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Kala's Imperial Literature competition entry 
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Blasphemer and Heretic
Blasphemer and Heretic
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This was my entry into the Imperial Literature summer story competition. Now that the competition is over, I thought I would offer it up for you all to read.

It is entitled "Tales at the Dinner Table" and I hope you all enjoy it.

-----

The hooves of the horses threw up divots of sod as thirty knights reined to a halt. The weight of their barding and the heavy armor of the riders dug grooves into the rich Brettonian earth. Late afternoon sun filtered down through the trees and dappled their armor with a patchwork of light.

Over the low hills to the west they could smell the ocean and hear the distant surf. Yeomen scouts were returning from over those hills. Their pace and demeanor suggested that they had found what they were looking for.

The lead knight removed his filigreed helm to reveal the fresh face of a young man. A triumphant smile crossed his face as he turned to his standard bearer. "Looks like we've found our quarry, eh Gaston?" he beamed with pride.

Gaston lifted his visor. His face was swarthy, but just as young. His deep voice puffed out "Perhaps so, my lord. Perhaps so." But his eyes had the same triumphant gleam. They both knew that they were about to become heroes.

Less than two hours ride to the east lay the village of La Bonté de Madame. For nearly a month now the village had been systematically raided. Of course with only a few hundred peasants there was nothing of great value that could be stolen. But the duty of every knight was to protect the weak. Young knights on their Errantry were quick to jump at the opportunity to prove their worth. It now seemed that Gaston and Auguste, his best friend in childhood and commander in knighthood, were about to make their names as the saviors of La Bonté de Madame.

The Yeomen trotted to a halt in front of them. The eldest dismounted, removed his cap and genuflected before the noble knights. He reported to Auguste with a toothless smile. "We've found 'em, m'lord. Fey folk they is, but theys not tree elves like them ones in Loren wood. Ten or so of 'em on foot and lightly armored. Theys got a little camp 'bout 'af a league up the beach wif a small boat. Coastal pirates, I’d wager."

"Not tree elves?" Auguste queried. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, m'lord. Me wife grew up near Loren. Theys not wearin' any leaves or vines. Nothin' green on em." The peasant soldier replied.

Auguste and Gaston looked at each other in puzzlement. Neither of them had seen an elf in Brettonia that wasn't firing a rain of arrows from out of Loren forest. Of course they had all heard the stories of other elves from a far away island kingdom - elves that were supposedly civilized and noble. But neither of them had ever met one of these unusual fey folk, much less engaged one in battle.

"Well… No matter… Good work, Debile. Well scouted. You and your men take up flank positions to our lance."

Gaston drew his blade. "Ready to spill some very old blood, mon ami?" His mount cantered sideways, barely restrained from breaking into a gallop.

But Auguste's expression was sly. "Let us not be impetuous. Think for a moment. We've got more than three times their number, all mounted and mostly heavily armored. We'll have them by the throat. Certainly the Duke would be grateful if we just slew these raiders and we'd be hailed as heroes. But can you imagine what would happen if we brought him live elvish prisoners from a strange land afar? Our names would be spoken across the entire kingdom. His Majesty might even grant us an audience to tell the tale."

Gaston laughed as implication dawned on him. "Ha! By the Lady, you've undoubtedly got the mind of a general, Auguste. Small wonder you were given the command while I carry the colors."

"So be it!" Auguste announced with a bright smile. He turned to his men and addressed them "Noble knights, we go now to catch ourselves some fey pirates. May they rue the day they set foot on the soil of Bordeleaux."

Three dozen voices replied "Huzzah!" Spurs bit and hooves thundered. The Brettonian cavalry rode forward to glory.

-----

Debile's count had been accurate. Ten slender figures were prodding a driftwood fire as the sun set over the bay. A dark tent billowed behind them in the sea breeze. Their small, black-sailed boat was tied on the strip of shoreline between the rocks that encircled the bay. He had also been correct in that they were elves. But instead of leaves and leather breeches, they wore black silk and cloaks of some scaly animal hide. Their weapons were refined and enhanced with sinister looking barbs. They were clearly proven not to be elves of Loren as they split logs for the fire.

