Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Soldat
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2011
This tale begins, as all the best tales do, with a simple story, and a phrase all are familiar with. Once upon a time there were only the old ones, the first children of Men. Wild and unkempt, they kept to the woods and fields, and for time immortal were the guardians of the heart trees....white-limbed, red leafed trees that were believed to hold the power of their Gods. Indeed, these trees grew distincitve 'faces' that oozed a red sap to make eyes and a slit of a mouth, marking them to the first children as voices of the old Gods. The children, themselves, were different from men of today. Narrow of shoulder and slight of body for the men; slim of waist and small of breasts for the women, with long pointed ears that were supremely sensitive to the merest touch of the wind or sound of the heartbeat of the terrified hind. They had little technology, wielding obsidian blades and dressing in the furs of animals or coarsely woven cloth, but were content for all of that.
For they possessed magic. The first children of men were friends to all of the wood which they grew up in, and could sing a song so sweet that the trees themselves would sway to their whims, creating bows that were prized in ages since, renowned for their power and accuracy in the hands of the best warriors. They could disappear into the woodlands, their bodies blending in with the surrounding woods. They could even heal with a touch and a song, willing small wounds to close, though for greater tasks the cost was correspondingly high. Be it killing a small creature or even a bit of their own life force, their greatest magics required a sacrifice in direct proportion to the gift given, with the very mightiest requiring the life of the one casting.
The first children of men were born, lived, and died with little care in the world, until the Alar came. Beneath the sigil of their seven-pointed star and bearing the mantra of the seven faces of God they drove the children of the first men deep into the woods. Once they had done so they claimed the fertile plains to themselves and building great castles and towering spires where they waged endless war against one another, splintered into a thousand tiny kingdoms, unable to sustain their unity without an external threat. The first children are greatly reduced in number, and no longer a threat to the Alar. No longer do the levies raise bow against the short-lived Alar, aside from brief skirmishes when the Alar venture too deeply into the forbidden woods. They are diminishing, as well. Never were they a species that reproduced rapidly, and too many have died in their wars against the Alar to put up more than a token resistance. Worse still, they are beginning to lose their Magic.
The heart trees, red-faced messengers of the Gods, drew up superstitious thoughts in the minds of the Alar, and over the last thousand years have been slowly but systematically eradicated by the axes and fires of the Alar. With every one that dies the first children lose a bit more of their skill. What was once common place is now only for those who are the most talented, and the greatest works are unheard of. With every year, another acre of forest is lost to the Alar, and the slow retreat continues.
Yet now there are rumblings from afar...it is said that another race of man has come, one that wields dragonfire and magic, and intends to make the Alar their slaves. Though the Alar are numerous, they lack magic, and have nothing with which to fight them. Though their swords and spears can harm the riders of the dragons with difficulty, naught can harm the beasts themselves. For while the riders are every inch of eight feet tall, strong as oxen and clad in heavy plate steel to the Alar's chain mail, they bleed like men still. The dragons are different. Their scales of many colors resist any attack thrown against them save the most heavy siege bolts, and even those draw only small wounds. Everywhere the Valerians and the Alar meet, the Alar are driven back, fleeing in chaos from the might of the dragons and the sorcery of the Valerians. The first children stay out of the fight, at first, but it soon becomes obvious that will not last forever. The dragon riders see no difference between the Alar and the first children, and kill them when they have the ability as much as they do the Alar.
A young man, a knight of one of the tiny feifdoms of the Alar, and a young woman of the first children of men are thrust onto central stage when he is lost in the woods after fleeing from the dragon riders, and she captures him. As is customary for captives of the first children, she takes him before the elders to offer up his blood to the few remaining heart trees, but the eldest of the elders commands her to stay her obsidian blade...and go with him in the search for dragons bane, a sword of the prior ages. It was said to be forged by the Gods, and lodged in the stump of the first heart tree, where the magic of the old gods is the strongest. Should they recover it, they might be able to turn back the tide of the Valerians, defeat their dragons, and perhaps, just perhaps, force a peace between their people. A balance of each will be needed to keep them safe, keep them whole, and so the two of them must travel together, though at first they distrust one another nearly as much as they mistrust the Valerians. Will this change in time?
(Cheesy plot aside...anyone intrigued?)
For they possessed magic. The first children of men were friends to all of the wood which they grew up in, and could sing a song so sweet that the trees themselves would sway to their whims, creating bows that were prized in ages since, renowned for their power and accuracy in the hands of the best warriors. They could disappear into the woodlands, their bodies blending in with the surrounding woods. They could even heal with a touch and a song, willing small wounds to close, though for greater tasks the cost was correspondingly high. Be it killing a small creature or even a bit of their own life force, their greatest magics required a sacrifice in direct proportion to the gift given, with the very mightiest requiring the life of the one casting.
The first children of men were born, lived, and died with little care in the world, until the Alar came. Beneath the sigil of their seven-pointed star and bearing the mantra of the seven faces of God they drove the children of the first men deep into the woods. Once they had done so they claimed the fertile plains to themselves and building great castles and towering spires where they waged endless war against one another, splintered into a thousand tiny kingdoms, unable to sustain their unity without an external threat. The first children are greatly reduced in number, and no longer a threat to the Alar. No longer do the levies raise bow against the short-lived Alar, aside from brief skirmishes when the Alar venture too deeply into the forbidden woods. They are diminishing, as well. Never were they a species that reproduced rapidly, and too many have died in their wars against the Alar to put up more than a token resistance. Worse still, they are beginning to lose their Magic.
The heart trees, red-faced messengers of the Gods, drew up superstitious thoughts in the minds of the Alar, and over the last thousand years have been slowly but systematically eradicated by the axes and fires of the Alar. With every one that dies the first children lose a bit more of their skill. What was once common place is now only for those who are the most talented, and the greatest works are unheard of. With every year, another acre of forest is lost to the Alar, and the slow retreat continues.
Yet now there are rumblings from afar...it is said that another race of man has come, one that wields dragonfire and magic, and intends to make the Alar their slaves. Though the Alar are numerous, they lack magic, and have nothing with which to fight them. Though their swords and spears can harm the riders of the dragons with difficulty, naught can harm the beasts themselves. For while the riders are every inch of eight feet tall, strong as oxen and clad in heavy plate steel to the Alar's chain mail, they bleed like men still. The dragons are different. Their scales of many colors resist any attack thrown against them save the most heavy siege bolts, and even those draw only small wounds. Everywhere the Valerians and the Alar meet, the Alar are driven back, fleeing in chaos from the might of the dragons and the sorcery of the Valerians. The first children stay out of the fight, at first, but it soon becomes obvious that will not last forever. The dragon riders see no difference between the Alar and the first children, and kill them when they have the ability as much as they do the Alar.
A young man, a knight of one of the tiny feifdoms of the Alar, and a young woman of the first children of men are thrust onto central stage when he is lost in the woods after fleeing from the dragon riders, and she captures him. As is customary for captives of the first children, she takes him before the elders to offer up his blood to the few remaining heart trees, but the eldest of the elders commands her to stay her obsidian blade...and go with him in the search for dragons bane, a sword of the prior ages. It was said to be forged by the Gods, and lodged in the stump of the first heart tree, where the magic of the old gods is the strongest. Should they recover it, they might be able to turn back the tide of the Valerians, defeat their dragons, and perhaps, just perhaps, force a peace between their people. A balance of each will be needed to keep them safe, keep them whole, and so the two of them must travel together, though at first they distrust one another nearly as much as they mistrust the Valerians. Will this change in time?
(Cheesy plot aside...anyone intrigued?)
