Location: Much like the Lord of the Rings setting, there is not much of an emphasis on the other worlds, however.
Eredor of Riverdell
Elf Prince of Rivendell, sophisticated and rather quiet. A traveler.
Profile and Features
Background/Ethnicity: Elf
Skin: Slightly tanned Eyes: Dark brown/black but they change colors depending on his mood (green/gold) Hair: Long and dark brown Face: Clean-shaven with distinct jawlines and cheekbones Body: Lean and muscularly built (almost like that of a dancer) |
Personality
Eredor is not a very talkative individual, in fact, one is lucky to hear more than five words from him at a time! His silence is generally frigid, and makes others very uncomfortable--but he rarely seems to care. The only words one can hear from him at this point is sarcasm. His silence could be a result of an earlier childhood trauma.
Eredor is a roamer and knows the streets and alleys better than the back of his hand. He is eldest son, and heir and prince of Rivendell, but he rarely flaunts his title (unlike his younger brother). If one doggedly sticks to him though, he will eventually open up. He seems to have a permanent smug look/smirk on his face around those he cares about and loves.
Eredor is a roamer and knows the streets and alleys better than the back of his hand. He is eldest son, and heir and prince of Rivendell, but he rarely flaunts his title (unlike his younger brother). If one doggedly sticks to him though, he will eventually open up. He seems to have a permanent smug look/smirk on his face around those he cares about and loves.
Likes and Dislikes
Eredor likes
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Eredor dislikes
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Important Information
Eredor keeps one decorated pin for his hair, but he rarely uses it. He also keeps two swords slung crossways across his back. Both blades are inky black and reflective. They were forged by the dwarves in the mountains near Rivendell and are thin and razor sharp. The blades are roughly 40 inches long. The handles of the swords are black and they have leather-strips wrapped handles for ultimate grip. They have absolutely no decorations. The crossguards are different--on one of the blades, it is a typical medieval broadsword's crossguard. On the other, it is a katana's crossguard, circular.
Eredor generally wears tunics and trousers. He has black leather forearm-guards.
Eredor owns a beautiful red-tailed hawk named Fiera, who has become his loyal companion. She is often perched on his shoulder or forearm, or flying above. He is rather smug around Fiera....
Eredor generally wears tunics and trousers. He has black leather forearm-guards.
Eredor owns a beautiful red-tailed hawk named Fiera, who has become his loyal companion. She is often perched on his shoulder or forearm, or flying above. He is rather smug around Fiera....
Glimpses at Eredor (AKA short stories!)
Gloomily hunched before the smoldering ashes of a fire, the figure sighed. The dark forests, the eerie howls of the wind, the occasional eyes that stared back at him: none of that bothered him. What was bothering him was the fact that it was time to switch shifts---but Aiden was still snoring away heartily. Scowling, the raven-locked young man flicked his hand and the sleeping blonde wrinkled his nose in his sleep. Throwing pebbles wasn't helping. With an irritated gleam in his eye, his black booted foot lashed out and kicked the prone figure in the shins. A couple seconds of absolute silence and a groan was finally heard from the blonde on the hard dirt floor. "What was that for?" Aiden didn't even bother sitting up---he just opened his blue eyes sleepily, peeked at Eredor, before closing his eyes and curling up again.
"Your watch," Eredor replied, before kicking his best friend again. He smirked as Aiden slowly sat up, cursing at the hard dirt-packed ground.
"Why...am I covered with pebbles?" He merely gave an innocent smile before lying down. He closed his eyes but he could still feel Aiden's eyes probing at his face. The last thing he heard before he fell into a fitful sleep was, "Eredor, where have you been?"
