Namoric
March 16th, 2009, 05:46 PM
A Leave of the Past
By Alavon Highwind
"Faster. Faster. Lungs hurt, legs ache. Faster. Faster still." A figure bursts through the dense woods of Moonglow, the glow of torchlight behind him. The angry shouts of men can be heard clearly throughout the night sky. The young man continues to run, stumbling from time to time on the rough terrain, but always moving. We can see the fear in his eyes. He runs a race that none envy, for if he slows down, he will lose not only the game, but also his life. A game, that is how they treat him. He is nothing but sport. They've hunted this child for seventeen years, and they can smell the blood. They feel the game is nearly finished, and this pushes them on all the more. But why do they chase this boy of innocence. He has many times asked himself this, but he knew the answer. He just didn't accept it.
Alavon Highwind was born unto a couple that was looked down upon by the people of Moonglow. The mother, Nariana, was a simple woman with a true heart. The father, Alwith, was an elf of great magic power. The mages feared his power, despite Alwith's good nature and helping spirit. They saw this opportunity as the way to banish him, his "corruption" of a village woman. They wasted no time, and accused him of evil deeds. Alwith was speechless, and his lack of response was all the mages needed to win the town to their side of the charge. The mages summoned a portal to the Abyss, and forcibly threw Alwith into its cold embrace. Alwith's last known words were pleas to leave his wife and child be. This last request fell on deaf ears, as the angry mob soon turned to Nariana and her infant son, Alavon. The crowd drew around them, with the mages leading the advance toward them, with evil glares in their eyes. Nariana begged for her child's life, but there was no mercy in their souls. The mages, fearing that Alavon may be as strong as his father in time, was their main concern. Together, they conjured a spell, stealing all magic abilities from the young boy. As the mob grew closer still, Nariana's brother and father pushed men aside, making a path for Nariana to run through. She ran faster than ever before, and rushed young Alavon to safety. Her family's fate was sealed, but Nariana and Alavon were safe for the time being, hiding in the woods of Moonglow.
A man jumps from inside a house, tackling the running figure. The two struggle briefly, and in this struggle the blade of Alavon pierces the man, injuring him badly. Alavon looks stunned for a moment, but instincts take over, and off he runs again. He slips through the trees like only a wood elf could, knowing every knoll and branch. The crowd begins to fade into the distance, but he knows that they will find him. He has escaped but one hunting party. Several more walk the island. This will most certainly be the night of his demise.... Alavon comes to a clearing. He stops dead in his tracks, a vision of his past coming to life again. A past he wished he could forget....
It has been six years since Alwith's banishment, six years of hiding. The men chase Nariana as she carries her son. Nariana has grown older, and can no longer run as well as she once could. She senses that she will not escape this time, and gives all the effort she has left in her being to pull away from her pursuers for just a few moments. She hides Alavon in the brush, and tells him to be quiet. Alavon, ever obedient, obeys. Nariana runs a few feet, and then moves no more. Her race is lost. Only one is left, and he is helpless. That was eleven years ago, and this "helpless" child may finally be at the end of his race. The game is nearly over.
Alavon has been running for nearly three hours now. His heart is near exhaustion, his legs have lost feeling, and his mind has become cloudy with exertion. He hears the men coming from all sides. He is trapped. He vainly attempts to find a gap in their web of men, but fails. He is beaten. After seventeen years of being hunted, the hare will finally be caught. Alavon falls on his knees and calls out his fathers name with the last of his breath. He falls to the ground, and remembers no more...
His eyes open, the light burning his mind. His head is throbbing, and his body feels as if it has been destroyed. But yet he lives. He is in a forest, but it is no forest he has ever seen. He slowly gets up, the effort causing him more pain than he ever felt. He wanders through the wood, trying to gather what has happened. He sees a clearing in the trees, with buildings unlike he has ever seen. Cautiously he makes his way out of the woods and brush, and sees a man standing in the center of the village. "Welcome to the Lost Order friend!" Bewildered and exhausted, he stands there, unknowing what to do. "Fitting," thinks Alavon, "A lost soul finding a Lost Order." In the breeze of the trees, Alavon swears he hears a voice, the voice of his father. "Good-bye, Son." The last gift of a loving father...
