A work in Progress

By Ben Toomey

Lord Titus the Third strode onto his balcony and surveyed the streets of the city he controlled, Stormcall. Titus smiled as he thought of the city’s origin. Many thought it was for the fact that the lands around the city had some of the worst storms in the land, only Titus and his family it was really after his ancestor William of the Wind who secretly practised magic and even found out to control the sky himself. A scream pierced the peaceful aura Titus had immersed himself in, he sighed as his wife screamed again even louder. Her wife was giving birth to his first son, it was a painful pregnancy when he had left her that morning she was vomiting blood into a bucket, five hours had passed and she had spent the last two and a half hours screaming in pain. Titus punched a wall in frustration barely registering the pain, Titus turned his head as he saw his steward Hester running towards him, he sighed inwardly the man pestered him far too often for his liking. Hester skidded to a halt in front of Titus and bowed deeply before him and only spoke when Titus nodded to him. Lowering is eyes to the ground the steward spoke quickly “My lord, local bandits have been attacking the lower regions of the city they’re already riding away on the plains.” Titus bared his teeth in savagery his bloodlust had been enticed and his steward flinched for the bandits who had chosen to anger his lord.

Titus and nine of his most trusted veterans rode out on the plains their horses kicking up dust behind them. His most faithful warrior Shiar suddenly whooped and drove her mount at Titus, he grinned and swerved his stallion away. Shiar was his oldest friend and the only female, not to mention one of the few elfish members of his collection of warriors, she had black hair which she let flow behind her, her skin so pale that on days when the sun was at it’s brightest you could see through her skin and see the pattern of veins and muscle. Shiar herself had bore a daughter three years ago and had already begun training the child to be as deadly as her. As the sun began to sink behind the hill of solitude Titus saw the raiders, once they were in range he and Shiar took their bows off their saddle horns and loosed three arrows each. Each arrow found their mark, a tribute to Stormcalls reputation of breeding the finest archers, however only one arrow managed to kill a bandit the rest wore thick armour to stop lethal arrows. Noticing one of their number fallen; one bandit who Titus assumed to be chief roared turned and charged at his pursuers. Titus watched as one of his own men replied to the challenge, managing to impale his enemy onto his spear, forcing the chief off his horse. The rest of the bandits howled and tried to avenge their chief, all were clad in chainmail, Titus and his warriors quickly cut through them. As the two moons of Eyaru rose into the night sky Titus and his group turned. None of them had been killed but two had been wounded by the bandit whelps as they fell.

As the party once again reached Stormcall Titus was furious once again, by now his wife would have birthed his son and he would be subjected to one of his wife’s lectures. Titus quietly laughed to himself many men believed lords could only be commanded by a king. Only the lords themselves realised that a lord could be cowed at the simple whim of their wives intentions. As he walked into the room he noticed his wife pale in the face and barely moving, only the rise and fall of her chest showed any sign of life left in her. The birthing nurse slowly nodded at Titus before continuing to wrap a small bundle in white linen. Titus finally had a son, a son who would protect his city, take control of the family’s secret heritage and ensure that his sister would be happy. Titus walked over to the cot his son had been placed in pushing the birthing nurse to the side despite her protests. He looked at the small little child and watched as the fire suddenly roared and the child cast in a golden glow. “Eleodoro,” Titus said solemnly picking up his son and looking at him once again. “Eleodoro” He repeated again with a growing grin, “The swift wind of Stormcall.”

Chapter 2

Titus smiled as the sun hit is face and he saw his twelve year old son roll out of the way of a swipe of his sword. Titus enjoyed these practise sessions; Eleodoro was very different from his sister however. Titus frowned his daughter Moyria favoured hand to hand and enjoyed sparring with her father much more. While Eleodoro seemed to disdain combat with his father, and whilst he was capable with a blade preferred the use of bow almost the complete opposite of his sister. Even yesterday she and Titus had sparred for three hours, Moyria finally winning by landing a blow that would have decapitated Titus if they hadn’t been using practise blades. She had managed to cut his neck and Titus rubbed the cut fondly as he remembered the memory. It was in that moment his son took the opportunity to escape from his reach and draw his bow and fired three shots in quick succession. The first two Titus caught with his shield with ease and for a second Titus was smug, but the third hit his shield arm and Titus’s sense of satisfaction was shattered and replaced with a bitter rage at his carelessness.

