Hey, my name’s Nova, though I don’t know where I got it. I was an urchin, living in the streets of the greatest city in the entire world, Pelganthia, where guards chased me until they were out of breath and cursing in the elfin language. Half elf I may be, elfin never seeped into my mind like human did. My life was full of adventure every day, but always the same adventure.
I wake up with shouts in my ear, go to the market, browse the wares, steal a loaf of Haliin bread (for all of you dwarves who don’t know a pigs ear about culture, that’s bread made from every grain. It’s quite cheap), be chased by guards, and go to sleep with a full stomach. Then I’d do it all over again the next day. In fact, my face was on every wanted poster in Pelganthia! Then Lord Jen’li came with his massive army and raided poor old Pelganthia, took every living being in sight captive, and I was sold to a slave trader.
And so here I stand, hiding in a tree as the trader approaches, his leather boots making noises in the thick mud. The icy wind howls louder than the splatter of rain on my back. As he nears my tree, I can hear him cursing under his breath. He makes a scratch in a tree with his dagger to mark the trail. His long, wet, blonde hair whips his back. I hold my breath as he moves underfoot, smelling the rain, the air, me. Slinking back into the shadows, nearer the trunk of the tree, the trader looks right at me. An evil grin finds its way across his visage, the scar from a more difficult slave bulging across his right eye. All I can hope is that my face doesn’t show the fear of what will happen next that is pulsing through my body.
“I got you now, you little goblin. Come down before I shoot your ears off.” His voice was colder than the wind, dark, and I knew he would kill me as soon as I came down. As I try to think of what to do next, he pulls out an arrow from his quiver. The poison of a black widow had stained the tip, telling me that I’m dead, in the tree or not.
In a slight panic, I climb higher into the tree, its branches scraping the part of my thin waist left bare. I can hear the traders cursing below me. Not thinking about what I was doing, I climbed higher and higher, until the branches started to bend beneath my weight. There, only a few yards from the top, I stayed. I stayed until I could hear hoof beats, telling me that he was gone.
By then I was too tired to even jump down, and so I stayed. Just as I started to drift off to sleep, a vampire came flying towards me, his skin literally as white as snow, dripping wet. His eyes were oddly purple, odd because most vamps have red eyes. Only his hair had color, and you couldn’t even tell it was there, for it was as black as the night sky.
He landed on the same branch I was on, not bending it at all. He politely asked,
“What is your name?” His eyes were inquisitive, serious, almost dead, but there was a hint of hope in them. His smile was like magic, strong and loyal, and yet they still said ‘Do not fear me. Please.’ It alone gave me a small burst of energy.
“Nova, daughter of my mother the dirt and my father, the pigs waste,” I said, my sense of defiance and caution allowing my tongue to speak. “And you are?”
“My name is not important. All that matters is you. Will you come with me?” His smile was still there, acting like bait to get me to do his bidding. It was working.
“Your name is important to me,” I said with a stern face. “It will let me know whose life to make miserable if this is a trick.”
“My name does not matter, and I swear on my fangs that it is not a trick.”
If he doesn’t stop smiling soon, I may just take the bait. “Okay then, give me a lock of your hair, and I’ll come with you,” His hair. Boy am I stupid when I’m tired. He took a small gold dagger from his pocket, and with steady, gentle hands, cut off a lock of his hair about 2 inches long. I took it. It felt slimy and soft, wet and dry, and a thought came to mind. This is NOT your everyday vamp.
He offered me his right hand. I took it with my right. As soon as I did, he swirled around behind me, and with my hand in his, took hold of my waist. He was unusually warm, and tired as I was, I did not allow myself to go limp. He-with-no-name told me to start walking, and soon I could feel we were moving.
I looked down and saw the farm the trader had tried to sell me at, but to no prevail. They were growing wheat in a field a little ways behind the house, where the farmer was cutting crops in fear of losing them. He glanced up, and saw us walking on the clouds. No-Name told me to look straight ahead or he’d see us. I quickly looked at the rising sun ahead of us, and fortunately, didn’t break No-Names nose. It was a beautiful sight, pink clouds rising up slowly over the mountains covered in winter snow. Suddenly, I remembered that vamps will turn to ash in the sun, but when I looked up, No-Name was just smiling wider. Who IS this vamp?
Soon we reached the mountains. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t find our destination. No-Names staring into the distance didn’t help. Soon I could feel us losing altitude, and looked around even more desperately for a destination. None. There were solid mountains, beautiful, but frightening. No one dared to explore them, for tales of giant beasts and entrancing nymphs circulated the surrounding area. But for some reason, we were headed for the tip of a mountain.
As soon as we were about ten yards from the mountains peak, it started to become blurry. 7 yards, it disintegrated. At only 5 yards, I could see it was actually thousand-year-old pine trees. Together, they formed a shape almost identically matching that of the mountain that had been there only seconds before, which I now knew to be an illusion.
We fell into the tunnel. No-Names grip on me had tightened. The tunnel was dark, wet from the rain and obviously made from magicked pine branches. A few strays scratched my face as we slid at an increasing speed.
After what felt like miles, we almost floated to the ground beneath us. At once I recognized that we were in an elfin forest city. Cabins made from magicked trees intertwined were scattered across the vast fields. There was a marketplace on one side of the city. The fact that it was completely shut off from the sun made it a perfect place for vamps to hide, ever since King Jen’li forced them into exile. Street lamps hung beside the marble streets, and when I looked behind me, I saw that there was a 20-foot wall surrounding the city. Any area that wasn’t paved in marble was covered in stepping-stones. A huge palace sat at the end of the main road, made of pure silver and shining in the small light of the street lamps.
“Where am I?” my voice was hardly more than a whisper.
“This is one of the last Havens in the world. It’s a place where outcasts are welcomed, old kings are remembered, pasts are found… and black sheep turn white,” my guide was staring into the distance again, and it was then that I realized he was blind. Vampires don’t go blind.
We headed to the palace. Once we were there, one of the palace guards took a glance at No-Name, and then ran off. Soon the gates opened. We walked through the main hall, until we were face to face with two huge doors. They looked to big to be in the palace. A loud, strong “Enter” sounded from behind them. As we did, I saw a majestic figure sitting on the throne before me. He wasn’t a vamp, but an elf. His chin length blonde hair was almost white, his face regal and strong, but kind and gentle. He reminded me of the kings in storybooks. He simply said,
“So this is the child of the prophecy. Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you.”
