A lone hawk glided high above in a barren sky. The sun reaching branches of the majestic Valandain forest called out to their feathered brethren, come share your perch upon our mighty bows. The wren and nightingale renewed their singing as the war bird flew on for less elusive prey, perhaps in the open fields to the east. The light babble of a clear stream, lush flora stunningly vibrant, a small family of hedgehogs finding a new burrow, rustling leaves as they tilled the soil in their homemaking. All was calm in the stately woods. Tinuviel marveled at a pair of lady bugs that floated by her hand and lit upon the pommel of her sword. Each day that she spent in the Elven lands rejuvenated her being, healing her within and without. Healing she had called upon many times in the last few seasons changes. Tinuviel had long ago awoken from the trance that her Queen and general were still in. Perhaps she had spent too much time among Human kind. She had begun to see things in a different light, and often found she preferred seeing and sensing the forests and their wonders rather then meditating. Her superiors couldnt find such comfort. By necessity they meditated past the forest and became one with it. That is what made Queen Illacia and Valtern Soulforger her queen and future king. The Queen's eyes slowly focused back into this reality, followed a heartbeat later by soft chanting from Valtern. Both had sensed the arrival of the High court. The bushes splintered as Cormiss came crashing through the undergrowth. Tinuviel suppressing any laughter. Taulmaril, sent a quiet, unseen spell of recovery on the broken brush, Queen Illacia smiled while her gaze never left the eyes of Cormiss. "Welcome Grandmaster Cormiss, Master of battle and follower of the Sun and Mars. I too feel and understand your need for urgency. We will not be remiss in addressing your concerns. Please be seated for the council" Cormiss, one of the few humans in the entourage was about to protest the lack of seats when Valtern summoned unseen servants who materialized elm chairs and a great oak table fit for the majesty of the gathered Lords. Cormiss bowed deeply. Here was a being whose body understood itself, a bow that was meaningful and not one of courtesy. A bow of gratitude and not servitude. Taulmaril himself had persuaded Cormiss of the importance of the Elven cause, and once moved Cormiss was a man who's path was unstoppable. Cormiss's baritone voice broke the glens quiet "My Queen, ever do you know the hearts of your people and all people, and yet my heart can do naught else but speak its urgency. Powerful are the Elven Lords, but a power that must be harnessed. Slow are the Elves to embrace death and destruction, yet it races toward you on hooves of the apocalypse." Illacia nodded for all to be seated as silver platters of fruit and golden bowls of grown delicacies ladened the table. Cormiss would have to wait until he returned to Dragonbridge to feast upon wild boar or venison, no creature would be harmed in the Valandain forest. The great wheel turned with life and death, but one of need and never of thoughtlessness. Cormiss sat down, grudgingly, his heart ached to ride and his arm to swing for justice and victory. At least there was Elven mead, mused Cormiss, strong and magical stuff, not quite the kick as the Dwarven brew he favored in Port Dragonbridge, but rather an elixir that calmed his senses and soothed any weariness. Queen Illacia stood and addressed the court. Many Lords had gathered here from near and far. There was Lady Eleanor, the Angel of Light, standing regally in her Golden Armor, ever humble, yet a pillar of strength and dependability. The Warrior mage Kryth Kryngle standing tall along with the High Priest Tanel Soulseeker, ruler of the Forest, of ancient bearing. None could miss the presence of Hassandra Treesoul, a majestic Dryad and master Druid, Charmer of the Greatest Dragons. A sage of the earth Hassandra had tales of wisdom as endless as the leaves of the Great Oak. In the shadows stood the enigmatic Lord Sennyu Kaingiin, the Dryad Greater Angel. Master Druid and Bowmaster of great strength that could bend the deadly Elven Power Bow to pierce the hearts of the most fearsome of the overlords creatures. Trophies of Mist Monsters, Black Dragons, and Giant Krakken adorned his castle's walls off in the far island of the Mist. Tinuviel was the ambassador of the Elves, her rank of Paldin Lord attesting her great prestige. But of all the Elven court one stood out. Taulmaril. It was this mysterious Elf that moved the Lords to action. The power behind the throne, the Elf of wisdom and knowledge. The court having entered the glade bowed to Queen Illacia. In return she rose. As she stood all sound ceased. The clatter of dishes and mugs stopped. Voices trailed off. Birds stopped their singing, insects no longer buzzed. The very wind grew to a calm. All eyes went to Queen