His son hid behind another pillar and Titus sighed as he loaded his training crossbow and waited. His son almost on queue then turned from around the pillar, bow strung and another arrow on the string. Before he could shoot Titus released the trigger and sent the bolt into his chest, the boy was sent flying backwards. Titus winced the boy would have a very painful bruise from the bolt, but it was all part of training. “My son you see why progress is now important, even with your insistence on long range weaponry my crossbow is much more deadly.” Titus smiled trying to impart wisdom on his son through friendly advice; to his shock his son bared his teeth at him. “Perhaps father, but I trust my own strength over newer inventions and I shall prove it to you.” Eleodoro then moved with the quickness of a snake and kicked Titus’s from under him making him fall, and moved to plunge his training dagger into one of his father’s hit points, before retreating once again behind the pillars in the courtyard.

There were rules to this session, to claim victory you had to hit your opponent in five specific hit points. Eleodoro cursed as he looked down and saw that three of his training armour plate had already been marked by his father, who had only lost one of his own hit points. Eleodoro breathed slowly to recover his composure and put a fresh arrow on the string of his bow, cursing once again after realising he now only had one dagger left, having left his other embedded in his father’s armour. Smiling Eleodoro began to formulate a plan. Titus sighed as he saw Eleodoro’s left foot sticking out from behind one of the pillars; the boy’s posture and concealment were sloppy. Slowly Titus walked over sword in his left hand and crossbow in his right, the ducked around the pillar and shot his crossbow whilst swinging his sword at the boy. It was too his surprise when he heard the ching of metal on stone and looked down to realise that his crafty son had left his boot to trick his father. Titus head the slap of the string hitting the bow and the whizzing of the arrow shooting through the air and Titus could only stand there and stagger back as two arrows one after another hit his armour.

Eleodoro ran to more cover and Titus just stood in awe at his son’s tactical mind. Without a single motion to show his pride Titus was shocked when his son stepped out in front of him bow strung arrow ready, Titus raised his crossbow to return fire, but stood in horror as the realisation hit him that he had neglected to reload, as his son shot another arrow at him. As the arrow thumped against his armour, Titus roared in rage and pride. He swung his sword at his son who barely managed to roll under the swipe, and failed to block another swipe with his bow. They were tied only one hit point left each, and with a savage cry Titus charged at his son, the little boy trembled with a little fear and then suddenly let his own war cry out thrusting his dagger into his father’s remaining hit point. Both the father and son stood awestruck, suddenly Titus moved to hug his son in a massive bear hug a huge smile of pride beaming from his face. “Keep this up boy and I’ll have to worry about my place a ruler in less than a few years” Titus said to his young son his voice overflowing with happiness and pride.

Eleodoro left the training field and went to his quarters to change into a fresh tunic and leggings. After changing he went to walk in the town, he loved Stormcall sadly his father was very overprotective and often forced Eleodoro to be escorted by several armed men, but only when they knew he was going out. He snuck past the two guards by the main castle door, by sneaking out a secret passage way hidden by a thick curtain and opened the adjacent door outside. To his surprise his fathers captain of the guard Horthringar waiting for him by the castle wall. “So where is the young prince going today then?” Horthringar said as he smiled at Eleodoro, the elderly guard had silver hair and a magnificent beard, and his armour was always nicely shined and polished, Eleodoro had always admired him as much as his father. Although he refused to ever admit that to the older man, “Just out to tour my city old man, is that not my right?” Horthringar smiled at the young boy, he had sharp grey eyes and as he talked he jutted out his jaw in open defiance. “Aye tis your right my young prince, I’ll just summon your royal guard and you should be set to explore to your hearts content.” Horthringar replied with a sly grin on his face as he saw the boy’s face drop and Horthringar had to stifle a small smile. “Oh come on please Horthringar! I’m only going to Fran’s for a while and then I’ll come straight back. I promise!” The little boy stared at Horthringar and the old man smiled, “Fine, go on boy before they catch you and tan both our hides.” The little boy simply flew as he ran into the city, the old man watched for a second before he pulled the curtain back down and walked away.

