One with the Night-FICTION CONTEST WINNER
Posted: Sat Aug 03, 2002 10:07 pm
hello there, fellow Highborn! I am new to the board, but look forward to taking an active role in this great Druchii community...look for more from me in the future. Anyway, here is my contest entry. Read and enjoy, your feedback is more than welcome! 
-rage
One with the Night
The wave-cutter Corvus slid through the frigid waters off the northern coast of Ulthuan's Isles. It was a sleek, sinister ship, rigged in the elven fashion, built for speed and stealth. Manned by a small, handpicked crew, the Corvus scudded under a sky pricked with stars, riding easily over the ocean swells. A pale moon hung heavy in the windswept night; its' baleful light casting an eerie glow over the white-tipped sea. A chill wind blew from the east, giving rippling life to the pair of black mainsails.
Wavemaster Drothalion stood at the stern of his ship, keeping a close watch as the Corvus neared Windspire Channel. His eyes skimmed the water, scanning for deadly rocks half-hidden by wind-churned spray. Content that his ship was safe for the moment, Drothalion let his eyes return to the black-cloaked figure standing at the shapely curved prow. Involuntarily, a shiver went down his spine-it was rare indeed for his vessel to transport a warrior as deadly as he. The dark-clad elf was Jhor Khyon, one of Khaine's chosen.
Khyon stood motionless, looking to the east, as he had been for hours. Ghostly ocean spray had frozen on his cloak, forming a silvery second skin. Regardless of his loyalty to the Witch King, Drothalion regretted ever allowing this shadowed elf onto his ship. The tall assassin exuded a quiet malice that unsettled all onboard, even Drothalion, a veteran of countless sea battles.
"How long before we reach shore, Wavemaster."
Drothalion jumped, he had not noticed Khyon leave his post. Cold sweat broke out on his brow.
"We will arrive shortly, Lord. If this wind holds, we should enter the bay within the hour."
The assassin smiled thinly, a horrible expression.
"Good. We wouldn't want to keep our prey waiting, now would we?"
It was a rhetorical question. Drothalion swallowed in a mouth suddenly gone dry.
Khyon looked into the Wavemasters' eyes, and Drothalion felt as if his very soul was being exposed bare to the wind.
"When I go inland, you will wait a mile offshore until I return. I shall signal when you are to retrieve me. Understood?"
"Yes, m'Lord"
"Very well. I will be in my cabin."
The assassin flowed away, leaving Drothalion trembling in his wake.
***
Sealed within the privacy of what was usually the Wavemasters cabin, Khyon opened a small cloth bag and began to prepare his poisons. Crushed mandrake root was mixed with extract of yraeba leaf, powdered bloodrock with oil of vermilion. He gazed with approval at his work. They were all here-Torlissa to blind and madden, K'ylar Thun to kill slowly and painfully, Vemial to paralyze and torment...
They were called many things in the crude human tongue-Black Lotus, Manbane, Crimson Eye-but only the beauty of the druchii tongue could so aptly describe the exquisite characteristics of these most ancient of killing methods. Khyon lovingly applied the poisons to his weapons, taking care not to cut himself on their razor sharp blades.
At last, all was ready.
***
Drothalion whispered curt orders to his crew as they approached the mouth of the bay. The formidable cliffs of Chrace reared out of the night, basalt fingers grasping at the sky. The massive bluffs ringed the bay, forming a natural fortress. Atop their lofty peaks were the many guard towers of the despised High Elf kin, always on a constant alert for raider fleets. Tonight, luck was with the crew of the Corvus. The cliff shadow cast by the moon extended far into the bay, concealing the black ships' approach. The twin sails had been stowed long before; now the Corvus advanced slowly, hugging the shoreline, riding on muffled oars towards the rocky beach.
With the gentlest of nudges, the wave-cutter brushed against the beach, and in an instant, Khyon had leapt soundlessly onto the ground, vanishing into the scattered shadows at the foot of the cliff face. The wave-cutter slowly backed out of the harbor, before turning and heading out to sea.
