Embers of Childhood (WFB fan fic)

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Embers of Childhood (WFB fan fic)

Post by Saintofm »

You guys know the rutine: Rip her apart like it walked into a Dragon's den covered in honey mustard.

Chapter 1: The Raven.

The sun was glaring down upon the barren road as an executioner stares down their next victim. It was a dry heat, but nothing that was unexpected this time of the year. Along the dusty road, a lone couple rode along in their small wagon pulled by an old mule. Though as elves they aged with much grace, they were too old not to have the strain of life show upon them. Thin creases and small sags had developed on their cheeks, arms, and chins, while their eyes seemed weighted down with the depression of centuries of sadness.

At least they were nearing the forest soon. Despite the dangers it was reputed to hold, there was nothing these two feared there. The White Lions of Chrace, famed warriors, huntsmen, and the chosen body guard of the Phoenix King, made sure of that. When the couple first entered the woods, the fresh recruits were in the midst of some survival training. By the time the couple had come back theses warriors had returned home and the young lions left every monster more frightening then a fox food for the carrion.

One of those well fed scavengers took an eerie interest in them. It was a raven, no bigger than a house cat, but smarter than the average human, and endowed with keener eyes then any elf. It flew from tree to tree keeping watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop down and find something good. It wouldn’t be long. It counted at least twenty carts passing through here in the last day, and the ones making as much racket as those wheels this couple’s were not going to last long. Looking in the back of the cart, the couple must have known this as well and kept a couple of spares.

The moment of action would be near. It could taste the reward for its patience. Soon, but for now it waited. It busied itself pecking at a rock hard beetle for a few moments to pass the time, and then moved on. The wait had come to an end.

“Gods above us, this road needs a good fixing.” yelled an aged masculine voice. Its owner unhooked the mule and tethered her to a tree. With a deep sigh he examined the damage. “This may take a while, Magretta.”

“I needed a break anyways.” said the woman. Without a second thought she jumped off the cart and landed with a cat’s precision. “If I remember correctly, the map says there is a stream nearby. I think I’ll go fill the water skins.” said the woman. She may have been old, but she still retained her grace as she moved.

“We don’t need any map for that,” her husband said with a puff of content. “Just the same, be safe. Who knows what’s still out here, and careful with the leaves in the shape of a sword: They itch!”
The old elf muttered as he searched for his tools. When he found them he began cursing like a soldier. The cherry on top of this was the elf throwing his sand hued cloak to the ground in rage. All of his tools had been thrown out, and he would have to meticulously put them back in their case. He could have easily just thrown them into the back of the wagon, but he was quirky like that. The Raven had seen plenty of elves like this before, and could spot him from a mile away. His brown tunic was too prim and proper given the distance between settlements, and he was more concerned with his appearances to worry about the road ahead.

What confused the bird was the sound the wheals made. It was not unlike a dying weasel that had their tail caught in a trap. Every other elf that was as excessive about their pruning felt the same way of their carts. It was a compulsion they could no more fight then a mouse could defend itself against a dragon. Still, the bird’s efforts to scatter the shiny things that looked like the tools others had used to repair their carts would keep him busy for a while.

Sniffing the air, he caught the woman’s perfume and followed. If she wondered off too far, the raven’s plans would be for naught. Then the bird remembered she was carrying thick sacks the size of a crow. This was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Knowing where she was heading, the raven found a comfortable perch and waited. It wasn’t a long wait. It wasn’t a long wait to strike either.

As the woman filled the second bag, a simple bracelet fell into the stream. Panicking, she jump over after it, but it was just out of reach. It was then the raven chose to strike. Swooping in like a hawk that found a sleeping rabbit, it snatched the bracelet with ease. He landed a few paces from the woman, cawing loudly and proudly.

“Oh you little fiend, give me that.” The woman lunged for the bird but he flew a few paced back. She reached for him again, and the bird flew away from her grasp again. She did it again and again with the same result. The woman sounded out her frustration and chased after the bird again. The swift raven simply continued to fly off further and further into the woods, always within a stone’s throw of the elf. Had it a face that could accommodate it, a smile would have begun spreading. The bird kept flying until it flew into a high branch.

“Damn you bird, damn you! Give that back to me!”

The raven had some semblance of knowledge of elvin speech to know she wanted the trinket back. The game was over anyways, and so he dropped it to the ground. He landed a few paces away. Still angry at the bird, she was half tempted to throw the trinket at him, but that was her husband’s wedding gift to her all those centuries ago. As she picked it up she noticed something else a few paces from her and screamed.

Her husband bumped his head on the side of the wagon the moment he heard his beloved wife scream. Grabbing a short sword from the back of the wagon he ran towards the direction of Magretta. It didn’t take him long to reach his wife but even for a long lived race as the elves, this felt like an eternity.

Panting, he found her, cradling the lifeless body of a boy. “What is going on?” he asked.

“A raven took my wedding bracelet and dropped it over here. When I picked it up I found this boy.” Replied the startled woman

The youth was breathing in shallow wisps. His cloths were covered in scratches and large dark red stains pocked marked his shirt. Through a few sizable tears one could find left of a mail shirt that slowly fell apart. A pair of gauntlets encased the youth’s hands, with a strait sword grasped firmly in one, and an intricately curved dagger in the other.

His eyes were squeezed shut; the intensity of his bruised face made it seemed he was fighting some unholy entity in his dreams.

“A wild beast or bandits must have gotten him. Gave them a good fight from the looks of it.” said the man. "This isn't Asure armor, but its elf make. Where did he get it?"

