Chapter nine: The Battle Of The Lu�l�

Chapter nine: The Battle Of The Lu�l�

A Chapter by Greystone

"So everyone's accounted for?" Fabien nodded.

 

"There are a few who would rather come with us then--"

 

"Unless they can fight, they are not coming. Can they fight?"

 

"No, but we do have a chef, a woman who can control birds, a man who can read maps, and one who can speak five languag--"

 

"The only language I want to be hearing is the clash of one sword against another. No one else but the fighters are coming, and that is final!"

 

"What of the sharpstars with lightning in their fingers? Surely they will be a valueable asset to our cause, Mirage." Mirage thought a moment, her midnight-coloured hair blowing in front of her bright blue eyes.

 

"Those that bare parental consent are allotted to come, but I do NOT want any men who skip around the dasies screaming bar music at the top of their lungs. Understood?" Fabien nodded and made a note on the clipboard he'd taken to carrying around.

 

"And there's a shortage of swords on t--"

 

"Lady Mirage? There's a visitor here to see you." Fabien and Mirage looked at one another.

 

"Show them in, Plyn." Mirage said boredly. Then, to a dissapproving Fabien, "I'm here either way."
A moment later, a strong gust of wind blew through the cavern, blowing out the lamps. The sunlight shone on Persephone's tousled golden hair, and her now-strong green eyes sent a wave of strength to Mirage, her stormbringing tears stained the floor:

 

"Hello," Alexi said, drawing a short black sword, "We're here to help."

***

"Begging your pardon, sir, there's a visitor to see ya." Aradine smiled sweetly, her lips parting as her clean teeth shone softly.

 

"Good Morning, Phillp. Art thou cordial this fine morning?" A confused Phillp blinked, and Ariadine's silvery laughter peirced the silence. A siren's laugh is known for distracting any person as so hears it, and that was precisely the effect it had on our unfortunate Phillp.
"...Yes?"

 

"Good, Good. And who is this mysterious visitor of yours?"

 

"I dunno who she are, Ma'am. We only mention 'er 'cause of her.. ah.. unusual nature." His colourful tonesended with a wink. Arathas sat bolt upright, immediately awake, his chair tipping dangerously from the sudden motion.

 

"Unusual nature?" He intoned, raising an eyebrow in curiousity's state.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"How is this person odd?"

"It is her back, sir. To start, she hunches over, there's somewhat royal in her baring. Her words are a mite ol'-fashioned, but the more smart of us can make out her gibberish. She also carries 'round a sword, (like she could actually USE it)-- very unladylike in tha', if ya catch my drift--- but, worst o' all..." He hesitated, as though he would not go on. Ariadine and Arathas exchanged a glance.

 

"And?" Pressed the hunter, staring at him with his blue and brown eyes.

 

"...H-her eyes, Sir," Phillp stammered at last, "Theres something in her eyes. Some freaky light... I've never seen the like."

 

"Stormbringer," murmured the pair to one another, but both kept their hawk-like gaze on Phillp.

 

"We will greet her in a moment," said Arathas, the wheels of his hunting mind turning one hundred times a minute, "Offer her food and drink." Phillp turned to leave.

 

"And Phillp?"

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

His brown and blue eyes gleamed with an inner fury. "Bring me my sword."

 

Phillp saluted Arathas, and bowed his way out of the tent.

 

"Thank god he remembered to salute," observed the hunter snidely, "It was annoying as hel--" He then noticed the glare that was upon him from Ariadine's fair eyes.

 

"What?" The siren sighed and ran long fingers through her wild red hair.

 

"Oh, nevermind! Who do you think this Luëlí will desire of you-- the man fabled for slaughting her kin?"

 

"Perhaps she wishes to take revenge for those so killed? There is no greater pain then lonelyness, it may condemn even the greatest men among us to insanity. Let us focus now on a woman who now has nothing, if she travels without guard, from Phillp's description of her she is hardly clinging to her lady-like ways. Under what circumstances would you shed such a skin? To say that culture is value is under-estimating societies' views, this I know too well (though it is a heroic skin bare I in mannerisms' stead.)" He pauses. "Who do we know that has lost everything, dearest wife?"