***
Ithalmiar patrolled the high walls of Windspire Keep, the sturdy haft of his spear marking out a slow tempo on the finely carved stone as he walked his circuit. He knew dawn wasn't far off, but he longed for the first rays of the sun to break above the horizon.
A chill wind picked up, stirring the folds of his sky-blue robe. High above, clouds obscured the sickly moon, further darkening the oppressive night. Ithalmiar's keen ears pricked up as he heard the faintest of sounds carried on the wind. He listened intently, but the sound did not repeat itself. Troubled, Ithalmair continued on his patrol.
***
Two hundred feet below the High Elf guard, Khyon was making his way steadily up the cliff face. Using an ingenious system of ropes and pegs, the druchii quickly ascended the sheer rock. His ears picked up the rhythmic tap tap tap of the guard's spear haft above the moaning of the wind, and allowed himself a cold smile.
***
Out of the corner of his eye, Ithalmiar saw a flicker of movement. He turned in surprise, only to be met by the wheeet of a flashing shuriken. The throwing star buried itself in his throat, poison paralyzing his larynx, stifling his scream before it even began.
With deceptive ease, Khyon hoisted the body on strong arms over the edge of the battlement and watched it fall to the rocks below. Without another glance, the assassin made his way to the elegant ivory staircase leading down to the interior courtyards of the Keep.
***
Prince Finnuvial sat at a desk of polished marble, meticulously putting the last touches on an evening's work. With a final brushstroke, Finnuvial completed the calligraphy, his tribute to Maervial, God of Laughter and Merriment. He sat back and sighed appreciatively, letting his mind float with the quiet chords of harp music that drifted through his stateroom. He smiled in delight- it truly was grand to be alive.
***
Khyon slowly picked his way through the gardens and plazas of Windspire Keep. He avoided guards when he could; killed them quietly when he could not. Advancing through the latticework of shadows beneath a grove of Taliia trees, he approached the central sanctuary, home of Prince Finnuvial. The quiet twitter of an evening shrike sounded off to his right. Khyon froze instantly, melting into the gloom. Something about that birdcall seemed... wrong. A movement caught his eye. For an instant, the moon appeared from behind its cloud cover, and glinted ever-so-slightly off the elegant quiver of an archer. The birdcall was answered by another, and then two more.
Ambush.
Thinking like a shadow, Khyon ghosted across to where he had spotted the archer. Camouflaged by a simple gray cloak, the High Elf was almost invisible against the trunk of the tree behind which he had taken cover. Khyon glided up behind him, clapping a firm hand over the archers' mouth while simultaneously sliding a wickedly sharp dagger in between his ribs. The archer fell quietly, and Khyon quickly stripped him of his armor and robes.
***
Amaliath shivered, despite himself. The cold wind rustled through the slender leaves of the Taliia trees, whispering their secrets to the sky. He gripped his bow tightly, eyes straining for any sign of the Druchii scum that had somehow penetrated the defences of Windspire Keep. The tall form of his fellow archer, Tithaliar, appeared at his side.
"Any sign of that thrice-cursed druchii?"
"Tithaliar, what are you doing? Get back into position."
The archer died with the reprimand on his lips, staring into the fierce eyes of the assassin. Wiping his dagger on the fallen elfs' cloak, Khyon shed his stolen uniform and replaced it with his black cloak. He smiled, enjoying the hunt.
***
One with the night, Khyon slunk past the final two ambushers, and made his way to a side gate of the inner sanctuary. A single guard stood by the sturdy door, but he fell to the silent kiss of a well-thrown shuriken. Contemptible, Khyon thought, for one so near the danger of the sea to be so lax with his security. Finnuvial deserved to die-he was the embodiment of everything the Druchii loathed. Grabbing the keys from the dead guard, Khyon entered the home of the High Elf prince.