"We should send Antoine and his men wide to encircle them." Auguste considered out loud as they watched the enemy over the tip of a grass-matted dune.

"Aye, and Debile will take the Yeomen to cut them off from their boat." Gaston added. "They don’t even have bows or polearms. This will be almost too easy."

Auguste smiled at his brother in arms. "Just think of the swooning maidens in His Majesty's court when we get our audience. That should offset your craving for a good fight."

Gaston flexed his wit. "Mon ami, the women in the royal court put up more fight then any warrior I've ever faced in battle!"

They chuckled as they mounted their steeds and rejoined the others. The plan was shared with the others in the retinue. Orders were given, and on a whistle from Auguste, the knights galloped over the hills in perfect concert.

The elves responded with the military precision that comes from hard training. They snapped into a formation and drew weapons. But it was all for naught. By the time they were in position they were completely surrounded by an impervious wall of steel and lances.

Gaston bellowed out orders to the hapless elves. "You are now the prisoners of Auguste de Fauconbleu, thirty-first Baron of Magritte, champion of La Bonté de Madame. Lay down your arms and make obeisance."

Auguste addressed them in the most regal tone that he had learned from his father. "You are to be held to trial for crimes against the citizens of this land. Surrender now and I shall see that you are not ill treated."

One of the prisoners stepped forward with raised hands. His ornate armor and demeanor singled him out as a leader. He spoke to his troops in a rolling, sharp dialect that seemed to tell a thousand tales with each word. "Eath graigh. Sarath than. Kya anarin au mourkhuylkyndar." The elves all sheathed their weapons and placed them at their feet.

The leader of the elves then turned to Auguste with a polite smile. "My Lord" he spoke in flawless Brettoni "Forgive my men. They know full well of their acts, as do I. My name is Adrekh of House Khalyr and I speak for these wretched souls." He released the intricate sword belt around his waist with practiced skill and lifted his sheathed blade to the knight. "I present you with my sword. We willingly submit to your authority and mean you no further quarrel this day. We will all face our judgment on the morrow, bound and shackled."

Auguste raised an eyebrow at the response. It was by far the most eloquent and respectful surrender he had ever witnessed. "Well spoken, Adrekh of House Khalyr. I receive your gracious surrender. You will be treated fairly until you are delivered to our master, Duke Alberic of Bordeleaux. Antoine, relieve them of their weapons."

As the knight collected the blades, Adrekh spoke again to Auguste. "I wonder if you would be so kind as to grant me a final favor? You caught us at the very moment that my evening meal was being laid out. Could you find it in yourselves to allow me a last repast? I would be honored if you would join me."

Auguste looked at his brother-in-arms questioningly. "Why not?" Gaston replied. "We'll get no trouble from such a small lot. Plus, I'm famished." He dismounted, rammed the standard deep into the sand and tied his reins to the post.

Auguste dismounted as well with a clatter of armor plates. He turned to Adrekh and again imitated his father's most intimidating tone. "Be warned, elf. Any treachery and you and your men will be swiftly put to a most painful death."

Adrekh smiled. "I assure you, my lord, that all the food is quite palatable and neither poisoned nor drugged. I will even share your plate and cup if you so desire. You have my solemn word of honor that you will leave my tent unharmed and well fed." The elf bowed a courtly bow, spilling long black hair over his ornate cuirass.

"Now here's an elf that knows his place as well as any peasant." Auguste thought to himself. Aloud, he gave the order for Antoine to take command while he and Gaston reveled in the hospitality of their prisoner.

------

The interior of the tent was a sumptuous, complicated pattern of interwoven canvas and silk. Sconces drove out the creeping nightfall. A beautiful lacquer table displayed a small feast that filled the tent with a spicy, appetizing smell. All the other gear in the tent was tucked away in a chest. Everything except for a skull, bleached and polished, suspended from the tent posts on an ornate iron hook. Silver bells were hung from it like a graveyard wind chime. It changed the exotic beauty of the tent into something slightly macabre.

Auguste pointed to the strange shrine. "Who is this unfortunate soul?" he inquired as he sat at the table and gathered up a plate.

Adrekh smiled. "This is my…cousin." He sat and poured a glass of wine from an etched decanter. "I defeated him in single combat. Would you care to hear the tale?"

