 Sign Guestbook
 View
Guestbook
Clash of
the Swords: The Power of Darkness and Light.
By: Faraz
"f_4ever" Hussain
NOTE:
All characters in this story are fictional and have nothing to do with
anything/anyone in reality. I wrote this on the way to Georgia a few weeks ago. Please do not copy and say that this is your
work. Last of all, enjoy.
Time Line:
Five
hundred years have passed since Firesky defeated the dark mage Afiral. Eighty
years have passes since Shinavar's father, Darath and nineteen of his trusted
advisors sealed away the power of darkness into their souls. Thirty years ago,
Darath and the advisors passed the seals to their children. Each of the children
succeeded their parents and are now Shinavar’s most trusted advisors, friends
and guards.
Shinavar only has one child an on her 16th birthday, she ran away.
Fifteen years have passed since then, and activity along the border of the
Kingdom Novara has increased. The king of Flamehawk, Shinavar, is worried that
there may be war. He had sent an ambassador to the capital of Novar, hoping that
he may prevent the Novarians from attacking.
Three weeks passed, and the ambassador came back with a knife in his
throat.
With war drawing evidently closer, the only thing that Shinavar can do is
mobilize his own army and send them off to the border.
Prelude:
Shinavar sat upon his throne, thinking about his daughter. Memories of her
cheerful laughter still lingered within the whitewashed marble palace. He still
remembered her to the exact detail. Wit soft, wavy black hair that hung at her
shoulders, she greatly resembled her mother. They had both had light green eyes,
sharp chins, incredibly soft pale faces, small rich red-violet lips that always
smiled and beautiful white teeth that glistened like pearls in the sunlight. His
late wife had a slightly plump structure but moved with grace and beauty as any
other court lady. But that was where his daughter greatly differed from her
mother. She had a thin and lean structure that sported powerful muscles built
for fighting. She always hated the court gatherings and mingled with the guard.
Shinavar was jolted out of his though process by one of his guards when a
messenger came stumbling into the hall.
"Your majesty, we have just received word from the border. The
Novarians have started to build siege engines!" the messenger cried out
after he caught his breath.
"Have they attempted to attack us?" Shinavar asked as he quickly
stood up from the smooth amber throne.
"No sir." the messenger replied. "But we thin that they may
as soon as they have completed the first set of their catapults."
"Guards!" the king called out as he walked down the red carpeted
stairs which had been built to raise the throne above the courtiers.
"Your majesty?" Shinavar's left-arm guard questioned.
"Send a messenger to my advisors, telling them to meet me in the war
room within the hour!" Shinavar responded.
As the guard left, Shinavar walked down the corridor that led to the war
room. He beckoned for the messenger to follow and went into a small room on his
left. The room used to be a council chamber, but due to the recent situation,
the room had been turned into a war room.
The room contained a simple wooden table which held a large map of the
front lines.
The king quickly strode to the center of the room and turned on a mage
orb. As the orb heated up and shed light which covered the entire room, the king
sat down on a miniature replica of his throne.
While he waited for his advisors to enter the chamber, he took off his
emerald studded crown and laid his head against the satin cushion which was
embedded into his seat.
He let his thoughts wander. War was inevitable and with the current
conditions within the kingdom, it was highly unlikely that he would be able to
win the war. He was old; with only a few months left to live, it hardly came as
a surprise that the seven dukes within his kingdom would be battling for the
throne. It was a pity that he didn't have any other lineage. With a nephew or
brother, he wouldn't have had to worry about a successor.
It he weren't king, it would have been quite amusing watching the dukes
trying to win the throne. They thought that offering him such petty gifts such
as their daughters, they might move up in the line of succession. Why didn't
they understand that all he wanted was his daughter to come back home. A shame
it was that the dukes try so hard for no reason. He'd probably choose one of his
advisors. They were all children of his father's personal friends; but none of
them were all too wise, they were all bloodthirsty and never turned down a
challenge. That's probably why he made them his guards for large gatherings;
they would never betray him and would guard him until each and every one of them
died.
It was true that he and all nineteen of his advisors held Novar in the
realm of darkness. If they were all to be killed by a descendent of Starblaze
and if that descendent controlled the demon cutter, then the power of Afiral,
Novar and Shavara would be unleashed upon the world. Luckily, he was the only
surviving descendent of Starblaze. So after he died, the seal that Starblaze had
created to stop Novar would never be broken....... That would be true, if
it weren't for his daughter. Where was she? Was she still alive? Was she
okay?.... Does she hate me?
Shinavar stood up, unclasped his blood red cloak and let it fall to the
floor as he sat back down. What's taking them so long? He let his thoughts stray
again; this time to the cryptic meaning of a story that his mother used to tell
him when he used to be a teenager.
Ancient legend tells that during the darkest hour of Flamehawk, a child
who controls both the power of darkness and light, an elven sorceress with the
key of knowledge, and the beautiful Alaba shall rise and obliterate the foe that
is bringing tyranny to the land. He will then set out to defeat the other two
"mists of dragonsbane" who attempt to bring chaos and destruction to
the land. His journey would be both painful physically and emotionally as he
would have to choose between darkness and the one he lo-
A hasty knock on the chamber door startled the king out of his thoughts.
He rushed to put his cloak back on. Then after repositioning himself upon his
throne, he called out "Come in!"
He was surprised to see yet another messenger enter the room. This one
more tattered and exhausted than the other. "Sire!" he cried out in a
hoarse voice which greatly resembled the bray of a horse. "I've just come
from the front lines," he continued, "the Novarians launched a
surprise attack three nights ago. We've suffered major loses; the entire third
regiment has been wiped out and the gryphons from the second have been
permanently disabled."
"What?!?" Shinavar chocked. "Just a few minutes ago,
another messenger came in saying that he was from the border and that the
Novarians had just started building siege engines."
"We've been trying to send messages from the front line for the past
week," the messenger replied. "It seems as if none of them made
it!"
"Great gods!" the king shouted as a guard came rushing into the
chamber to see what the matter was.
"Your majesty?" the guard inquired with a lifted eyebrow.
"Give the man a room and a hot meal," the king replied trying to
keep his anger in check, but failing miserably. "And assemble the council;
Now!!!"
"Yes your majesty," the guard replied as he hastily ushered the
messenger and himself out of the chamber.
"We really do need a miracle," the king said to himself as he
placed the crown back upon his shoulder length, gray-white hair and strode out
the door.
End
of prelude. Look for chapter one sometime in the future (like
I'll really bother writing it... Whatever).
|
