RIght, my first attempt at writing got off to a good start but apparently wasn't my area. I hit a massive writers block on it and couldn't take it anywhere. Really got to me.

A friend of mine saw the caption i had written in the D&D topic and decided to write a little of his own. He is talented and i liked it, so we decided, as a team, to write a fantasy story based around our first ideas. The story will come in chapters, alternating between my work and my friends. Each of us writing from a different point of view, until our characters meet. My friend wishes to remain anonymous for reason unknown, but i will respect his wishes.

Here is the prologue i have written for your enjoyment. Chapters 1 and 2 will follow once we have them set out properly.

Jaesten's Destiny

Prologue

500 years ago…

High in the hills, above the plateau where a battle was raging, a disturbance was materialising. Dark energy crackled through the air as a seam appeared. A void, tugging on the very fabric of the world, ripping and tearing it apart as the seam grew..

The writhing void pulsed as a man stepped through, he was garbed in a long black robe, obscuring his face with a hood. He carried a long staff, twisted and inscribed with powerful runes at his side. The man raised a clawed hand from within the folds of his robe, making a waving motion and saying words of power, the void behind him collapsed, leaving nothing in its wake.

The dark sorcerer looked down upon the battle, these delicate races, he thought to himself, why do they fight, one would think they would savour what little time they have on this wretched world. He shook his head a little, now was not the time for such mysteries. He had been drawn here for a reason, his hunger for magic had called to him, there was a being of power with these elves. He had devoured much magic in his time, but one, had always evaded his grasp. The element of nature. With this, he could combine every element and force that resided in the world, making him nigh on unstoppable.

The sorcerer watched as the battle continued. It looked like a group of trolls had ambushed an elven scouting party. The elves were outnumbered at least three to one, but they were persevering. Their unnatural agility made it difficult for the trolls to gain an upper hand. He watched with slight interest one of the trolls roared with frustration, swinging his battle hammer with force enough to split skulls. Due to an unlucky positioning, right after he had felled one of the trolls comrades with a sickening slash to the throat, an elf was caught by the backdrop of the battle hammer. The troll grunted, apparently surprised he had hit something. His victim was still on the floor, not even a twitch came from his bleeding and broken body. The force of the hammers down swing had completely caved in the elf’s chest, his death was almost instant. The troll roared again in victory, turning back to the survivors, only to receive an arrow dead-aimed at the centre of his head. The bow was dropped from the ghostly white hands of a young elf; he looked on in horror at the crumpled body that was his greatest friend and mentor. Oh the sadness… such sadness poured through the mind of the elf, he wanted the earth to swallow him now. Nothing was left, the only thing that had meaning in his life, removed in a heartbeat by their races greatest enemy.

The elf’s body apparently betrayed his feelings as a battle hammer was swung his way; he rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the lethal blow. The sudden burst of adrenaline all but wiped away his sadness, the elf stood slowly, lifting his head to stare the attacker in the eye. Such powerful anger, the likes of which does not belong to an elf, blazed in his eyes. His young form trembled with unbridled rage, the seemingly fearless troll actually faltered at the look in the young ones eyes. At this point the sorcerer on the hills stiffened, he had been watching the battle with amusement, he looked down at the shaking elf... and he felt it... the magic. This boy was radiating incredible power, on the psychic plane; his aura was a dazzling shade of green, extending far beyond that of a normal entity. He made the very plants themselves sing a requiem for his loss. This was what had called him here, the power he wanted, this limitless expanse. As long as there was life, this druidic magic had no bounds.