The staggering opulence disgusted Khyon-gilded tapestries hung from the walls, elegant murals coated the ceilings. Even the floor was covered with the thickest and most luxurious carpet imaginable. Khyon climbed a spiral staircase, lit intermittently by flickering torchlight. En route to the Princes' chambers, the druchii encountered the servants' quarters. Without a second thought, he slew them all, pausing to cut the rune of Khaine onto all their foreheads. He continued up the staircase, which opened up into a magnificent audience gallery. Following floor plans memorized weeks in advance, Khyon reached Finnuvials' quarters just as he rang the bell for a servant. Khyon opened the elegant curved door and entered to find the High Elf Prince seated with his back to the assassin.
"Your speed is commendable, servant. Perhaps I shall give you a promotion...fetch me fresh ink and paper, and be quick about it." Khyon walked right up to the prince and casually slit his throat. He turned to go, but his eye was caught by the graceful calligraphy lying on the desk. Flipping the paper over, Khyon wrote a quick praise to Khaine in the princes' own blood, before stealing back out the way he had came.
***
An hour afterward, Khyon stood on a rocky bluff two miles up the coast from Windspire Keep. He flashed a carefully shielded green witchlight out to sea, and was quickly answered by the double flash of Drothalions' blue witchlight. Pleased with the Wavemaster's vigilance, Khyon settled back to wait for the Corvus.
***
It was three days later. Khyon stood motionless, looking to the west, as he had been for hours. The ocean swells were gentle in the pre-dawn light, and the Corvus rode easily as they sped for the safety of Karond Kar's mighty harbour. Khyon breathed deeply, smelling the salt of the Sea of Chill. His keen eyes glimpsed the first sight of the myriad towers of the Northern Port stabbing the sky in the far distance. A blood red sun rose slowly over distant peaks, and Khyon felt his cold heart rejoice.
It truly was grand to be alive.
well there you go, my contest entry. If you liked it, great, if you didn't, tell me why! In any case, I hope to regularly submit my work to help enrich this site, so look for more of my stuff in the not-so-distant future. Anyway, thank you for reading my story and good luck to all the contest entrants!
-rage
-rage
One with the Night
The wave-cutter Corvus slid through the frigid waters off the northern coast of Ulthuan's Isles. It was a sleek, sinister ship, rigged in the elven fashion, built for speed and stealth. Manned by a small, handpicked crew, the Corvus scudded under a sky pricked with stars, riding easily over the ocean swells. A pale moon hung heavy in the windswept night; its' baleful light casting an eerie glow over the white-tipped sea. A chill wind blew from the east, giving rippling life to the pair of black mainsails.
Wavemaster Drothalion stood at the stern of his ship, keeping a close watch as the Corvus neared Windspire Channel. His eyes skimmed the water, scanning for deadly rocks half-hidden by wind-churned spray. Content that his ship was safe for the moment, Drothalion let his eyes return to the black-cloaked figure standing at the shapely curved prow. Involuntarily, a shiver went down his spine-it was rare indeed for his vessel to transport a warrior as deadly as he. The dark-clad elf was Jhor Khyon, one of Khaine's chosen.
Khyon stood motionless, looking to the east, as he had been for hours. Ghostly ocean spray had frozen on his cloak, forming a silvery second skin. Regardless of his loyalty to the Witch King, Drothalion regretted ever allowing this shadowed elf onto his ship. The tall assassin exuded a quiet malice that unsettled all onboard, even Drothalion, a veteran of countless sea battles.
"How long before we reach shore, Wavemaster."
Drothalion jumped, he had not noticed Khyon leave his post. Cold sweat broke out on his brow.
"We will arrive shortly, Lord. If this wind holds, we should enter the bay within the hour."
The assassin smiled thinly, a horrible expression.
"Good. We wouldn't want to keep our prey waiting, now would we?"
It was a rhetorical question. Drothalion swallowed in a mouth suddenly gone dry.