Aiden stared at his best friend with frustration---it had been only a few days before that he had encountered Eredor. They had been best friends since birth, playing together, fighting the other kids together, fighting with each other, etc. But in the third year of their apprenticeship to the blacksmith, Eredor had vanished without a trace. It had been a dreary cold day, the wind howling, the trees shaking from the force, and the rains that fell like buckets of water. There had been nothing abnormal about his behavior before his disappearance, and for the next six years, he always wondered, in his spare time, where the black haired lad with the laughing mischievous brown eyes had gone off to. He refused to consider the fact that Eredor might have died---but lo, living proof for his unbelieving mother that Eredor was alive. Staring again at his friend, he studied his features. Eredor had become quite handsome, chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, skin tanned by the sun. He had a dark thin scar across his right cheek. So much had changed! He couldn't even recognize him when the two friends bumped into each other in a city far from his home. There was an aura of weary skepticism about the young man: the things he must have gone through...oh the stories he could tell! If only...if only he would speak about it. During the past three days, at every available opportunity, he questioned his ex-apprentice friend about his disappearance, but all he was given were evasive answers. Curiosity burned inside of him, and he sighed at that stubborn silence.
Nightmares haunted his dreams, burning buildings, icy waterfalls, always the sounds of screams, cries, and curses in each place he stumbled. Always he was running, either towards, or away. Always he was too late. Always he was alone. He hated each and every scene and strove with every fiber of his being to change his dreams, but every night, the same ones returned to him. Eredor awoke with a start, cold sweat seeping through his clothing, his body tense and coiled. He continued to keep his breathing regular, but lay there, staring at the stars with his empty brown eyes. The two friends, right next to each other: so close, and yet so far.
~Tears (#2704) Aywas (aka Me)
"Your watch," Eredor replied, before kicking his best friend again. He smirked as Aiden slowly sat up, cursing at the hard dirt-packed ground.
"Why...am I covered with pebbles?" He merely gave an innocent smile before lying down. He closed his eyes but he could still feel Aiden's eyes probing at his face. The last thing he heard before he fell into a fitful sleep was, "Eredor, where have you been?"
Aiden stared at his best friend with frustration---it had been only a few days before that he had encountered Eredor. They had been best friends since birth, playing together, fighting the other kids together, fighting with each other, etc. But in the third year of their apprenticeship to the blacksmith, Eredor had vanished without a trace. It had been a dreary cold day, the wind howling, the trees shaking from the force, and the rains that fell like buckets of water. There had been nothing abnormal about his behavior before his disappearance, and for the next six years, he always wondered, in his spare time, where the black haired lad with the laughing mischievous brown eyes had gone off to. He refused to consider the fact that Eredor might have died---but lo, living proof for his unbelieving mother that Eredor was alive. Staring again at his friend, he studied his features. Eredor had become quite handsome, chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, skin tanned by the sun. He had a dark thin scar across his right cheek. So much had changed! He couldn't even recognize him when the two friends bumped into each other in a city far from his home. There was an aura of weary skepticism about the young man: the things he must have gone through...oh the stories he could tell! If only...if only he would speak about it. During the past three days, at every available opportunity, he questioned his ex-apprentice friend about his disappearance, but all he was given were evasive answers. Curiosity burned inside of him, and he sighed at that stubborn silence.
Nightmares haunted his dreams, burning buildings, icy waterfalls, always the sounds of screams, cries, and curses in each place he stumbled. Always he was running, either towards, or away. Always he was too late. Always he was alone. He hated each and every scene and strove with every fiber of his being to change his dreams, but every night, the same ones returned to him. Eredor awoke with a start, cold sweat seeping through his clothing, his body tense and coiled. He continued to keep his breathing regular, but lay there, staring at the stars with his empty brown eyes. The two friends, right next to each other: so close, and yet so far.
~Tears (#2704) Aywas (aka Me)
From its vantage point at the very apex of the sky, the sun shone hot, scorching the earth below it. An observer sharing its view would have cast their gaze upon a forest, shaggy with dark pines and majestic cedars, crisscrossed by the branches of massive oaks and maples. And one lone figure, making his way through, the circling dot of some flying creature following his path.
