I am in front of the King, they are not for the untrustworthy,” Rogan said eyeing the Elves around him. Alistair seemed as if he was about to challenge the last remark, however he stopped himself. He had never met the Ranger before, but he knew of his reputation, he was honourable for that of a man and was a fine Ranger. But seeing him worried and distressed, something was wrong. It was not a lie that the Elves in his command talked, everyone talks which gave stock to the wisdom Rogan spoke of. So he let the matter go, for now.

The walk to the great hall of the Twilight Elves was a long one; however with the guides that they had it was almost certain that there would be no problems along the way. The ground was dry and hard, stacked with the leave litter of the surrounding trees. Each step pierced the silence around them, however the Elves had no problem with this their footsteps seemed to make no noise as they strode along the path. Shalk on the other hand took pleasure in the breaking of the silence. Every footstep for him was a way to express his distaste for the silence and the situation. Every leave, every twig was nothing but fodder for his foot. He knew that the walk was going to take a while and he had every intention of keeping this up for the entirety of the journey. However it seemed that his slaughter of the forest litter would come to an end faster than he had anticipated. As the head of the party, an Elf that Alistair had failed to name signalled for them to stop. Alistair spoke to him in Woodling Tongue, frantically exchanging words silently so Rogan could not hear. His Elven eyes locked with Shalk’s, mistrust was painted all across them. Shalk rested his hand on the small Mace attached to his belt for comfort. “What is it? “ Asked Rogan, as he finally could take no more.

 “What has happened?”

“We have found tracks,” said Alistair pointing at the ground below the Elf that stopped the pack. Rogan knelt down and studied them placing his face on the ground to understand the depth of it better, his years as a Ranger aiding him in the analysis. “These tracks are fresh,” he began to say “I would suggest that they were made only an hour ago, after you and your kin came through here. They were made by someone that was rather heavy or carrying something heavy. However they are broad, and made by someone with such feet suggesting…,” He cut himself off before he could finish the sentence, fearing the outcome of such a discovery. “Finish it,” said Alistair, urging the man to finish his discovery and demanding that he tell the party of the truth. All around him the Elves spoke with angry words, none of which made sense to Shalk, but Rogan knew of their meaning words of mistrust of lies and most of all treachery. He grew stiff, his anger and discomfort flowed in waves, with one hand he signalled for calm and with the other he secretly gripped his sword but let it rest in its sheath. “Fine,” he said in a reluctant tongue, expressing his hatred for the moment with his body. Even a fool could understand that the posture that Rogan had adopted was not one of trust.

“The tracks are squandered and broad-footed which means that they were made by… Made by Dwarfs,” Rogan said, a lump formed in his throat. And the moment he said those words, Shalk felt the aim of a party worth of Longbows upon his person. 

Reviews

[jjwilbourne]

Just beautiful. The world you have created is shinning strong in the narrative. Your third person unlimited is strong and effective. A few misspellings here and there, but nothing severe. Should be easy to revise.
Stoked to read the next part!