Down on the plateau the boy felt the magic surging through his veins; it was a feeling like no other, an indescribable sense of exhilaration. The remaining trolls and elves stopped fighting, looking at him with confusion and worry. The elf looked down past his trembling hands, a lush green grass had bloomed around his fleet, he watched in wonder as a single ruby red rose developed and grew before him. The plant seemed to sing to him, a song of mourning. Upon instinct, he knelt by it, holding a hand out to touch its delicate stem. The instant his finger made contact, the roses tiny thorns detached and fell into his outstretched palm. It was then he realised, it was him, he had conjured this natural wonder from the depths of his own emotions. He was in perfect tune with nature herself, he could hear the songs of the plants, he listened to the wind as he straightened up, weapons in hand. The gentle breeze picked up, gusting through the plateau, screaming at the boy for vengeance. Empowered by this new feeling, the boy knew what to do, looking upon the trolls once again, with that terrible gaze, his hand whipped forward, throwing the tiny thorns in their direction. As soon as they left his hand, a burst of magic exploded from the boys mind, imbuing the thorns with rapid growth. The wind picked up, catching the now rapidly growing thorns and landed them dead on their targets. The trolls barely had time to register what was happening, in the few seconds it took for the thorns to travel from the boys hand they had all grown to several yards in length and skewered them like wild boars on a spit.

The moment the deed was done, the magic dissipated from the boys grasp, he was left, with that horrible feeling of sadness as his knees buckled and he collapsed. The last thing he saw was a robed figure standing in the hills, he felt a mental presence push against his as he looked, the presence struck fear into the boys soul as he passed out, exhausted.

The sorcerer watched with a hunger as the remaining elves carried the boy and their fallen comrade back into the depths of the Fallandar Forest. The sorcerer knew it would be foolish to pursue them, whilst he could destroy the elves with a simple death word, the presence of the Mother Tree, the giant majestic life-giver in the centre of the forest, repelled his dark magic. Amongst those trees he would be powerless, until he could harness the forces of nature. He would wait for his perfect opportunity. First though, he had to ensure his plans would come to fruition.

Staff in one hand, he bent down and touched the dry earth, muttering foreign words in a fast tone. The runes on his staff flared as he amplified his magic, sending waves of unholy energy into the ground. He stayed like this, the staff humming with an aura of magic, for several minutes. Weaving this dark spell upon the land would prevent anything from growing there; he gave one final burst of energy into the spell that would inevitably spell the end for the vast forest ahead of him. A slow process he knew, but his magic would slowly eat away at all natural life around it until its energy faded.

Straightening back up, he prepared himself for the long wait that would end in the prize he so dearly craved. And with that, the sorcerers staff glowed as the crackling void re-opened, swallowing him back. Nothing was left on the hills to tell the tale of the dark event. The elves continued on their normal daily routines, unaware of the unholy magic slowly eating away at their beloved forest…

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Hope you enjoyed reading!

-Istalris-

Nicely done Ista. I enjoy reading your stories a lot, keep them coming .

As promised, chapter 1 to feast your eyes upon. This one was written by my friend.

Chapter One: The old mans tale

Lying there twitching from the bite, unable to utter even a moan for help. The web so transparent, even whilst I was stuck to it, I could barely see it. I wonder how many warriors had succumbed to such a stealthy demise. How did this treacherous thing happen about? I had never seen such a beautiful spider, fluorescent blue in the night and seemingly invisible during the day. How could my training of 100 years have deceived me? I could see a gnat from 100 paces, yet this net, 50 yards in width was as if the air sprung it upon me. It seemed like the millions of tiny thorn-like tentacles latched on ever deeper as I looked for a way out.

The poison slowly seeping through me was visible on the surface as it turned the veins that carry it a scorched yellow, creeping from the bite at my ankle towards my ever-slowing heart. My heart…normally a furious growling rage of sound, beating fast through the battles that the past had brought once again to mind in what seemed to be my final moments, had lessened to the buzz of a bee. I was focusing on the buzz, trying to keep my consciousness, but the sounds withered to 20, now 10, now 5 beats a minute. Waiting for the next was more painful than the injection of deaths venom itself. Yearning to hear just one more beat to validate my life, slowly, as this wretched beast finished its casket of silk around my head, my eyes drown in darkness and I began to feel free...

Everybody knew the old drow elf was crazy. Invisible spiders? Webs that a drow elf cant see? Maybe a Wood elf would have missed them. It is common knowledge that they do not have near the keen senses that we do. Misfits, the lot of ‘em. This one must be half wood elf...yes, that would explain his nonsensical story of "The Web". Yet, in his own quirky way, I think he believed it so much that, when the poor old elf did tell the story, it was actually as if it DID happen to him. Like a memory magically planted into his mind. You could see his terror when he was being "spun" and his eyes lightened when he told of how the poison would slowly cause him to drift. But it was just a story, wasn’t it?