"Do tell." Auguste encouraged. The knights were still on their guard, wary of treachery. But tales of battle had always made for the best diversion at Brettonian dinner tables.

"It is an old story that began long ago." Adrekh sliced a strip of meat from something roasted on a platter. He continued, "Many years ago, many human lifetimes, our rightful king was denied his throne. Our homeland was ripped asunder by civil war. After a long struggle, the true heir and those loyal to him - my forefathers among them - were expelled by the selfish souls who still to this day bicker and fight for political power. But my cousin's ancestors stayed and opted to remain loyal to the pretender king and that flock of squawking geese that were his courtiers."

"Auguste, this veal is beyond compare. You must try a slice." Gaston interrupted. His plate had been piled high and was rapidly being cleared.

Adrekh arched an eyebrow. "I'm pleased that you are enjoying it. If you like the veal, you should try the pheasant. The sauce is an old family recipe. In fact, I shall have some myself."

Auguste attempted to steer the conversation back to the story as he cut a slice of veal. "Please, continue. I am intrigued by your tale."

Adrehk resumed his narrative as he cut the meat from his pheasant like a surgeon. "For generations each of the divided clan had fought in countless battles for the masters of elvendom. Wars came and went and each family thought the other dead or lost to time."

"Then I was called up to a huge battle on our homeland. As the armies clashed, imagine my surprise as I spied the heraldry of House Khalyr on the tabard of an enemy officer. I decided to set that insult right even if it cost me my life. I cut my way through the clamor of war and challenged my kindred enemy. The same surprise showed on his face as he saw the same rune on my tunic."

"We fought for what seemed like hours. I was wielding spear and shield, so the advantage should have been mine. But he was trained in swordmastery, and was no slouching foe. I received a blow to the shoulder that still aches when the weather is off. But when he made that thrust, I put aside my pain and twisted at the hip. His blade caught up between my breastplate and my pauldrons. I pulled him onto the tip of my spear as he tried to slip his blade free."

Adrehk sipped his wine. His tone of voice became thoughtful. "It was the closest I have ever been to my own demise. Now he reminds me how close we are to death at each moment of our lives."

-------

The muffled sound of the surf outside was punctuated by a snort of one of the horses. There was a pause as the two knights absorbed the tale.

"'To ignore a deep wound and make a maneuver like that is a difficult deed", Gaston offered in a low voice. "It required a fortitude that I didn't think possessed by elves."

"Elves mostly just run away from Gaston!" a voice quipped from outside the tent flaps, causing a round of laughter to ripple through the knights outside. Gaston chuckled as he chewed.

But Auguste was quick to discipline them. "Hold your tongue, Antoine. Mind your prisoners." He picked a piece of fruit from a silver platter and looked Adrehk in the eye. "They mean no disrespect. Gaston has crossed blades with elves in the woodlands on our eastern border. But they have neither your noble demeanor nor your courtesy."

"Well, perhaps Sir Gaston would be inclined to entertain us with his own tale?" Adrehk inquired.

Gaston swallowed hard and chased it with wine. "I'll not do it justice in the telling, but I'll tell it all the same."

"The first time that I ever rode with my father's men was on a patrol of Loren forest three summers ago. The fey folk that once rode to battle alongside our knights have become belligerent over the last few years. My father had sent his knights to patrol the borders and protect our lands."

"It came to pass that we caught a group of greencloaks returning to the wood. Doubtless they were raiding the peasantry just as you were, Adrehk." He cast an accusing glare at the elf, who remained stone-faced and silent.

"Well, we ran down most of them in the open. Not even the fastest of fleet-footed elves can outrun a fine Brettonian war horse. But run they did! Straight for the trees they ran like a herd of startled deer. Like fools we gave chase, hoping to catch the whole lot."

Gaston's expression grew grim. "We weren't twenty paces into the wood when, by some damnable fey magic, the trees themselves came to life. The small ones rushed at us in clusters. They grabbed and tore at us with branches and roots. The big ones just stretched out limbs and threw men from their horses."

"They had a horrible mockery of faces, these trees. They creaked and groaned from holes that looked like bark-lipped mouths. Tiny eyes glowed from dark knotholes. Most of the men were thrown into a panic."