Illacia, her body covered in a gossamer sheen, an iridescence that grew to a bright glow. The glow pulsed and from her dancing arms and cupped hands a sphere of light emerged. The light erupted in a flash and then cooled to a spherical warp in time and dimension. Inside the warped sphere the Elven Lords watched images unfold. A mighty army. Vast and churning up a huge cloud of dust which shadowed the landscape in doom. Armor not of mortal blacksmiths shone on the galloping troops, thousand of weapons casting glints to blind the vision of any who dared face their wrath. Fangs, disfigured faces, ragged manes stained in blood. All bold, all strong, a roaring tidal wave of feral screams drowning out the plains of Paverrain. Behind the army only dark smoke and flames. The image faded leaving a diminutive woman hovering above the surrounding flora. The glow dimmed down and the normal blue sky and calm light returned, Illacia gently touching back down to the sweet Elven soil. She lifted her head and spoke to the stunned Lords. "Orcs, Maratasen, Giants and Nomadic Humans." "Behind great spells of blocking and great spells of speed these creatures have spewn forth from the unforgiving lands." "Know you that many of these creatures are evil, and many of them are not. Great good have the Lords of the Nomads done in their relentless war against the tyranny of the encroaching desert." "I know of their works, and mighty were the spells that have stopped the death and destruction of the expanding desert, a desert born out of the mal will of our true foe, the Overlord." "Yet these wild creatures have been driven by hardship and no longer have a sense of balance. They destroy not only evil, but everything in their way. Long did the two mighty lands, Paverain with its Coverts and the Nomadic people with their hardened warriors, stand opposed. Both grew in power but the world was at Peace. But then the Balance was broken. It is time for us to switch aspect, no longer can we bend against the winds of war. We must assume the stance of the Oak, strong in limb and tendril, and seek to shatter this horde of chaos. The time has come for the Elven Lords to unite!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hours afterward Taulmaril approached Tinuviel. Most of the Lords had long ago left via spells and wardrakes to arouse their militias and start the gears of war. A full Moon hung over the Elven forest with a forlorn weight that spoke in solitary whispers, rustling in the leaves in the dark. "My long time friend. I have no need to speak to you of marshaling your Valadain Archers or firing the furnaces of your Elven forges. Too well do I know of your preparations. But I fear the worst. The hordes are too powerful and can strike before we can defend. We must trust in more then in the great spells of our high Queen or the mighty sinews of Cormiss. Only the lady of the land can help us. Great will be my hopes that she can dance with the fickle goddesses of fate and entwine the Great Lord of time to dally with her on the Grand Ballroom floor. Time. We need more time or I fear we will be cast from these shores to wander the seas of despair." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tinuviel awoke that morning back in garden outside the Palace of Qualis. She had barely slept after hours of pouring through preparations. How could sleep come when it forebode the herald of death? Yet greater powers were at work. For Tinuviel was not the greatest of the Elven Lords. Her muse had never been one of finance or Logic. She was a bit of a dreamer and had visions of a peace between Humanity and the Elven peoples. Because of these visions she became the royal ambassador of the Elven court. Ever with the wisdom of her trusted friend , Taulmuril, the power of the Elven Lords. But she was the appointed messenger. Her role of diplomat had not been in vain for these many years. Her dealings with the other powers that be, all humans, had taught her protocol from the Grey Walled turrets of Umbria and Talthain, to the fiery independence of the Holy knights of St Raswen. She had spoken in the tents of the Great Nomad Lords and in the quiet cavernous halls of the Covert guilds of Paverain. She was happy with the peace she had achieved. No easy feat in a Realm that saw Immortals in constant conflict. Though she fought sleep fiercely a lullaby she learned as a child came to her. Realizing that this was of import, she left the palace and meditated in the Qualis gardens besides a small fountain under a young maple. Sleep came to her unbidden and unexpected. She woke to the trickle of water, tiny sparrows bathing at sunrise, splashing droplets on her cheek. She smiled and sent a summoning spell to the Stables. Her faithful Drake took flight and sped toward the gardens. She re energized her manna and reflected on the dreams she had received in those scant hours of sleep. She had dreamt of