“Do you think they may be more?” gasped the woman.

The thought did little to reassure the old man.“Get him in the cart!” her husband said quickly.

They took the youth and carried him to the cart. As with most elves, they never lost their strength or their grace till death was ready to claim them in their sleep. Pain racked the boy’s face, and let out horrid groans. Was it one of the underworld’s wraiths that haunted this boy’s dreams, or was it something else? Magretta wondered.

As she said a little prayer to the gods for aid, the raven landed near the boy, dropping a small twig with berries upon the boy’s chest.

The raven’s gambit had paid off.
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Re: Embers of Childhood (WFB fan fic)

Post by Saintofm »

My computer was in the shop for a bit but the views on here more then warent a few more chapters

Chapter 2 The Doctor
Groaning under his breath, a village doctor in the prime of his life tried to undo the damage he saw inflicted upon the boy on his operating table. No one knew where the boy was from, and he had yet to awaken to reveal his secrets either. However the child’s body told enough of the story to frighten him.

With nothing on but a well placed towel on the boy’s pelvis, the doctor almost lost his lunch from what covered the rest of his body. Only his Asure constitution kept him from spewing all over the boy. It wasn’t the fact he was covered it gashes, and infected wounds, but the fact he was so young and had scars even most veteran soldiers lacked. The nicks on the sword and dagger must have been well earned, the doctor thought, to have survived this abuse.
The worst was an area on his flesh that seemed to be chard like the flesh of an over cooked boar over an open fire. It was a largely black, and had never truly healed. The size of a gauntleted fist, it should have killed the child, but here he was. He still had a pulse that beat like a war drum, and a breath to fill his lungs, yet dead he should be.

The doctor stopped cleaning and sewing the wounds for a few moments to rest. This was what he got for hoping for a slow week. He got it, and now he had this to deal with. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his arm, and took a good look in the mirror he had next to him. He was a handsome elf and quite the lady killer in his youth. His face was more angular then most elves who had more of an oval shaped face, but that with his strong arms, deft hands, and powerful shoulders made him look even more rugged. Add an almost faded blond colored long hair, and penetrating blue eyes and he could win and break a heart in a wink of an eye; a not to uncommon occurrence these days either.
Now he just wanted to spend his days in this sleepy village, trying to forget his past. Sleepy like he was. Large stress filled bags were under his eyes, and he could make a maze out the blood shot pattern on his eyes.

Just as he had a chance to doze off, his apprentice walked in. He was a young lad, no older then the boy before him. The elf youth was young and idealistic, but was a hard worker, often falling asleep with his face firmly planted in a medical tomb. He was also smart enough to get help when needed, and the contents of the box in his hands were proof of that. Like his master, his brown hair grew out until he could put it in three ponytails.
“The alchemist had a few of these on hand. I told him about the boy, and he just handed me the whole lot.”
“Thank you Quillets. This solve should do nicely. Is his binding’s strong?”

The apprentice checked the bindings and told him so. “Master, may I ask why he his arms and legs are bound to the table?”

“This is why.” The doctor took a thin knife, and poured some of the green salve on it. Wiping thick beads of sweat off his brow, he gently placed the solvent on a festering wound on the boy’s side. Near instantly, the boy screamed in pain, his blood shot eyes opened as wide as they could without popping out. As quickly as he cried out, he stopped; his breathing now less labored then they had been before.
All of the wounds, even the most horrid of gashes, quickly filled with flesh. Within a few heart beats, the youth looked as healthy as an ox, save for a scar where the burns had once been. “I swear; one of these days that fool’s solves will kill someone before it heals them. Bring the couple into my office after you get some fresh cloths on him.”

His youthful apprentice cocked his head in confusing at the doctor. “Shouldn’t you get cleaned up first?”
The doctor looked down and smacked his forehead in response. He had his old surgical robe on, and it still had the blood stains of the White Lions that passed through only a week ago. If he went out like this, they might think he butchered the boy. After a few moments to get prepared, he went out to give the good news.

“Oh doctor, he’s been in there since sundown yesterday. How is he?” asked a visibly old elf maiden. Her equally aged husband sat next to her.

“Master Pissarree, Mistress Magretta, the boy is alive and resting.”

“Are you certain? We heard this awful scream.”

“Our local alchemist experiments with new healing agents, all of them treat the outer and inner wounds, but come at the coast of intense pain for a few brief heartbeats. I hate using it, but gang green had already begun spreading. Had I not done what I did, Panaúcla the Plague Bearer’s work would have been done. If that happened, amputation of his arm and leg would have been the only treatment.”
Magretta cupped her face with both hands as she gasped for air. Her husband held on to her with both arms with all his might. “But he is fine now?” Pissarree finally asked after a few labored breaths.

“We’ll know more when he awakens, but he should be able to walk when he comes to. A week from now he’ll be able play and fight like every boy his age. Until then we have beds near my office. You are more than welcome to use them. I will have my apprentice fetch you some food and drink. Quillets! Quillets!” There was a moment of silence, then a loud racket and the boy in question screaming for help.

“Stay here.” Said the Doctor sternly.

“Wait, Cline, let me come in.” demanded Pissarree

“Still have your old sword, master?”

“You still have those short swords?”

With a forced smile, the doctor pulled out a pair of finely crafted short swords, both strait and sharp on both sides.

“Magretta, stay here.”


“Stay here. We’ll be back soon.”

The two swordsmen entered the operating room hoping their prayers to Khaine would not be needed.
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