Khyon looked into the Wavemasters' eyes, and Drothalion felt as if his very soul was being exposed bare to the wind.
"When I go inland, you will wait a mile offshore until I return. I shall signal when you are to retrieve me. Understood?"
"Yes, m'Lord"
"Very well. I will be in my cabin."
The assassin flowed away, leaving Drothalion trembling in his wake.
***
Sealed within the privacy of what was usually the Wavemasters cabin, Khyon opened a small cloth bag and began to prepare his poisons. Crushed mandrake root was mixed with extract of yraeba leaf, powdered bloodrock with oil of vermilion. He gazed with approval at his work. They were all here-Torlissa to blind and madden, K'ylar Thun to kill slowly and painfully, Vemial to paralyze and torment...
They were called many things in the crude human tongue-Black Lotus, Manbane, Crimson Eye-but only the beauty of the druchii tongue could so aptly describe the exquisite characteristics of these most ancient of killing methods. Khyon lovingly applied the poisons to his weapons, taking care not to cut himself on their razor sharp blades.
At last, all was ready.
***
Drothalion whispered curt orders to his crew as they approached the mouth of the bay. The formidable cliffs of Chrace reared out of the night, basalt fingers grasping at the sky. The massive bluffs ringed the bay, forming a natural fortress. Atop their lofty peaks were the many guard towers of the despised High Elf kin, always on a constant alert for raider fleets. Tonight, luck was with the crew of the Corvus. The cliff shadow cast by the moon extended far into the bay, concealing the black ships' approach. The twin sails had been stowed long before; now the Corvus advanced slowly, hugging the shoreline, riding on muffled oars towards the rocky beach.
With the gentlest of nudges, the wave-cutter brushed against the beach, and in an instant, Khyon had leapt soundlessly onto the ground, vanishing into the scattered shadows at the foot of the cliff face. The wave-cutter slowly backed out of the harbor, before turning and heading out to sea.
***
Ithalmiar patrolled the high walls of Windspire Keep, the sturdy haft of his spear marking out a slow tempo on the finely carved stone as he walked his circuit. He knew dawn wasn't far off, but he longed for the first rays of the sun to break above the horizon.
A chill wind picked up, stirring the folds of his sky-blue robe. High above, clouds obscured the sickly moon, further darkening the oppressive night. Ithalmiar's keen ears pricked up as he heard the faintest of sounds carried on the wind. He listened intently, but the sound did not repeat itself. Troubled, Ithalmair continued on his patrol.
***
Two hundred feet below the High Elf guard, Khyon was making his way steadily up the cliff face. Using an ingenious system of ropes and pegs, the druchii quickly ascended the sheer rock. His ears picked up the rhythmic tap tap tap of the guard's spear haft above the moaning of the wind, and allowed himself a cold smile.
***
Out of the corner of his eye, Ithalmiar saw a flicker of movement. He turned in surprise, only to be met by the wheeet of a flashing shuriken. The throwing star buried itself in his throat, poison paralyzing his larynx, stifling his scream before it even began.
With deceptive ease, Khyon hoisted the body on strong arms over the edge of the battlement and watched it fall to the rocks below. Without another glance, the assassin made his way to the elegant ivory staircase leading down to the interior courtyards of the Keep.
***
Prince Finnuvial sat at a desk of polished marble, meticulously putting the last touches on an evening's work. With a final brushstroke, Finnuvial completed the calligraphy, his tribute to Maervial, God of Laughter and Merriment. He sat back and sighed appreciatively, letting his mind float with the quiet chords of harp music that drifted through his stateroom. He smiled in delight- it truly was grand to be alive.
***
Khyon slowly picked his way through the gardens and plazas of Windspire Keep. He avoided guards when he could; killed them quietly when he could not. Advancing through the latticework of shadows beneath a grove of Taliia trees, he approached the central sanctuary, home of Prince Finnuvial. The quiet twitter of an evening shrike sounded off to his right. Khyon froze instantly, melting into the gloom. Something about that birdcall seemed... wrong. A movement caught his eye. For an instant, the moon appeared from behind its cloud cover, and glinted ever-so-slightly off the elegant quiver of an archer. The birdcall was answered by another, and then two more.