"I'll never forget the sight of my father's best man, Sébastien, being strangled by tree roots that were writhing like snakes. That man taught me how to hold a lance. He deserved better." Gaston paused and exhaled in his grief.

"But a handful of us weren't afraid" he continued, raising his chin with pride. "We kept our wits about us and formed up in a tight formation. Our lances were all but useless in the undergrowth, so we drew steel and carved our way through toward the sunlight. I've fought with a sword since I was old enough heft a blade and I have never exhausted my sword arm until that day. I cleaved no less than sixteen wooden heads that day, and I slew the least of us all. When we finally made our way to the open we had lost all but the eight of us that had banded together."

"We returned to our master - my father - bloodied and defeated. But I felt no shame in it. We were ambushed in the worst manner and, by skill of arms and the Lady's grace, we fought and lived."

----------

The three had eaten their fill by the conclusion of Gaston's tale, but none of them were quick to rise. The evening mood was simply too peaceful. The walls of the heavy tent fluttered with a stiff sea breeze. The restless sound of the surf was growing gently as the tide came in. Outside a Brettonian horse whinnied. Armor plates clanked as one of the knights moved in his saddle.

Adrehk filled their goblets with another round of wine. "Well, young Lord Magritte, it seems to be your turn. Surely you have faced death and lived to tell the tale. Now would seem to be the time."

Auguste sat back in his seat with the fresh cup. "Indeed, I have. Worse than death, in fact. I've faced damnation."

Gaston smiled. "Do you mean the incident with the daemon?"

"That's the one, mon ami. You see, unlike Gaston here, my first sortie with my father's men was during the Storm of Chaos. You've heard of this war, I presume?" Adrekh nodded in reply. "Well, it was my father's dubious honor to ride to the defense of the heathen men of the Empire when they were beset by the evil of Chaos. I was one of five hundred knights traveling to Marienburg at his side to aid the Imperial defense when a rider approached our column. It was an Imperial horseman riding to gather reinforcements from the local garrison. Apparently the enemy had crept forward under cover of night and their position was being overrun by minions of the dark gods."

"Bravely we took to the gallop, the royal colors of King Leoncouer flying before us. We made a magnificent sight. When we finally found the evil ones, they were within a breath of breaking the Imperial lines. We struck their flank like a clap of thunder. But in the heat of the battle my formation got separated from the main group."

"One by one my comrades fell to the tide of monsters and twisted mortal men. Soon I alone was left from my group. I turned to rejoin the main force when I found myself looking into the eyes of a huge daemon straight out of the four hells. He had black skin that writhed with the souls of the damned and six steel-tipped horns crowned his head. It affixed a predatory gaze upon me and snorted fire. At that moment I felt my first chill of real fear. But I knew that defeat would mean that this brute would devour my soul. So I mustered my mettle and put my trust in the Lady."

"I struck with all my might, but the creature was protected by some hell-born power. The tip of my lance wouldn’t penetrate his black skin. His counterstroke tore through my shield and left my arm numb. I was reaching to draw my sword when the daemon struck me from my saddle. All went to darkness as I hit the ground."

"The battle was over when I awoke. I later learned that my father had seen me fall. He led his men into the back of the beast. Out of one and twenty knights, the only weapon that bit into the hide of the monster that day was my family's heirloom sword, which was anointed in the Grail by my great-great-grandfather. Apparently being so wounded displeased the dark master of the daemon. It disappeared howling into the void before it could turn on them. Thus was I spared being devoured body and soul."

------

Adrehk applauded politely. "It was an amazing tale. Indeed, both of your tales were outstanding. Such fortitude you humans show. It will doubtless serve you well in your future tasks." Auguste and Gaston smiled and nodded as they soaked up the compliments.

Adrekh cocked an ear and soaked up the sounds outside. The sound of the surf was much louder and closer. Chirping crickets announced that the day was done and night had fallen in full. "Gentlemen, you have been more than gracious. I must sincerely say that I have not had a more pleasant diversion with human men. But now we must address less pleasant things. It sounds as if the tide is full and the night is high. Perhaps we should make our way to whatever accommodations await us?"