great suffering. A large exodus of Paverain men, women and children. Huddled masses crossing the great plains to flee the rampaging hordes. Along with the teeming masses, powerful humans both warriors and wizards, fled the death and destruction. Beyond the heroes of Paverain, somewhere among the writhing masses of woe and war, A tiny winged fairy stretched its arms out to her. The last of a torrent of horrible creatures coming from a box of evil. The fairy of hope. It fluttered unsure of itself, but tangible. It filled her with compassion for the fleeing Paverains. It was a sign, this slight creature who had lived amongst terrible demons and Lords of decay. This tiny creature who needed compassion could in return give more then the Great Time Lords themselves. Hope. A Dark shadow cast over Tinuviel, instinctively she leapt. Tinuviel nimbly caught the outstretched legs of the swooping Wardrake and spun herself into the saddle. Her mouth wove incantations of power to shift the portals from Qualis to Paverain. The dream had given her the sight. Here was the time the Elves needed. The broken people of Paverain, proud and still mighty. Give compassion to them, help them take refuge in Tamor Elosium. Building armies was not the only answer, rather, healing was. Give them hope and time will come, time and hope anew. "To end the suffering" she thought, the sun shone brightly as Tinuviel flew skywards. A small frail fairy creature smiled in that bright light. Hope for the huddle fleeing masses, hope for the Valadain forests, hope for a new generation of peace. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Raw power ran through M'meirr the Hungry's very being. Like his Brother Kra ThreeClaw one of the most powerful creatures in all Verana, M'meirr had torn apart his foes with sickening ease. Half monster, half cunning Nomadic diplomat, all brutal power. His allies, never able to tell M'meirr anything, had simply gestured at tales of Paverain treasures. M'meirr had torn apart keeps and castles ransacking all in his way. The trail was long of Demigod Dragons that M'meirr had beaten into submission or else just left as wrecked testaments to his supreme raw power. He relished with maniacal glee as his allies mentioned intruding magic in the Elven forest that dared protect their fleeing foes. Tamor Elosium. M'meirr spat out some grizzled piece of what was one a Marsh Monster or Black Dragon. Armies could not beat him, the only thing that saved them was the sun setting so that he could no longer see to kill. M'meirr had no fear of Ivory towers. He summoned the power that ran through his being and warped to the majestic walls of his latest victims. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Trust looked at her Valkyari Sword. It would glow faintly when enemies approached. Now that was magic, she mused. How can a sword tell her friends from enemies when she could barely discern between the two! In any case she lived by this sword as it had saved her life several times over. Not that she hadnt been thought of as dead before and not come back quite readily. It was one of the stranger things of current times, dead beings constantly popping back from the grave. Trust was close to the ruins on the outskirts of Nordaine. Her fellow knights were supposed to be nearby. St. Raswen was made up of bold adventurous knights, but by nature these arcanists and bashers zipped around Verana slaying dragons and what not fast enough to make a head spin. Castles just werent a place to get confined behind. The clank of steel just ahead of her in the darkened ruins confirmed her thoughts. She chanted a few spells to open the wards and passed through into the rubble. Her fellow Knights were there beside a small glowing blue fire, Renairdor the Elven Mageknight,Brother Kallidin,Augusta,Lady Rose, Terrific,Cillaine,Lazarus and Rosestone. Renairdor nodded at Ms Trust in acknowledgment and spoke "The meeting comes to order." weapons sprang out from the semicircle and met sword points at the center, sparks flying off of some of the more potent weapons. "Time is brief. What say you who called this meeting" From out of the darkness a branch fell in the center of the Knights. Not just any branch, but a sacred Meldorian branch intertwined with an olive sapling. The Knights grew silent. Trust whispered "A call to aid. The Elves are beset and seek help."A murmur grew among the Knights. "Aid? we are besieged by the foul armies of Talthain as well as Umbria. Aid is not possible." sang a voice in the dark. Other murmured in agreement. Renairdor's face was grave as he moved to the center to speak. "Great tides have been set in motion. The Elves came to our aid to crush the Umbrian armies at the Siege of Nordaine. For that we are thankful. And for that we have cast great magic to aid them. Yet the might of Talthain has grown as the Elves mysteriously drew back to their forests." "I am afraid Nordaine will fall if we relent. Ever have we few been vigilant against Evil wherever it breathes. I cast a vote to wait and see. Do what we can in every battle against evil, but we must send this branch back unanswered." One by one the knights cast, some in hesitation, others in earnest, but all of them in awe of the portents they had lived to see. The powerful knights of St Raswen were silent this night. Trust summoned her portal and leapt through barely discerning else around her. Scant moments later, leagues away, from a tower in Nordaine, a mail gloved hand held the branch tightly and mused at the fate of the world. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Terrapon, the Grandmaster of Magic and Paverain's great tactician soaked his wounded thigh in the elven poultices. High above the forest the sound of music and laughter rose to the cloud covered embattlement. Sounds that Lord Terrapon had no time for. Lord Terrapon, as a cultured man, knew much of the lores of others. He knew that he would recover swiftly with such healing, not to mention his own supreme strength of will. He cursed a bit at the pain that would have fallen a hardened war veteran , but he pushed through the pain back to concentrating to the issues at hand. Enough of the Paverain Nobility had escaped to please him. Aristotle the Head of Espionage, Cedric Hawkwind , Roninja the Maratasen, The True Knight Brexus and Bacar the Wizard. He was never fond of the Elves, but he had grudgingly accepted the offer of sanctuary. Too many Nomadic armies, too many thieves and assassins in the night for them to be able to regroup. Too many of his troops had fallen to the lighting attack of the Nomads, brutal in its bestial fervor. His brilliant strategic mind was already making tallies and counts. The chances were slim that they could recover and build a new army to face the Nomadic horde. Time, damn it, he needed time. They had saved 20 thousand Paverains and sped them down to a Southern Sanctuary that the elves had given them. Helmsbane held another 20 thousand. But hardened veterans did not appear overnight. It would take time, months at best to hammer them into any shape that even had a hope of defeating that ravenous horde. Terrapon looked out the window to open sky and tree tops. Damn Elves, didnt believe in iron to protect them from assassins. Trust in the Mothers magic indeed. He had to admit he hadnt been troubled in his past nights sleep, which was a welcome change from the last few years of knives in the dark. He knew fully well that the Elven Queen and her court had powerful magic. His own Nobility could possibly match it, if they could only have a protected base to strike from and werent constantly running. His own magical prowess was known and respected across Verana, and cursed if he would let a minor thing like a siege weapon bolt crushing his horse and half his leg in the process to slow him down. He had spoken with Queen Illacia the night before. She had given him great respect, which he hadn't quite expected. She had actually agreed with him on the potential to fight back, starting with the Demon that had crushed armies in its path. Already there were reports that some Nomadic basher had launched an attack at the Souther Paverain sanctuary of Calburg. Hundreds of the finest Knights rode out to strike again and again at the impenetrable hide of the monster. Of course the wounds would heal with magic in next attack of the creature so that they could never stop it. No, not quite never. Terrapon grinned as he went back to flexing his quickly recovering leg, there were more ways then raw power to stop a monster. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ M'meirr the Hungry staggered for a moment. It had all gone so easily. Another boring repeat of crushing all who opposed him. Warping in, destroy and then warping out. But suddenly something was different. It had gone well enough at first, but then M'meirr found a series of spells getting through to him. The Elves could see him, his invisibility had been removed! And as he fought the guards, his Dragon Mount was stolen. As he searched for a way to escape the ever greater amount of Guards and approaching mages casting spells at him, his weapons dissapeared. He had only placed his shield down for a moment to pick up and hurl a boulder at the pursuing troops. Gone. As he fled through the forests his very armor fell off his body and dissapeared. How could this be? He was still so strong that the guards arrows simply bounced off of him. None could withstand him. Yet as he had fought below the fortress of Tamor Elosium he saw the Elven Queen casting dispell magic and his hated enemy Terrapon casting something else which gnawed at M'meirr's mind. Too much was going wrong, he would have to flee and then warp away to recover. Yet all he could think of was Terrapon's grinning face of triumph. He couldnt remember the