A closer look at the figure would have revealed him to be a young man, or rather elf, handsome, long-haired, with sharp and distinct features. He wore trousers and a tunic, and black leather arm guards that seemed marked with frequent wear, although well taken care of. Perhaps an ordinary figure, or perhaps not, for two things marked him distinct from the ordinary traveler he seemed, at a casual glance, to be. First, the pair of swords he wore, crossed over his back. The black, unadorned handles seemed, like him, deceptively simple, wrapped in plain black leather. They bore no jewels, no elaborately worked metal, no ornamentation on the pommel or the cross-guards, oddly mismatched. But a closer look would reveal excellent craftsmanship, and a glimpse at the blades, those thin, ink dark, razor sharp blades, would reveal that they were rather unusual swords indeed, and perhaps also their bearer. The second, was the beautiful red-tailed hawk who circled above him. From her creamy white and brown barring, to her piercingly intelligent gaze, to the proud red tail that was her namesake, she was a creature of vicious elegance, and undeniable beauty. Although he seemed to wear a permanent smirk most of the time, the elf's gaze occasionally softened into a smile when he glanced up at her.
“Hold stranger!” The elf's gaze remained distant, and faintly smug, as he glanced up at the stranger who had challenged him. Another young man, like himself, dressed in the clothes of a ranger. “You're nearing the limits of Rivendell. Identify yourself.”
“Eredor,” he said shortly, waiting, expression unchanging, as the other elf came closer.
“Friend or foe?”
“What do you think?” he asked with a smirk. The young ranger seemed a little put off by his sarcastic answer, smiling nervously.
“Sorry, we have to ask, and I'm new to this, so....” Eredor's unchanging smirk, and his reluctance to add anything to the conversation as the hapless ranger chattered and floundered seemed to unnerve him, and he cast about for something else to talk about. A glance up and his eyes widened. “Is that a hawk?”
“Yes.” At this point, he was starting to get the idea that Eredor was not very talkative, but he carried on gamely.
“Is she yours? She's beautiful!” Eredor raised his arm, and the ranger glanced at him in bafflement, until the hawk dropped her flight into a steep dive. He yelped and scrambled back a few steps, as though afraid that the hawk might attack him, but she simply back-winged heavily, just above Eredor's raised arm, and dropped onto it. Although he wore no hawking glove, the leather arm-guard he wore served just as well as protection from her claws. He looked slightly smug, as though he was perhaps proud to be in the presence of such a majestic creature.
The young ranger laughed nervously, trying to wave away his earlier fright. “Can I touch her?” he asked tentatively.
“If you want to lose a finger.” The ranger snatched his hand away, unable to tell whether he'd meant that sarcastically or not. However, his smirk made him unwilling to risk it.
“Can I go now?” Eredor finally broke the silence after it had stretched on uncomfortably long. Not out of any sort of consideration for the young ranger's discomfort, but simply because he was tired of of it.
“Oh! Yeah, ha ha, sorry, I guess I shouldn't have- kept you...” he trailed off, as Eredor swept past him without a word. He watched him leave curiously, the strangely silent young man with the beautiful hawk perched on his arm. What was it about him? He seemed to have his own purpose, but it was something he kept close to his chest. And his silent demeanor... what could make a person like that? It seemed to be a question that wouldn't be answered for him at least. Behind him, Eredor raised his arm, to let Fiera spread her wings and fly free. Within moments, the pair of them had vanished into the trees.
~Mirrorstone
A closer look at the figure would have revealed him to be a young man, or rather elf, handsome, long-haired, with sharp and distinct features. He wore trousers and a tunic, and black leather arm guards that seemed marked with frequent wear, although well taken care of. Perhaps an ordinary figure, or perhaps not, for two things marked him distinct from the ordinary traveler he seemed, at a casual glance, to be. First, the pair of swords he wore, crossed over his back. The black, unadorned handles seemed, like him, deceptively simple, wrapped in plain black leather. They bore no jewels, no elaborately worked metal, no ornamentation on the pommel or the cross-guards, oddly mismatched. But a closer look would reveal excellent craftsmanship, and a glimpse at the blades, those thin, ink dark, razor sharp blades, would reveal that they were rather unusual swords indeed, and perhaps also their bearer. The second, was the beautiful red-tailed hawk who circled above him. From her creamy white and brown barring, to her piercingly intelligent gaze, to the proud red tail that was her namesake, she was a creature of vicious elegance, and undeniable beauty. Although he seemed to wear a permanent smirk most of the time, the elf's gaze occasionally softened into a smile when he glanced up at her.