The old man went on with his story, and how he escaped by stopping his heartbeat to become silent and tricking the spider into opening the cocoon to feast on the "prepared" meal. His years of training as a scout offered his ability to out "stealth" the stealth spider did have some merit, as drow scouts can sit hopelessly still and quiet for days on end, controlling every aspect of their body, even to the point of stopping their own heartbeat for up to 2 hours. He was once a very gifted scout indeed, sad to see him go crazy with this whimsical tale.

We listened to his story once again as the sun went down. Another day had gone by, another day of fear, suppressed by allowing our minds to simply wander away for a bit. While this man may be as loony as can be, he did have a gift to make us feel as free as he did in those last foolish moments in the web. One by one, as we grew weary of the tale, drow by drow departed back to their own hovel. But I, as always, stayed to the very end. It was the least I could do for the old man. But this day would be different in a way that could not be imagined. This day would be that certain day that each of us waits in our lifetimes to have. This would be my day of Jomga, my day of destiny, my day to start all other days to come. As I listened to the final words of his story which, by the way, never changed, he stood up with sword in hand and avenged his own death as he thrust deep into the eye of his seducer and watched in victory as the spider ran into the night, glowing what could obviously be presumed his final tint of the most beautiful blue you could imagine. But this time the story ended much differently than usual. The words were the same, his actions of final defiance was a mirror image of every time he had shown that fatal blow before. But this time as he stood up I saw something I had never seen before, his ankle. His robe had been caught on a shard of wood and had exposed his ankle. Two small marks surrounded by the most hideous yellow you had ever seen.

"Where did you get tha..." "HUSH BOY!" he said faster than I could finish my words. The sheer strength of his voice knocked me off my feet. I tried to stand, losing ground as my feet were not listening well to my thoughts at all, I was telling them to stand tall and strong and my left would go right and my right well, whichever way but right. My rattling bones settled back into place as I sat there like a crab with a Giant of a man standing directly over me.

"Forget what you saw here today young one" he said in a whisper. "Forget it or suffer endlessly the same fate as I". The man slowly backed up, but the weight of his shadow still had me pressed to the dirt, frozen as if I were myself on that dreaded web he described.

He turned and walked briskly away, just as he was about to round the Mother Tree, he glanced back with one final pierce into my soul to drain any thought of pursuing him away. Then he was gone.

Though the nights were long in the winter, sleep did not pay tribute once again. That scar. It kept running through my mind. That burnt yellow scar. I wandered out of the confines of the Ancient Sandar tree that our people had found refuge in. It was beautiful inside. I could only imagine what it must have been like to see it when it had reached its majestic heights. 632 and falling were our numbers. Though the torment of the battle had subdued for now, spring would bring full hilt those damned trolls. If not for the magic of this grand tree we would surely be a memory by now. What will we do? Soon the ever fading warmth and companionship of our grand Sandar would wither away and leave no shackles on the thousands of mighty trolls warriors that would .wait...did I say mighty trolls? O they are mighty all right, mighty ugly and mighty stinky. I do not know which is worse, those damned battle hammers they wield like sticks or that stench they wield when the arm lifts to swing it? I would beg to offer that they need no weapons. Dirty, stinky damned trolls.

As I walk down the road, like I did every night it seemed, I took comfort in my family’s safety inside. But now was not the time for a fierce drow warrior prince like myself to ponder on the trivial. That sea witch down at the pier of Lake Aranda needed to be slain to lift the curse of domaska and free my princess from an eternity of servitude at the feet of sorcerer of darkness! Last night, I remember trailing her down to the pier and listening to her incantations of dark magic upon the lake itself to entrap my lovely Enda. But that will end tonight, for I have found the leaf of the ...."Jaesten"...what was that? the evil witch had found my name? but how? "Jaesten....Jaesten"......"JAESTEN!!!" Ouch, was all I could mutter as the long thin palm of my sister’s hand slapped me on the side of my head.

"Stop wandering around and get inside....Mom said now!", she threw at me. It was never proven which was older, but she would like to have everybody believe it was her.