spell incantation to get away from these cursed guards hounding him. Hours streamed by as M'meirr remembered less and less. The Guards found M'meirr sitting unmoving in a glade with several small birds perched on his mighty head. It took a team of great horses to get the massive frame of M'meirr back to Tamor Elosium's dungeon keep. The whole way back, between spasms of insane laughter and bouts of drool, M'meirr rambled on about Paverain wiliness. It appeared that time had run out for the sanity of one of verana's greatest heroes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Time. It echoed down marble staircases, blew quietly as leaves falling in the winters chill, rippled in the sands of an hour glass and chipped off a tumbling stone down the side of a great mountain. Time. It moved along a trail of ants, carrying twig tenfold their size across the remains of rubble of a long fallen rampart, up the side of a mighty oak as a green shade of lichen, across the shore by windswept breakers splashing in perpetuity. A plaything of Gods and Children Time could be bent but never broken. The mages of the Nomadic peoples and the Elven Lords had bent time to fuel the flames of war. Two impenetrable forces marching toward the center of the world, a clash of titans. A Hammer and Anvil of the Gods beating out the drum of war. Queen Illacia and the Elven Lords had done their best to match the Great Nomadic Mages. Countless hours of spell chanting and fevered bodies wracked with Earth wrenching manna had driven the Elven army. The army itself was a glorious site. Stardrakes swooped overhead roaring their defiance. Elven chain glimmered by the thousands, with the Golden strings of Elven Bows of the Valandain archers shining. Hooves galloped and clashed among the enchanted ranks of pearl horned unicorns. A silver stream flowing from the verdant Valandain forest. Time bent, but still the Nomadic warriors, hardened from previous engagements had the edge. Battle scarred, larger, meaner, it would all come down to one moment. These two giants would cleave and fall in one swift blow. Magic pushed to such limits would end in such a suddenness that mortals could not comprehend. Only one encampment did the Elven Lords allow the Elven army. Scouts reported the Nomadic army scant leagues away. There would most likely not be another encampment to follow. It mattered little the these great armies had so much power. At this point, with so much magic being released everything was dependent on the moment. The Elven army was known. The Nomadic army was known. If the Nomad lords shifted into cover the game would play itself out again with innumerable barriers and spells. The nomads were just breaking camp on the same morn as the Elves. Time had run out, that day would change the Realm of Immortals forever. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A red dawn approaching. It was still dark with grey shadows embracing the Nomad encampment. Kra Threeclaw had collapsed to sleep scant hours ago in the dead of night. No surprise considering the leagues they had marched, driven by crackling energies of powerful Nomadic magic. Kra Threeclaw awoke with a suddenness, his claws already firmly wrapped around the haft of his great axe. The Maratasen was on his feet in the same instant scanning the horizon. He espied the distant fire beacons of the Nomadic watchtowers. Pickets setup to make certain the army slept in peace. Kra Threeclaw completed his panoramic search of the horizon and hefted his weighty axe to his eye line. He closed his eyes and let the instincts of the blade guide him. Slowly he felt it pull, slowly he spun toward the West. His heart leapt, his mane statically charging, the battle fervor was emerging as he felt the Axe lift and point toward the far western forests. The forest, the direction of his fleeing enemies and the presence of Elven magic. He knew his axe could not lie. His eyes slowly opened from his trance and followed his sinewed arm, down the leather wrapped haft, over the massive axe blade, to the horizon. Dawn was coming a scant time away, but the sun had not broken the surface. Yet a silver light was approaching, moving at blinding speed. A wave, a torrent of water was swallowing the plains in front of him, the watch tower fire beacons blinking out of existence. In the span of scant seconds this had happened. Kra Threeclaw moved to action. A deep growl from the base of his being made its way to his stretching maw. A roar, a howl erupting, blood fervor gripped him as he bellowed. The Nomadic camp erupted in response to the alarm. Warriors grabbed weapons and shook stupor and sleep from their bodies. Chaos erupted as bodies ran left and right. Warriors running, orders barked, war engines groaned as sinews pulled them to readiness. Kra bellowed again. How had this happened? He stood amazed, this was not dawn approaching in the twilight, nor was this