 

She pondered his words, the purple powder on her eyes revealing itself as she blinked. "If you suggest Mirage, I should ask you how old you truly are and why you should chase a woman who can barely run. I took it from your words that she was young, filled with passion, and easilt drawn out. Do you tell me now that she has lost the Luëlí's sweet blessing and comes to us for no porpose-- save perhaps a sword to cut acrost her neck?" She shook her head, her crimson hair shaking as she moved. "I do not believe it of her. Is there is no other for our attention to be focused on?"

 

There was silence as Arathas thought again.

 

"Recall you the song of Natalia, the--" Here he borrowed Ariadine's term-- "Luëlí's guardian?" Ariadine shook her head.

 

And his rough tenor voice was let free:

" 'Natalia! Natalia!
Your Stormbringers we are!
Natalia! Natalia!
You watch us from a-far.
' "

 

"And?" Ariadine pressed him, smiling faintly as his husky base ran over the tent's threshold.

 

"You may care to notice-- it isn't 'Roses are red, violets are blue, we're sad you've died, boo-woo, boo-woo.' Its 'You watch us from a-far.' "

"I don't understand, Arathas."

 

"It is my belief that Natalia herself has come to remind of us of precisely HOW she watches them." Aria gasped, her pale hand flew to her mouth.

 

"Arathas, that's... that's impossible! She'd have to be at least three-- no, four hundred years old!"

 

"Yes, she is, but it is anything but impossible. Look at Timuir, for instance. That b*****d has been ruling this place for half a century, still alive and kicking with Armide riding around on his shoulder. And you and I both know that Natalia was Merlin's apprentice... who knows? Merlin himself lived for an age longer then Timuir does now."

 

Aria sank back into her red velvet chair, shuddering.

 

"Now let us go, dear heart," He said, offering her his hand:

 

"There may yet be blood spilt in the name of our king."

***

Natalia blew on her wrinkle-less fingers.

 

"Stormbringer." She turned to see Arathas and Ariadine, and bowed deeply, her small nose nearly grazing the floor.

 

"Captain. Lady."

 

"What can we do for you, Stormbringer?"

 

"I used to look a great deal like you, Lady," Natalia said, gazing fondly at Ariadine with a lovely grin, "untroubled; free-- But this 'watching from a-far' buisness has really taken its toll on me these past few centuries."

 

"C-call me Ariadine," Stuttered the hunters' wife, taken aback by the Queen's appearence. Natalia did not look her age, as Phillp had said she did.

 

"How old are you?" Asked Arathas, his multicoloured eyes finding their way to the iron dagger jiggling merrily on her chest as she laughed. The room shook as if it were hit by thunder as the sweet sound washed over the room.


"Old enough, lad." She replied, placing a brown hand on her slim waist, "Old enough." Natalia was clad in a sleeveless grecian dress that was dark red in colour, four golden bracelets slick with foreign languages addorned each frail-looking arm. Her skin was the colour of coffee, and pale red lips were kept company by grey-blue eyes, grey-blue eyes filled with a crackling energy that danced within them.

 

Long, silver-white hair, with bright copper streaks, reached her well-rounded curves. There was a sword scabboard, the blade itself also of iron, buckled to her side; the hilt inlaid with silver and sewn from the finest leather available. Natalia held herself with a very regal manner, and it is this manner that threw the pair off guard.

 

"As you wish to say, madam." Arathas replied, "What are you here for?"

 

"To diccuss with you what you think you are working for."

 

"I am working for my master."

 

"And what, feirceheart, is your master's name?"


"My father, of course," Replied Arathas, his brow furrowed in confusion, "Timuir."



© 2008 Greystone


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Added on December 23, 2008


Author

Greystone
Greystone

Fort Atkinson, WI



About
I've been writing for about five years. Mostly, I focus on fantasy, although to be honest I've dabbled horribly in Romance, Science Fiction, and modern-day roleplays. I enjoy drawing, painting, wood c.. more..

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