Reawakening of the Alderfolk

[Rig 17591]

 

 

Kairn Ithelanen sat before his two allies, his weathered, beaten features betraying his years. There may have been such a time where he maintained a regal look, when the world was all but his. Land, riches, and intangible sorcerers gifts. He was a king, a triumvir, the Bronze Lord. It was only natural that he acted, looked, and spoke in the manner of one. Those were times when he cared, though. Now he was a nigh-broken man, but one with renewed vigor and purpose had found him once again.

 

 As worn as his body was, time had done worse to his mind. It was even evident to him that he was mad; every day he questioned whether such knowledge made him sane. His thoughts split frequently, ghosts haunted him, the past was never very far away, yet there was something to hold on to: a thread. This thread came from what was eons ago, but what was also so familiar that it was the only truth he could discern among the life of lives that he now lived.

 

Once they saw our world in decay, they thereafter burdened it upon me and made me king ages ago. I became the pack leader by the will of all I put down in its place; and what I directed them to do was done as per my desire.

 

Yes. Decades, maybe centuries, ago such a call had roused him to action. Elvendom had fallen into the depths of corruption and degeneracy, its weakness causing it to rot from the inside as if it were a door one sharp kick from caving in. First he had ripped it asunder, next he had gathered the shredded pieces, and finally he had made it anew, made it in the vision that he was called to exact. It was a good dream, if ephemeral, but what could be more tempting than the prospect of immortality, the thought that one could create, or even be, something that could never die?

 

Such thoughts consumed him, but never for long. He suddenly found himself looking around the woods where he and his two comrades had been residing for some time. The sun had begun to set, and the falling autumn leaves allowed the sinking rays of sunlight to pierce through the forest cover. Night was approaching, and his allies had taken to making a fire without him. They were some ways away, but he didn’t mind the walk. The sounds of the forest- the animals running, the birds chirping, the winds rustling the leaves- all calmed him, allowed his mind to be free of his afflicted consciousness. Thus he walked, and as he walked he hummed a song, one whose words he had forgotten but whose tune had been imprinted in him since he was a child. After a short amount of time, he reached the camp his friends had made. The two sat beside the fire, sharing a meal and laughing over something that he couldn’t make out.

 

The first of the men was his son, Galar, a muscular, tall lad who took after seemingly all his family except for his father. He had not seen the boy since he was a child, and seventy years of separation had made the two men distant, but Galar was a good fighter, if rash and prone to cruelties. Even though he had only spent a few weeks with the lad, he wasn’t a hard one to figure out. He held little love for his father: It was clear a challenge was to come tonight.

 

The second of the men was a truer friend, Lyemar Aureon. He too knew the truth of ruling– the taste of glory, the pain of war, the fear of failure. While he had led his people through war, the man wasn’t a fighter in nature. His prowess and ability lay in his mind, for it would succeed where his strength wouldn’t. He was a crafty man on his own; but one to make change within, not force it by his hand. Lyemar would follow the victor tonight.

 

“Care for a plate, father?” asked Galar, offering Kairn a covered tray. “You were out there for ages, so we decided to go ahead and make dinner. Next time, though, if you’re going to call us out for a meeting, might as well, y’know, be awake for it,” he laughed, elbowing Lyemar in the side and eliciting a chuckle from the man.

 

Kairn grunted in response, taking the plate and sitting down. Son or not, he would enjoy beating the child as he had done to so many others while he was in the army. 

 

“Don’t tease, Galar,” Lyemar chided, stifling a grin himself. “But, in all seriousness, what did you call us for?” he asked Kairn, lazily leaning back on a log as he looked up to the man.

 

Is it not evident enough? Do the misdeeds of what we had both created and stewarded over appear before blind eyes? Kairn wished to scream these words and to grab Lyemar by the collar and let him hear the truth but such violence was unbecoming. There was a new way, a better way, or so he had been trying to tell them.

 

“Over a century ago the state of our people forced my hand into action. By my hand, and by the hands of Khaine Csarathaire and Belestram Sylvaeri; a greater Dominion was forged from the ashes of the malformations we cast down. I thought we had ensured a new golden age for our people, but to my… grief… it seems that history now repeats itself,” Kairn began, rising to his feet and looking to the flames below him. They had begun to subside. Time, the most abundant resource in the world, was now fading. “Such times of weak people require the strong to guide them. It is not my desire to save my kin, but it is my duty. However, just as it took a triumvirate then to restore our place in the world, so too must I have the two of you by my side.” His eyes lifted from the fire as he gazed to the two men before him. Neither showed fear, but where Lyemar’s visage held concern, Galar’s look was one of almost… contempt?