“Hold stranger!” The elf's gaze remained distant, and faintly smug, as he glanced up at the stranger who had challenged him. Another young man, like himself, dressed in the clothes of a ranger. “You're nearing the limits of Rivendell. Identify yourself.”
“Eredor,” he said shortly, waiting, expression unchanging, as the other elf came closer.
“Friend or foe?”
“What do you think?” he asked with a smirk. The young ranger seemed a little put off by his sarcastic answer, smiling nervously.
“Sorry, we have to ask, and I'm new to this, so....” Eredor's unchanging smirk, and his reluctance to add anything to the conversation as the hapless ranger chattered and floundered seemed to unnerve him, and he cast about for something else to talk about. A glance up and his eyes widened. “Is that a hawk?”
“Yes.” At this point, he was starting to get the idea that Eredor was not very talkative, but he carried on gamely.
“Is she yours? She's beautiful!” Eredor raised his arm, and the ranger glanced at him in bafflement, until the hawk dropped her flight into a steep dive. He yelped and scrambled back a few steps, as though afraid that the hawk might attack him, but she simply back-winged heavily, just above Eredor's raised arm, and dropped onto it. Although he wore no hawking glove, the leather arm-guard he wore served just as well as protection from her claws. He looked slightly smug, as though he was perhaps proud to be in the presence of such a majestic creature.
The young ranger laughed nervously, trying to wave away his earlier fright. “Can I touch her?” he asked tentatively.
“If you want to lose a finger.” The ranger snatched his hand away, unable to tell whether he'd meant that sarcastically or not. However, his smirk made him unwilling to risk it.
“Can I go now?” Eredor finally broke the silence after it had stretched on uncomfortably long. Not out of any sort of consideration for the young ranger's discomfort, but simply because he was tired of of it.
“Oh! Yeah, ha ha, sorry, I guess I shouldn't have- kept you...” he trailed off, as Eredor swept past him without a word. He watched him leave curiously, the strangely silent young man with the beautiful hawk perched on his arm. What was it about him? He seemed to have his own purpose, but it was something he kept close to his chest. And his silent demeanor... what could make a person like that? It seemed to be a question that wouldn't be answered for him at least. Behind him, Eredor raised his arm, to let Fiera spread her wings and fly free. Within moments, the pair of them had vanished into the trees.
~Mirrorstone
“You’re quite beautiful, you know,” the dwarf said, sliding into the booth opposite Eredor.
Eredor quirked a brow in response.
“Ahh, I see you do,” the dwarf continued.
“Not to be too brusque, but I was rather enjoying a quiet drink before you invited yourself to my table.” Eredor replied. “Perhaps you might introduce yourself, and… elucidate the reason as to why.”
The dwarf smiled, and it was a warm and fond thing, almost familiar. Eredor had a fleeting impulse to return it, but he did not allow it to show on his face. He didn’t have the strength to be friendly to strangers.
“I am Nar, once of Moria, but no longer. I have travelled all the ways that dwarves have travelled, and many more besides. You could say that I am familiar with your people.”
Nar placed a small, thin knife on the table between them and pushed it closer to Eredor. The metal was black, and shone like fresh blood in the lamplight. When Eredor held it sideways, he could barely see the blade, it was so thin. It was light as silk, and perfectly balanced. Eredor felt momentarily abashed for not having recognized its maker.
“What need have you of me?” Eredor asked. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you…”
“I have found that elves endure dwarves more readily when we open with a compliment. Even a seedy one.” Nar raised his hands in supplication, grin widening on his face. “I have lost something very, very dear to me, and I would like it back.”
“You were robbed? Why seek out me, and not the local men of law?”