Eleodoro walked through the crowded streets of the city he loved the diversity he saw in the faces of his people. Only in Stormcall, where all races welcome in all of Asharye: men, elves, the Shirith... all manner of people except the Pack who lived in the high mountains and that was due only to the Pack’s insistence that they be left alone. The country of Asharye was divided in itself, Stormcall was only one of the five major city states in that land: Stormcall, The elven capital of Regalis, the Shirith and Gargoyle eyrie of Mistcloud Peak, The mage fortress of Byranzia and the human purist capital of Ironstorm. Not many humans liked the purists but many were forced to move into the city and be conscripted into their armies. Stormcall was a big city state but even Stormcall couldn’t hold them all or protect them all or feed them all.

As Eleodoro pondered this he turned a corner and found Fran’s house right on the corner of the Market square. Even before he knocked on the door, it swung open to reveal his only true friend staring at him, her arms folded and looking down on him. At the age of fifteen Fran was eligible to be given the title of Eleodoro’s personal first bodyguard and she was honoured. She had only received the title three months ago yet she lived her life as a bodyguard, almost like a religious following. Fran suddenly smiled as she looked down at her young lord, she rarely told him but she had nothing but the highest respect for him. It did not stop her from mocking him for her amusement however, nor did he seem to mind it when she did. Fran was quite fair for an elf her skin was a very pale white with her veins being almost a map of black lines, her eyes were a bright red, her white hair was tied up to keep her face clear from any obstructions. She wore simple clothing but today she wore a set of leather armour handed to her from her mother and emblazoned with her family’s crest of the dove carrying a branch.

They began to walk back towards the castle through the market square and passed the elven blacksmith Gynar’s shop. “Ho my lord prince!” Gynar bellowed to Eleodoro, Eleodoro hid a quick grimace at such a loud announcement but quickly waved at the elderly dwarf. Gynar was quite short for an elf, his face heavy set with wrinkles, being stocky and muscular in build and his short hair thick with a metallic grey colouring. “Ho Gynar, I have a question for you.” Eleodoro replied teeth flashing with a grin, “Of course my lord.” Gynar replied bowing deeply as he finished speaking. “Did you forge that new sword and bow I ordered?” Eleodoro asked his voice held no emotion but Gynar could see the young boy almost quivering with excitement. Gynar smiled, “I have my lord I finished them just this morning, I think now it’s about this time they should have reached the castle.” He saw the young boy slightly deflate but he could see the boy’s gratitude and almost fell over as Eleodoro pushed gold into the elderly elf’s hand. Eleodoro ran towards the castle and Fran sighed before pursuing him, the boy would most likely bump into him. Almost as soon Fran made this prediction, Eleodoro cannoned around a corner and collided with someone in a dirty black cloak.

Fran caught up with Eleodoro and saw the young boy on the floor staring at the hooded figure standing above him. With a snick of metal Fran’s sword flicked out from her scabbard and pointed it at the hooded figure’s head. The man pulled down his hood to reveal a face which was mostly hidden by a thick brown beard; his eyes were a sharp grey and held almost a canine looking resemblance. The man looked at the blade pointed at his throat and the elven girl who directed it at him; with a blur he slapped the metal away from his flesh. Fran backed away in surprise as her blade was deflected and dragged her young lord up and then shoved him behind her. Suddenly the robed man began to laugh heartily, Fran frowned at this... she didn’t like men who could simply laugh away the threat of danger. “You can lower the blade girl, I don’t know who this young fool is but I have no interest in the fact that he bumped into me” the man said in a rumbling voice which resembled an earthquake in the mountains. “I’m sorry sir,” Eleodoro said with a short bow to show his apology, “I’m Eleodoro and your name if I’m allowed to ask?” The man almost stiffened at the formal response and gave his response rather briefly, “Former General of the left, Faighur Rytashi, currently outcast of The Pack, and unspoken dishonoured guest of Stormcall.” Faighur stood taller than ever before back like a knife point and he saluted to Fran and Eleodoro. Eleodoro seemed to jump on the response his curiosity keen as always, “So Faighur, why are you dishonoured?”