 

Of course it was- the boy was too predictable for his own good. Kairn’s second eldest son sprang to his feet but not out of  impassioned fury. He had learned some, but not nearly enough. “Father!” he decreed in a mocking, pitying tone. “Your appeal to our history doesn’t fall on deaf ears but isn’t it time for the torch to be passed? Even elders must recognize when it is time to step down and advise the next generation, lest they lose their dignity?” His goading meant nothing to Kairn, for he would soon learn his place and respect his elders.

 

“Does being this ignorant come naturally to you? You couldn’t have made your case any worse,” Lyemar scoffed at Galar, dropping his relatively carefree facade. He stared daggers into the youth, locking eyes with him for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, the younger mali’ broke the stare, sharply turning to face his father once more.

 

“We know you’ve gone mad, gone soft!” he jeered, glancing back to Lyemar for a moment. “Even you know it’s true!”

 

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” spat Lyemar, crossing his arms as he looked to Kairn in kind. “Friend, he’s simply acting as all young men do. It’s nothing.  He’ll be thinking clearly come morning,” he tried to assure the Leatherback, albeit with a harsh edge to his tone.

 

Kairn was tired of thinking- the very act itself was tiring and burdensome. “No,” he muttered simply, wrapping his stiffened fingers around the pommel of the sword at his side, freeing it from its sheath and brandishing it forth. “He wishes to challenge me? I’ll show him what occurred the last time someone had such a foolish notion.”

 

Galar said nothing, but he did smile as he went to his tent to grab his spear. It was an arrogant smile, one that would soon vanish, but it was reassuring to Kairn that there would be some fight in his son. Perhaps, when this silly affair was over and done with, he would shape him into a proper soldier. A moment later Galar returned, gripping his weapon as he stood opposite of his father some twenty paces away. Nods were then exchanged, signaling that the fight had begun.

 

I’ve seen him. He’s fast. Kairn thought, slowly, tentatively approaching his opponent. However, there’s something… off to it. He is fast, but looks to be slow. Use his bravado against him.

 

A series of thrusts from Galar was sent to his father, but his spear never even came close to its mark. Kairn had avoided each attack- a taxing effort, but one that was well worth it. He moves well enough, but so does every man with an ounce of training. It takes something more than that.

 

Another two missed thrusts, and Galar had overextended himself. It was then that Kairn went on the offensive, knocking the spear downwards with a strike from his blade. He then freed his weapon as he closed the gap between him and his son, leaving little time for his opponent to do much more than bring his free hand to his face. While he did make it on time, the counter was not nearly enough, and Galar was met with a series of blows to the face, gut, and jaw. A short cry came from him, then he fell limp, covering his marred face as he writhed on the ground.

 

“Over in a minute…” Kairn mused, mostly to himself, as he retrieved and sheathed his dropped sword. He shifted his attention to Lyemar, who bore an amused, albeit partially shocked, look. 

 

Kairn returned to where he had been sitting previously, finishing the meal that he had set aside. It was just venison, but it had been cooked well enough to appreciate it for the few moments he had. After he had cleaned his plate, he looked up to his companions, who had joined him beside the rekindled fire. Galar still clutched at his face, but his eyes, which were still visible, stared back at his father. They were softer now, announcing to all the shame and humiliation that coursed through him. Good.

 

“Triumvirate… Chirran… The Camlannen Company…” muttered Kairn, gazing to the night sky, whose moon shone a brilliant silver and whose countless stars all twinkled for him. “May such a dream be relived again.”

 

And thus the Camlannen Company was reborn. From the ashes of the keep that once rested in Lanthres, Temesch, and Gladewynn an idea was rekindled. The blood of monsters shall be claimed. The traditions of the Alderfolk shall live on. Suffer not the infidel, who cowers before the thought of confrontation. Who cowers instead of fighting evil. 

[Nectorist 12874]

Galar Ithelanen nurses his wounds, cursing both his arrogance and his failure. Of course the elder would triumph, for such was the way it was written in story and song alike. However, the young warrior would not dwell on his loss. It was now his duty to follow and execute the will of the leader, and in that time he would learn, grow stronger, and eventually ascend to take his father’s place. Such a story was what fate wanted, and Galar was not one to trifle with powers higher than himself.

[Chase 3793]

Thrice King, once Praetor, now Chieftain Evar’tir Ithelanen awakens from whatever bush he slept in to regard the news. 

”Curious, truly.”

Thusly, the black elf departed to find Kairn and his company.

[Riftblade 856]

Aerith Ithelanen smiles upon hearing the news. He drinks from his flask, thereafter stating to himself:

”Truly, the stars have aligned.”