“Not robbed as such, but what was taken away is something I would dearly like to see again,” Nar removed a book from his pocket, and with great delicacy unwrapped it from its leather case.
Eredor took it gently, and opened it to the first page. Inside was a charcoal sketch of an elf woman, with dark hair and fine ears. The next page showed her in repose, holding a child to her chest, a look of awe present in the lines of her face. With each turn of a leaf, the child grew. She was a beautiful girl, with bright eyes and an expressive mouth. Her ears grew, but never quite so long as her mother’s had been, and her hair was much wilder. There was one particularly detailed sketch of the girl braiding her bangs, tongue poking through her lips, as her stubby fingers worked.
“This is your daughter.” Eredor said, looking up in barely hidden shock.
Nar raised his shoulders slightly, “The Gods blessed me with a wife and child, and saw fit to steal both.”
Eredor could see, as suddenly as he cared to look, the lines of pain on the other man’s face.
“I never thought that I would have such boons or such curses in my life, I never thought that Minaives and I would… Please, son of kings, if not for me, then for the memory of my wife… Please bring my daughter home to me,” Nar said, the light of the hearth reflecting on his wet eyes.
“On my honour,” Eredor replied, “On my honour, I will.”
~Bette
Eredor quirked a brow in response.
“Ahh, I see you do,” the dwarf continued.
“Not to be too brusque, but I was rather enjoying a quiet drink before you invited yourself to my table.” Eredor replied. “Perhaps you might introduce yourself, and… elucidate the reason as to why.”
The dwarf smiled, and it was a warm and fond thing, almost familiar. Eredor had a fleeting impulse to return it, but he did not allow it to show on his face. He didn’t have the strength to be friendly to strangers.
“I am Nar, once of Moria, but no longer. I have travelled all the ways that dwarves have travelled, and many more besides. You could say that I am familiar with your people.”
Nar placed a small, thin knife on the table between them and pushed it closer to Eredor. The metal was black, and shone like fresh blood in the lamplight. When Eredor held it sideways, he could barely see the blade, it was so thin. It was light as silk, and perfectly balanced. Eredor felt momentarily abashed for not having recognized its maker.
“What need have you of me?” Eredor asked. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you…”
“I have found that elves endure dwarves more readily when we open with a compliment. Even a seedy one.” Nar raised his hands in supplication, grin widening on his face. “I have lost something very, very dear to me, and I would like it back.”
“You were robbed? Why seek out me, and not the local men of law?”
“Not robbed as such, but what was taken away is something I would dearly like to see again,” Nar removed a book from his pocket, and with great delicacy unwrapped it from its leather case.
Eredor took it gently, and opened it to the first page. Inside was a charcoal sketch of an elf woman, with dark hair and fine ears. The next page showed her in repose, holding a child to her chest, a look of awe present in the lines of her face. With each turn of a leaf, the child grew. She was a beautiful girl, with bright eyes and an expressive mouth. Her ears grew, but never quite so long as her mother’s had been, and her hair was much wilder. There was one particularly detailed sketch of the girl braiding her bangs, tongue poking through her lips, as her stubby fingers worked.
“This is your daughter.” Eredor said, looking up in barely hidden shock.
Nar raised his shoulders slightly, “The Gods blessed me with a wife and child, and saw fit to steal both.”
Eredor could see, as suddenly as he cared to look, the lines of pain on the other man’s face.
“I never thought that I would have such boons or such curses in my life, I never thought that Minaives and I would… Please, son of kings, if not for me, then for the memory of my wife… Please bring my daughter home to me,” Nar said, the light of the hearth reflecting on his wet eyes.
“On my honour,” Eredor replied, “On my honour, I will.”