"I'll throw you to the witch myself one day", I muttered as she stormed in front of me back towards the gate.

She slowly stopped and turned with a daring glare in her eye. Extending that long arm out and pointing towards the opening, she simply said, "Now". I love her so very much, and she is lucky I do, for anybody else that would dare to speak to the prince that way would surely be the next troll insurgent supreme. Shuddering at the thought of being eaten by a troll, I quickly moved towards the gate, scanning the thick forest to make sure I would not be some rogue trolls dinner tonight myself.

As I made my way back to our cove etched from the meat of the great tree herself, I noticed "him". That crazy man with the scar, what was he doing out so late? It looked like he was picking or clearing or gathering some of the vines that lay on the ground, twitching with their last breath of life. The power they once possessed, now a mere life-ending flicker, no more than a lightning bug, and then, nothing. Every time a grouping of those infant vines died, the wind would mourn for them and the ground seemed to get a little bit colder. Bah, it was just the winter and that is what winter does. The old man saw me looking at him and, in a flash, he was gone. I barely saw him move. I must be getting tired. Finally maybe I can get some sleep.
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Chapter two will arrive soon!

-Istalris-

+3 to anon, whoever you are.

Congrats to you and your friend on a well written story. Please continue, cant wait to see more

Finished early, so here is a quick update! Chapter 2 was too long, so i decided to split it into chapter 3 as well. Both of these were written by my friend. Enjoy!


Chapter Two: Curiosity

I woke up the next morning surprisingly refreshed, even though the night was once again a battle. My heart thumped with almost anticipation for the setting of the sun. My mind would race, envisioning what that damned sea witch had done with my princess. Well, enough of that for now, I had some chores to tend to. As I looked around for a clean vest, well clean was always an opinion, I heard my mother coming. "Here we go again", I thought to myself, looking around at the mess that was not supposed to be there since last week.

"Jaesten, I need you to go to the… oh Jaesten, I thought you were to clean this room?" she said with a release of what seemed to be her last dying breath.

Her shoulders slumped and her eyes went to the ground and then slowly back towards me. That was that look. She knew I couldn’t stand that look, but she also knew it would work on me too. A smart lady she was indeed.

"Now listen", she said gasping. “I need you to run over to the market and get me some wheat, but when you get back you are going to clean this room, understood!".

This time I knew I had better listen, she was making my favourite dessert tonight and I wasn’t going to chance missing that, even if it meant I really had to clean my room.

"And don’t throw everything in your sisters room this time or else." She said as sternly as she could whilst trying not to crack a smile.
"Ok" I said, giving her a smile that only a son can give his mother. She had her look, but I had mine too!

There he was again, funny how it was that I started to notice this old man in places that I had never noticed him before. I'm sure he had come to the market before, but I had never seen him, well maybe I just never noticed him. I couldn’t help but stare down for another glimpse of his ankle to see if it was really there. As I stood there, gazing at his ankle, I overheard him asking about an infertile Sandor acorn. Now I can put aside any doubt that this old man was crazy. This tree that we live in had been unable to produce such a thing for centuries, and she was the last of her kind. Now that I think about it...the "only" of her kind that I knew of. How could that..."What'll it be kid?" asked the keep.

"I'm, uh"…

“Well... What'll it be, we are out of uh's, now tell me what you need or beat it!", he cut into my words as I stumbled to tell him why I was there.

"Wheat sir, I need wheat for my mother", I finally managed to get out before he passed me over for the next boy there.

"Seven coins" he threw at me with no room to barter. "Seven coins boy, or get lost" he stated with a lack of patience. I gave him the coins and turned to ask the old man about the acorn, once again he had vanished. He was as elusive as that damned web he spun in his stories.

Dinner was wonderful! Even Mocpot stew tasted good knowing what was to come afterwards. Honey cakes were always a soft spot. The berry hen eggs have their own unique flavour, but when you add that drip of honey...it was as if Sandar herself was tickling my tongue, teasing with flavour that would just drive me mad. After 5 pieces and a stern warning from my mother, I had had enough for the night.