a flood, of either nature or magic. The Silver wave approaching was a wall of steel rushing forward at breakneck speed. The Stormdrakes were the first to hit the Nomads. The hill with the siege engines went up in flames. War engines that had just been strung to loose their deadly bolts and could break battalions of mounted full plate knights, burst asunder in balls of dragon fire. Kra ran toward the approaching wave of steel, bodies falling as the Maratasen formed ranks, with arrows sprouting from their armor, between crevices, eye slits, often and at times right from the breastplates of the finest Dwarven plate. The wave of arrows darkened the now red bright flame lit sky. Kra Threeclaw counter charged, with him countless hardened warriors hefting Mithril Great Axes. The thundering wall approaching him were rampaging unicorns with mounted archers loosing silver shafts of death. The Maratasen wavered as the Unicorns slammed into them, but they held and swung back. Kra swung and clove a unicorn apart, leaping as another thundered by skewering Kra's shield man. Kra pulled a javelin from his backpack and impaled a unicorn the elf tumbling to the ground and landing on his feet. Three arrows hit Kra one in his shield and two in his blocking arm before he bludgeoned the elf. A blur of Horses and men cascaded past Kra, even his lightning reflexes mired in the thickness of this battle. More arrows thudded into him, his shield a pin cushion, slowly becoming more splintered pieces then whole. Several arrows protruded from his back, his roars of anger mixed with roars of pain as he slew left and right, a spray of gore. Time had always frozen for Kra when the frenzy took. There was no sense of the dawn breaking as silver mixed with sun and red mixed with mud. The Maratasen and the Unicorn Elven archers were evenly matched, it was a glorious feeling for Kra to meet out death on his way to meet death. Arrow after arrow thudded into him, past armor to bathe him in the glory of war. Never had he fought so savagely or faced so powerful an army. As Kra pushed through the last rank of passing war unicorn he spun to wreck more vengeance, his heart sinking for a moment. From the small hillock that he had reached he saw the last of his Brave Maratasen entangled with the Unicorns fighting to a standstill. But not so the rest of the glorious Nomadic hordes. Kra stared in disbelief as he gazed on the countless destruction of the Nomadic army. The Orcs were fleeing and being hewn down as they ran. The Mighty giants that had stomped on all who faced them now only killed those they crashed down upon, their bodies unrecognizable as they were covered in arrow shafts, blindly running and falling into their own troops. Flames and horror had befallen the mightiest army that had shaken nations and broken the very earth with its raw power. For a moment there was regret. Regret that somewhere among the powerful arcanists of the Nomads there had been a mistake. He had no doubt that the Nomadic army was the stronger, but it was magic that won the day when such mighty beings collided. Kra had never trusted that damn magic nonsense, not as one could trust good steel and powerful claws to wield it. Mourning over betrayal was not his way. Kra erased the thoughts and concentrated on willing his body which should not be upright, to move into action. A last roar, as an arrow tore through his leg another his breast, his stomach, nesting in his mane, protruding from his arms. A feral roar and a leap to death while killing as a warrior should. In mid air, covered in blood and mud Kra Threeclaw swung his axe and smiled, today was a good day to die. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taulmuril hadnt said much at the Elven Celebration. The land was at Peace. The Overlord banished, the Nomadic Hordes defeated, humans beating their swords into plows. The celebration itself was a quiet and unobtrusive gathering. The Elven Lords were radiant. Many were the guests that had joined them from all walks of Verana, sensing a time of calm. Once you have been through the adrenalin of war there can be a melancholic nature to the serenity of peace. Something missing. Taulmuril knew about that emptiness, but he also knew the secrets to keeping that inevitable void from taking over, to keep it in balance. He saw the answer in all things, the flight of the sparrow, the resonance of the bards harp, the cool grass under bare feet. Elven children chasing wind blown sprite winged bubbles, magicked from Queen Illacias hand. Taulmaril knew you could not capture or quantify the rightness, you just had to be one with it. Until the time came to part the shores of Verana for greater glory. And so for now Taulmaril took of his helm, and placed it beside his Sword with the too well worn hilt. He tipped a goblet at the trees and night breeze and at nothing in particular and set off to join the music and dancing.