~Bette
There! He held a hand up, feeling the talons grip tighter to his shoulder, the wing brushed his ear. He was crouched, silently, in the shadows of one of the roofs, moving a little closer to the edge. It was hard to see this late at night, but the moon lit the world below just enough that he could see the shadows darting through the streets. They were heading towards the forest. Tch, of course. The woods. He jumped from the roof, feeling Fiera tilt herself to stay in place. She was getting impatient, even daring to nip at the tips of his ears with her sharp beak. With a wave of the hand, she took off from his shoulder and began to follow the sketchy figures wandering the streets so late at night. Seeing drunkards wandering this late at night was normal, but seeing them rush through the alleyways was just too unsettling. These strangers couldn't be up to any good, right? This was supposed to be a quick stop, one night, before he moved on, but this was just too strange. The maid at the inn told him this place was quiet with no troubles, so why the shady figures racing out of town?
It was not that Eredor had a sense of responsibility to these people, just call it moral curiosity. His eyes went to the sky and he slowed down as he neared the edge of town. Fiera was circling far off in the distance. She found them. A smirk tugged at his lips and he rushed into the field, jumping over a low fence before finding shelter in the thick tree line, carefully making his way through the woods, taking every chance he could to glance up to find Fiera again. The closer he got, the higher Fiera flew, before she left the area completely. Five minutes later, she landed back on Eredor's shoulder, leaning forward and clicking her beak. The forest were dark, but up ahead, the dim light of a fire led Eredor's way through the tick underbrush, every step being as silent as a stalking cat's. Carefully, Eredor settled down in the brush, watching the shadows he had seen. No, not shadows anymore, people. What kind? Too tall to be dwarfs. Were they human? Elves? Fiera hunkered down closer to him, getting close to the crook of his neck. His fingers stroked her soft feathers, silently trying to calm her. They were fine, he could take all seven of them with his eyes closed.
"Did you get it?" One of the voices said. A women, by the sound of it. Human, no doubt.
"Of course," another one said. This one was male. He was on the shorter side, shorter than the woman was. He held out a small bag. Wait... Eredor touched his side and almost gave a curse, biting his lip. That witch! She must have taken his money when he wasn't looking. 'Town has no trouble' his ears.
They would pay for this. How, though? He never took his eyes off his money pouch, and Fiera would never let someone get anywhere close to him, much less touch him. Was it...? Yes, that was when. The maid's daughter. She gave Fiera a mouse, a live one. Eredor knew his precious companion was hungry, so he accepted the gesture. That was when the woman swiped it, when he and Fiera were both distracted. They wouldn't make a fool out of him. He knew something was up as soon as he heard the bucket fall over in the streets. Amateurs.
He didn't say a word and drew both of his swords, Fiera darting out of the brush, with her claws aimed at the eyes of the woman. Eredor jumped out of the bush. All he wanted was his money pouch, then maybe a horse for his troubles, no matter what, he would get it. These people brought it upon themselves. Thieves, the whole lot of them.
~by Dew
It was not that Eredor had a sense of responsibility to these people, just call it moral curiosity. His eyes went to the sky and he slowed down as he neared the edge of town. Fiera was circling far off in the distance. She found them. A smirk tugged at his lips and he rushed into the field, jumping over a low fence before finding shelter in the thick tree line, carefully making his way through the woods, taking every chance he could to glance up to find Fiera again. The closer he got, the higher Fiera flew, before she left the area completely. Five minutes later, she landed back on Eredor's shoulder, leaning forward and clicking her beak. The forest were dark, but up ahead, the dim light of a fire led Eredor's way through the tick underbrush, every step being as silent as a stalking cat's. Carefully, Eredor settled down in the brush, watching the shadows he had seen. No, not shadows anymore, people. What kind? Too tall to be dwarfs. Were they human? Elves? Fiera hunkered down closer to him, getting close to the crook of his neck. His fingers stroked her soft feathers, silently trying to calm her. They were fine, he could take all seven of them with his eyes closed.
"Did you get it?" One of the voices said. A women, by the sound of it. Human, no doubt.
"Of course," another one said. This one was male. He was on the shorter side, shorter than the woman was. He held out a small bag. Wait... Eredor touched his side and almost gave a curse, biting his lip. That witch! She must have taken his money when he wasn't looking. 'Town has no trouble' his ears.