Freedom.
By Alavon Highwind
"Faster. Faster. Lungs hurt, legs ache. Faster. Faster still." A figure bursts through the dense woods of Moonglow, the glow of torchlight behind him. The angry shouts of men can be heard clearly throughout the night sky. The young man continues to run, stumbling from time to time on the rough terrain, but always moving. We can see the fear in his eyes. He runs a race that none envy, for if he slows down, he will lose not only the game, but also his life. A game, that is how they treat him. He is nothing but sport. They've hunted this child for seventeen years, and they can smell the blood. They feel the game is nearly finished, and this pushes them on all the more. But why do they chase this boy of innocence. He has many times asked himself this, but he knew the answer. He just didn't accept it.
Alavon Highwind was born unto a couple that was looked down upon by the people of Moonglow. The mother, Nariana, was a simple woman with a true heart. The father, Alwith, was an elf of great magic power. The mages feared his power, despite Alwith's good nature and helping spirit. They saw this opportunity as the way to banish him, his "corruption" of a village woman. They wasted no time, and accused him of evil deeds. Alwith was speechless, and his lack of response was all the mages needed to win the town to their side of the charge. The mages summoned a portal to the Abyss, and forcibly threw Alwith into its cold embrace. Alwith's last known words were pleas to leave his wife and child be. This last request fell on deaf ears, as the angry mob soon turned to Nariana and her infant son, Alavon. The crowd drew around them, with the mages leading the advance toward them, with evil glares in their eyes. Nariana begged for her child's life, but there was no mercy in their souls. The mages, fearing that Alavon may be as strong as his father in time, was their main concern. Together, they conjured a spell, stealing all magic abilities from the young boy. As the mob grew closer still, Nariana's brother and father pushed men aside, making a path for Nariana to run through. She ran faster than ever before, and rushed young Alavon to safety. Her family's fate was sealed, but Nariana and Alavon were safe for the time being, hiding in the woods of Moonglow.
A man jumps from inside a house, tackling the running figure. The two struggle briefly, and in this struggle the blade of Alavon pierces the man, injuring him badly. Alavon looks stunned for a moment, but instincts take over, and off he runs again. He slips through the trees like only a wood elf could, knowing every knoll and branch. The crowd begins to fade into the distance, but he knows that they will find him. He has escaped but one hunting party. Several more walk the island. This will most certainly be the night of his demise.... Alavon comes to a clearing. He stops dead in his tracks, a vision of his past coming to life again. A past he wished he could forget....
It has been six years since Alwith's banishment, six years of hiding. The men chase Nariana as she carries her son. Nariana has grown older, and can no longer run as well as she once could. She senses that she will not escape this time, and gives all the effort she has left in her being to pull away from her pursuers for just a few moments. She hides Alavon in the brush, and tells him to be quiet. Alavon, ever obedient, obeys. Nariana runs a few feet, and then moves no more. Her race is lost. Only one is left, and he is helpless. That was eleven years ago, and this "helpless" child may finally be at the end of his race. The game is nearly over.
Alavon has been running for nearly three hours now. His heart is near exhaustion, his legs have lost feeling, and his mind has become cloudy with exertion. He hears the men coming from all sides. He is trapped. He vainly attempts to find a gap in their web of men, but fails. He is beaten. After seventeen years of being hunted, the hare will finally be caught. Alavon falls on his knees and calls out his fathers name with the last of his breath. He falls to the ground, and remembers no more...
His eyes open, the light burning his mind. His head is throbbing, and his body feels as if it has been destroyed. But yet he lives. He is in a forest, but it is no forest he has ever seen. He slowly gets up, the effort causing him more pain than he ever felt. He wanders through the wood, trying to gather what has happened. He sees a clearing in the trees, with buildings unlike he has ever seen. Cautiously he makes his way out of the woods and brush, and sees a man standing in the center of the village. "Welcome to the Lost Order friend!" Bewildered and exhausted, he stands there, unknowing what to do. "Fitting," thinks Alavon, "A lost soul finding a Lost Order." In the breeze of the trees, Alavon swears he hears a voice, the voice of his father. "Good-bye, Son." The last gift of a loving father...
Freedom.