The knights rose in unison, Gaston snatching up one final sweet cake. "If we leave immediately we can make the inn at La Bonté de Madame by midnight." Auguste said. "My dear Adrehk, you have been a most gracious host. I will henceforth judge all elves by your noble actions. The savages of Loren seem as unrefined peasants in your company. The meal was excellent and the conversation was most enjoyable. I will do my best to ensure that you are well treated in your captivity."

Adrekh bowed again at the tent flap. "It was my pleasure, gentlemen. I couldn't have thought of a better way to spend the time. But perhaps I can entertain you with one final tale? I'm sure you will find great humor in this." He pulled aside the heavy drapes that separated them from the open air.

A cold chill washed over Auguste, invading his armor. Gaston dropped his muffin. Arrayed before them were the other knights, bound and gagged on their knees. Each one was wrapped in the scaly cloaks of the elves to prevent their armor from making noise. Standing over them were dozens of the dark elves swathed in black. Their weapons were drawn and strange, intricate crossbows held at the ready. The knight's horses were being held by the bridle, keeping them calm and quiet. Some distance away they could see the bodies of the Yeomen riddled with crossbow bolts.

Auguste went pale, stunned at the utter stealth and superhuman coordination of the whole operation. He turned his spinning head to the sea.

The moon glowed pale and beautiful as it rose above the Brettonian bay. The clear night sky was like a curtain of jewels set in blue velvet. The sea, now at full tide, had risen close to the camp. It churned against the rocks that encircled the bay. The dark waters were seething with hundreds of black boats like the one they had first seen. Each one slid up the white sands and disembarked its cargo of raiders, warriors and pirates before slipping back into the water for another run. Landfalls and footfalls were covered by the sound of the breaking waves. Those already on shore were headed inland toward La Bonté de Madame.

In the depths of the bay, the blue velvet of the night sky was broken by a sinister silhouette that towered above the waves - a dark castle floating on the sea.

"My final tale," Adrekh said with new coldness in his voice, "is that of a young lord, the son of a nobleman, who is lulled into the ruse of his enemy and spends the rest of his short days toiling in the mines of Hag Graef. We will all face our judgment on the morrow, good sir knight, bound and shackled."

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Sun Sep 03, 2006 7:56 pm
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This is one example of a very good story. Really.
I also like the end very mutch. It's... well... darkelfish...

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Wed Sep 06, 2006 4:51 pm
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Nice and evil and just a taster of why ambition should be left to the inteligent.

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Sat Sep 16, 2006 11:43 am
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This is probably the best fanwritten story I've ever read, beats a few shortstories read in books as well.
Marvelous!

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Sat Sep 23, 2006 6:23 pm
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This story is awesom, its realy druchii, I like the end to, I like to read more of your story's. keep up the good word ;)

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Sat Aug 11, 2007 1:06 pm
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That was a great story. Although I knew how the story was going to end, it was one of the best stories I've ever read.

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Sat Aug 11, 2007 1:28 pm
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Quote:
Young knights on their Errantry

Should be: young knights on their Errand.

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Sat Aug 11, 2007 11:59 pm
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Amazing story. So Druchii.


Sun Aug 12, 2007 3:56 pm
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That story delivers the sneakier than skaven, tricky little elven, cruel hearted traps that is the druchii way.

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Mon Aug 13, 2007 12:43 am
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brilliant. Do you have somthing against bretonia coz ive read a few of your storys and they all end up dead or captured.
not that i care !evil!


Sun Nov 25, 2007 6:27 pm
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Damnation wrote:
Quote:
Young knights on their Errantry

Should be: young knights on their Errand.


There errantry is the time in which a knight errant does bold deeds and such to make it the the rank of knight of the realm.

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Sun Nov 25, 2007 7:22 pm
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Awesome story. I was waiting for the elves to do something big at the end. You also made the Brettonian knights sound like you would think they would sound.

When Adrekh said he had a funny story at the end i was like "Here is comes....Get ready for it...BAM!"

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Gaston dropped his muffin

I laughed so hard at this.

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Sun Nov 25, 2007 11:33 pm
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I just knew there was something wrong with the DE's attitude, and I was expecting a surprise such as the end. Very entertaining, gj.


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Please do not resurrect threads that are almost 3 years old.

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