They would pay for this. How, though? He never took his eyes off his money pouch, and Fiera would never let someone get anywhere close to him, much less touch him. Was it...? Yes, that was when. The maid's daughter. She gave Fiera a mouse, a live one. Eredor knew his precious companion was hungry, so he accepted the gesture. That was when the woman swiped it, when he and Fiera were both distracted. They wouldn't make a fool out of him. He knew something was up as soon as he heard the bucket fall over in the streets. Amateurs.
He didn't say a word and drew both of his swords, Fiera darting out of the brush, with her claws aimed at the eyes of the woman. Eredor jumped out of the bush. All he wanted was his money pouch, then maybe a horse for his troubles, no matter what, he would get it. These people brought it upon themselves. Thieves, the whole lot of them.
~by Dew
The day had been long and hot but, just as with every day, night eventually oozed in to take it’s place. Eredor hastily set up camp and started up a fire. The warm, licking flames always helped him to relax—and he really did need that today. There had been rumors around the surrounding towns, whispers he was just barely able to catch, about a group of criminals living nearby. Nobody had seen them or their base and lived long enough to spread the word. All that they knew about the mysterious group was the fingerprint they left behind them. Empty homes. Gutted stores. Missing livestock. Mangled bodies. As confident as Eredor was with his abilities, a group as powerful as this was not something he was willing to pit himself up against.
And yet, the night was calm and silent. As the moon rose into the sky, full and shining, he allowed himself to let go a bit. No matter what would happen, he did have that one silent moment of calm before it all shattered. It started like the distant rumble of thunder. Eredor cracked open one eye and looked around. The fire had been worn down to embers and Fiera, his hawk, was perched on a nearby tree branch. She was cocking her head and glancing all about just as he was. So she had heard something, as well. Eredor frantically took down his tent and stomped out the embers. The noise of approaching thunder was getting louder. He strapped his bag to his back and beckoned for Fiera to follow.
He didn’t know where he was running. All he knew was the frantic panic building up in his chest. Prince though he was, he was no stranger to tragedy. Flashes of memories, burnt villages and halting screams, reverberated throughout his mind. That’s what kept him going, even as the rumbling came closer. He couldn’t even look behind him. In the distance, he saw the light of a town. Under normal circumstances, that would be his haven of safety. With this group, however, it was just a beacon of impending chaos. He ducked down under twisting tree roots and just hoped, desperately and silently, that they would pass him by and he’d be able to make his escape. Fiera stood on one of the tree roots, ruffling her feathers impatiently as the sound became louder and louder. It was almost upon them—and then, all at once, it stopped.
Eredor chanced a look behind the tree. There was a wall of people, all armed and dressed in black, creeping forward. They must have been running before, but dropped to sneaking once they were close enough. Eredor tried his best to keep his breathing even and quiet. They couldn’t find him. They couldn’t find him. They couldn’t—a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him forward to be met face to face with one of the women in the group. She was built like a brick wall and her face was covered in scars.
“Well, well,” she murmured in a grating voice, “what a pretty face.” She grabbed his jaw and twisted it to the side as if he were a piece of livestock. “You’ll sell nicely.” In one swift movement, Eredor swung out one of his black-bladed swords and slipped it into her gut. She gurgled quietly and fell forward. Panic rushed through his veins and he ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The circumstances were too similar to before… the things he had seen… had endured… he couldn’t endure them again. And so he ran. It took him nearly two hours of running before he was convinced he was alone; heaving in breaths and shivering like a leaf in the wind, but blessedly all alone. Just as he liked it.
~by ResplendentChaos
And yet, the night was calm and silent. As the moon rose into the sky, full and shining, he allowed himself to let go a bit. No matter what would happen, he did have that one silent moment of calm before it all shattered. It started like the distant rumble of thunder. Eredor cracked open one eye and looked around. The fire had been worn down to embers and Fiera, his hawk, was perched on a nearby tree branch. She was cocking her head and glancing all about just as he was. So she had heard something, as well. Eredor frantically took down his tent and stomped out the embers. The noise of approaching thunder was getting louder. He strapped his bag to his back and beckoned for Fiera to follow.