Faighur laughed loudly in amusement, “Honestly boy did you not hear what I said? I am a member of the Pack! I’m a werewolf, boy it was why I was dismissed from being a General nobody trusts me enough to keep their lives in the balance. That’s how I got dismissed from the army of Highreach, with one lousy bite and my life was ruined. I never believed any of that shit about humans being pure, but it was a good job. Now all I get to do is drink at the Seer’s Gaze, pfft what a grand retirement.” Faighur started to scratch under his chin and adopted a more bitter tone as he mentioned the last piece of information about his former life. Fran took another step forward refusing to lower her sword from Faighur’s throat, “My lord step back this dishonest hound will most likely rip your throat out in an instant my lord. Werewolves cannot be trusted all dogs must be trainer or else they become rabid and must be put down.” Fran said coldly immediately locking eyes with the old man whose stare burnt into her soul, “And servants should know their place Fran.” Eleodoro snapped his voice firm, “We have no reason to not be trustful of a fellow citizen. However I’m glad that you’re trying to protect me Fran, thank you.”

Eleodoro turned to Faighur once more, “I would like to see this Seer’s Gaze you speak of old man, will you take us there?” With a wolfish grin the grizzled veteran nodded, “Well then take us there wolf man.” Faighur led the young pair through the labyrinth of streets and alleyways of Stormcall onto they reached a truly unremarkable building. Once there the werewolf reached down and knocked on a trapdoor three times and in minutes the trapdoor was pushed open and the strange trio descended into the bowels of Stormcall. The Seer’s Gaze was actually. The Seer’s Gaze was actually quite large despite its location; it spread into a large cavern, with many tunnels leading into the cavern. There were many tables spreading across the cave which had been cleared of all rocks and had been flattened as well. The main bar was at the back and was surrounded by many patrons and was manned by only one man in a robe which obscured his face. Faighur smiled and walked over to the bar and started slapping people on the back and shouted to the bartender his voice carrying throughout the cavern.

Soon Faighur had shed his grimy cloak and was the life of the party buying drinks and yelling lewd jokes throughout the bar. Elo took up after his example and soon began impressing many drunkards with his marksmanship and soon many began to bet how accurate the young boy’s aim was. Fran sat amongst the chaos and raised her eyes to the heavens, she had been ordered to protect her charge and yet here they were in some grimy underground surrounded by cravens and drunkards who were an extreme danger to her lord and yet all she could do was watch. She was kept busy as one idiot tried throwing a wine battle at Elo when he wasn’t looking and his hand was cut wide open by a quick slice from Fran’s dagger and when they tried to advance on her the air around her became a flurry of steel. Many retreated ordering more drinks too dull the pain while they nursed their wounds and injured pride.

Fran sighed deeply as she shook her head to Faighur after he tried once again to fill her mug, she should feel at ease in the Seer’s Gaze. As an elf she would be persecuted anywhere else in Virousa. Stormcall could boast that it was the city of innovation due to its inventions and tolerance of all races but Fran knew this wasn’t true anywhere else in the kingdom she once had to travel to Capella the capital of the kingdom with her mother. There Fran and her mother were spat on and punched at due to being elves, it didn’t matter that elves used to be human and were only different to humans due to their skin being pale and translucent. Even in Stormcall this human prejudice wasn’t absent her mother’s fellow warriors hated being subservient to a woman and an elf, due to this she had often had to rely on her mother for company when the other children refused to talk to her and bullied her all because of her heritage. Elo started singing from one corner of the room and Fran smiled slightly, every other child had shunned her everyone apart from Elo. Fran smiled as she watched her young lord as she remembered how he found her crying and just asked what was wrong, something so simple from a human and she finally had a friend besides her mother.

Eleodoro began dancing with a woman who was wearing nothing more than a tunic when he heard the splintering of wood as the door imploded into the room. He groaned as the heavy clank of steel boots as they stamped across the hall, there were shouts and grumbles of protest that quickly died as they began to recognise the armour and sigil of the Stormcall guards.