It was another night, another endless, sleepless night. I started on my trek to venture to the lake to slay that foul witch once more, but began thinking about that old man and his quest for the Sandar acorn. I thought it to be quite like my ever elusive sea witch. I found myself headed not towards the front gate for my usual night of playfulness but instead, towards that crazy old mans cove in the tree. He had carved it out himself years ago and it was said to have been at one point the most powerful place within the tree. There was only one door, and one window to see in or out of and he always kept the door locked and the window covered. Nobody ever knew or, for that matter, ever cared to know what went on inside his hovel. But for some strange reason, I just had to know.

I approached the window ever so quietly and slowly inched upwards. I was in luck tonight, there was an ever-so-slight break in the barrier of curtains at the window, and I could see directly inside right at the kitchen table. There he was walking around the table, with those dead vines all draped out on top as if they were a puzzle he was trying to fit together. He would pick up a piece, look at it and say, " now where do you belong my little friend?" and then place it back on the table, frustrated with no answer. Suddenly, with his back turned to me, he stopped. He stretched out his hands and started speaking. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was like a different language, gibberish. Then as suddenly as he had started, he stopped and spun around, looking directly into the pupil of my eye. With my heart pounding and rising through my chest, I ducked quickly, hoping that I had avoided detection. Slowly once again, I lifted to see what was going on, but all I saw was the table. "That damn man must be a ghost!", I thought to myself. An abrupt thought broken by the grasp of a hand and a tug of my shirt, once again I found myself lying on my backside with this man looming over me. Mother was right about one thing, someday my curiosity was going to get me in trouble.

"What are you doing here!? What do you want?!", he quickly started his interrogation. Before I could even begin to think of a reason why, he started again, "Speak up boy!"

"I know where the Acorn is" was all I could get out, hoping he would stop yelling at me.

"Get inside, get in now!", he rushed as he grabbed me by my neck and threw me into his shell of a home, landing with my back at that very kitchen table I had seen earlier. "Where is it?" he softly whispered as if thousands of trolls were standing right next to him, waiting to steal it away. "Where is the seed? You must tell me now!" he whispered again.

"Not so fast old man...first things first", I smirked as I was about to unleash my own little web for him to be tangled in. "Tell me what you are doing with all those pieces of vine", I said with a little laugh in my voice.

The man stood up as tall as he could and spread his arms wide. His face lost all sense of emotion and he glared at me. His voice seemed to turn from inquisition to desperate torment. Solemnly, he leaned slightly over me, looked down to let me know he was definitely a man I did not want to mess with and said once more, "Where is the acorn boy". I heard the tremor in his voice shake my whole body with a moment of fear. Oh what have I gotten myself into? Is he going to kill me? I shrivelled down, cowering before this might of a man and prepared for the worst. He stopped for a moment, shrank down to what would be considered a normal size of an elf and stared at me, his eyes that of a deer caught in the middle of the night. I was shocked myself, wondering what was going on. I looked to the left and right of me to see who my rescuer was, but saw nobody. Then I turned around and it was there. The vines had somehow come together, and a twisting shaft had been formed, it was tipped with an edge sharp as a thorn and on top, the vines seemed to blossom with a hollow middle, as if something had once been there but was missing.

The old man warped towards the table and clutched the staff with all he had. It would take even more than his death to release it from his grips. "You?...you are the one? A meddling little child of a drow. What am I supposed to do with you? I don’t have time to train you, there just isn’t enough time. This is the end. Where is the acorn boy, you must tell me, hurry tell me, tell me now!!!" He rambled on and on as such. I could barely keep up with his thoughts as they rambled out.

"Fine, I'll tell you. The sea witch has it". That was the best I could think of at the time. I knew he knew about the old fables and would be more than willing to believe anything at this point.

"We must go now to her!” he rattled as he grabbed a large bag and my arm in one fell swoop and started for the door.

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You'll have to wait a bit longer for chapter 3.

-Istalris-

u should really write the next chapter yourself.

I liked the first chapter better than the second.

comettail27 wrote:u should really write the next chapter yourself.

I liked the first chapter better than the second.

I agree. I like the Prologue much better than the subsequent chapters.