He didn’t know where he was running. All he knew was the frantic panic building up in his chest. Prince though he was, he was no stranger to tragedy. Flashes of memories, burnt villages and halting screams, reverberated throughout his mind. That’s what kept him going, even as the rumbling came closer. He couldn’t even look behind him. In the distance, he saw the light of a town. Under normal circumstances, that would be his haven of safety. With this group, however, it was just a beacon of impending chaos. He ducked down under twisting tree roots and just hoped, desperately and silently, that they would pass him by and he’d be able to make his escape. Fiera stood on one of the tree roots, ruffling her feathers impatiently as the sound became louder and louder. It was almost upon them—and then, all at once, it stopped.
Eredor chanced a look behind the tree. There was a wall of people, all armed and dressed in black, creeping forward. They must have been running before, but dropped to sneaking once they were close enough. Eredor tried his best to keep his breathing even and quiet. They couldn’t find him. They couldn’t find him. They couldn’t—a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him forward to be met face to face with one of the women in the group. She was built like a brick wall and her face was covered in scars.
“Well, well,” she murmured in a grating voice, “what a pretty face.” She grabbed his jaw and twisted it to the side as if he were a piece of livestock. “You’ll sell nicely.” In one swift movement, Eredor swung out one of his black-bladed swords and slipped it into her gut. She gurgled quietly and fell forward. Panic rushed through his veins and he ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The circumstances were too similar to before… the things he had seen… had endured… he couldn’t endure them again. And so he ran. It took him nearly two hours of running before he was convinced he was alone; heaving in breaths and shivering like a leaf in the wind, but blessedly all alone. Just as he liked it.
~by ResplendentChaos
Dearest Eredor,
My hands are shaking, so I beg your pardon if a splatter of ink should mar the parchment. I am writing this letter not for a reaction, nor even in the desperate hope that my feelings are returned; I know that stooping so low as to actually care for someone such as I would be…distasteful to you. I simply cannot bear these emotions in silence any longer. All I ask of you is to spare me your scorn, or even your pity.
I love you. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I shouldn’t, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. You carry yourself with a grace and honor that I have never seen before, nor do I expect to see again. When you speak, every word sounds like the sweetest poetry. I can hear that behind those eloquent words, you hold some dreadful secrets. There was a time that I entertained the thought of carrying those secrets for you, of being the one to hold you even when the demons within threatened to overcome you, but I have come to terms with the impossibility of such a fantasy. I can only offer my most genuine wishes of peace and happiness for your tumultuous heart.
So, that is the truth. I don’t desire to push you away with my words; I simply wish for my cards to be laid bare. I loathe hiding things from you, and doubt that I am even capable of it. Please don’t avoid my gaze when we meet in the future. Please don’t hate me. I only wanted to be honest.
Sincerest apologies and sincerest love,
______
~by ResplendentChaos
My hands are shaking, so I beg your pardon if a splatter of ink should mar the parchment. I am writing this letter not for a reaction, nor even in the desperate hope that my feelings are returned; I know that stooping so low as to actually care for someone such as I would be…distasteful to you. I simply cannot bear these emotions in silence any longer. All I ask of you is to spare me your scorn, or even your pity.
I love you. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I shouldn’t, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. You carry yourself with a grace and honor that I have never seen before, nor do I expect to see again. When you speak, every word sounds like the sweetest poetry. I can hear that behind those eloquent words, you hold some dreadful secrets. There was a time that I entertained the thought of carrying those secrets for you, of being the one to hold you even when the demons within threatened to overcome you, but I have come to terms with the impossibility of such a fantasy. I can only offer my most genuine wishes of peace and happiness for your tumultuous heart.
So, that is the truth. I don’t desire to push you away with my words; I simply wish for my cards to be laid bare. I loathe hiding things from you, and doubt that I am even capable of it. Please don’t avoid my gaze when we meet in the future. Please don’t hate me. I only wanted to be honest.
Sincerest apologies and sincerest love,
______
~by ResplendentChaos