Ambush.
Thinking like a shadow, Khyon ghosted across to where he had spotted the archer. Camouflaged by a simple gray cloak, the High Elf was almost invisible against the trunk of the tree behind which he had taken cover. Khyon glided up behind him, clapping a firm hand over the archers' mouth while simultaneously sliding a wickedly sharp dagger in between his ribs. The archer fell quietly, and Khyon quickly stripped him of his armor and robes.
***
Amaliath shivered, despite himself. The cold wind rustled through the slender leaves of the Taliia trees, whispering their secrets to the sky. He gripped his bow tightly, eyes straining for any sign of the Druchii scum that had somehow penetrated the defences of Windspire Keep. The tall form of his fellow archer, Tithaliar, appeared at his side.
"Any sign of that thrice-cursed druchii?"
"Tithaliar, what are you doing? Get back into position."
The archer died with the reprimand on his lips, staring into the fierce eyes of the assassin. Wiping his dagger on the fallen elfs' cloak, Khyon shed his stolen uniform and replaced it with his black cloak. He smiled, enjoying the hunt.
***
One with the night, Khyon slunk past the final two ambushers, and made his way to a side gate of the inner sanctuary. A single guard stood by the sturdy door, but he fell to the silent kiss of a well-thrown shuriken. Contemptible, Khyon thought, for one so near the danger of the sea to be so lax with his security. Finnuvial deserved to die-he was the embodiment of everything the Druchii loathed. Grabbing the keys from the dead guard, Khyon entered the home of the High Elf prince.
The staggering opulence disgusted Khyon-gilded tapestries hung from the walls, elegant murals coated the ceilings. Even the floor was covered with the thickest and most luxurious carpet imaginable. Khyon climbed a spiral staircase, lit intermittently by flickering torchlight. En route to the Princes' chambers, the druchii encountered the servants' quarters. Without a second thought, he slew them all, pausing to cut the rune of Khaine onto all their foreheads. He continued up the staircase, which opened up into a magnificent audience gallery. Following floor plans memorized weeks in advance, Khyon reached Finnuvials' quarters just as he rang the bell for a servant. Khyon opened the elegant curved door and entered to find the High Elf Prince seated with his back to the assassin.
"Your speed is commendable, servant. Perhaps I shall give you a promotion...fetch me fresh ink and paper, and be quick about it." Khyon walked right up to the prince and casually slit his throat. He turned to go, but his eye was caught by the graceful calligraphy lying on the desk. Flipping the paper over, Khyon wrote a quick praise to Khaine in the princes' own blood, before stealing back out the way he had came.
***
An hour afterward, Khyon stood on a rocky bluff two miles up the coast from Windspire Keep. He flashed a carefully shielded green witchlight out to sea, and was quickly answered by the double flash of Drothalions' blue witchlight. Pleased with the Wavemaster's vigilance, Khyon settled back to wait for the Corvus.
***
It was three days later. Khyon stood motionless, looking to the west, as he had been for hours. The ocean swells were gentle in the pre-dawn light, and the Corvus rode easily as they sped for the safety of Karond Kar's mighty harbour. Khyon breathed deeply, smelling the salt of the Sea of Chill. His keen eyes glimpsed the first sight of the myriad towers of the Northern Port stabbing the sky in the far distance. A blood red sun rose slowly over distant peaks, and Khyon felt his cold heart rejoice.
It truly was grand to be alive.
well there you go, my contest entry. If you liked it, great, if you didn't, tell me why!
In any case, I hope to regularly submit my work to help enrich this site, so look for more of my stuff in the not-so-distant future. Anyway, thank you for reading my story and good luck to all the contest entrants!
-rage
