Darthiir the Abban - vol2

Darthiir was always fascinated by the Art. He was fascinated by the wizards casting spells during festivals. He loved the way they manipulated force and matter with the mere power of mind. Soon he decided to join the cast and eventually he became one of them. His mentors foresaw that he would excel among their society. He possessed a fine and cunning mind, combined with the innate wood-elven dexterity and the drowish magical heritage.

There was also an aura of mystery around him. The eldest could see but not understate. His blood was blessed by Eilistraee’s will. No diviner could penetrate the pretension of the goddess, so none could foresee his future. His path was dark and vague.

While reaching manhood, Darthiir was already considered not an apprentice but a wizard of significant power. He was bounded by the laws of both the above- and the underworld so he could master both worlds. He liked the direct sunlight as much as the moonlight and grabed any chance to travel to surface cities. Then he decided. He would take a long voyage across the aboveworld in search for the one that nourished him. She was but a dream in his mind, but he’d like to show her the elf he has become.

The journey began. Nearby towns were familiar with the followers of the Moonqueen and his company was well accepted in a caravan traveling north; after all a potent drow wizard’s company assured safe passage. Alas it took him not long to perceive that above dwellers were not accustomed in the presence of such a creature. In the sunlight he could not be mistaken, but discomfort was obvious; in the moonlight fear seized anyone laying eyes upon him. Still, while in the company of merchants he was safe.

For three weeks they journeyed, village after village, until he saw his long lost home. Mistldale was ahead. The city, then the outskirts of the great forest! Cormanthor. The ancient forest, shiny but mysterious, nesting the ruins of Myth Drannor and the heart of the elven empire, the council of the seven – rulers of the elves. Long lost memories. A kid playing in the forest. A tender and concerned mother hugging him. Clamors of a society. Reaching the city the caravan's journey came to an end. He was on his own now. He wandered the streets like a child, he have never been in a big city before. People were staring at him wondering what curse befell him, fearing for the worst. Kids where laughing, teasing him, but fearing to come close.

He hesitated. They were kids. They’d like to play! He concentrated for a moment and whispered the words, gesturing and shaping the magical forces. Bright colored spheres of light started dancing around him. He moved them and sent them to the children, watching the show without fear. One for each one of them, dancing around, following the tune of the bard’s song, sang in the nearby tavern. They were happy. He was happy. He somehow felt accepted, though he caught the suspicious glances from the elders. Song was over, so was the show. He smiled at the children and headed to the tavern for a decent meal and a jar of elven wine. He needed a good night’s rest before searching for his village.

According to the elders, on Midwinder day of the year of the Serpent the westernmost villages were plundered by the dark folk. There she should be. But would the village be the same after a hundred and thirty years? If it still did exist. He never knew if it was burned to dust and if the survivors rebuilt it or traveled elsewhere. Next morning he would travel to the western villages, near the outskirts of Cormanthor. He realised he would never find his mother, why did he come here anyway? It did not matter. He would find out sooner or later.

During his dinner a tall skinny figure approached him. He was not in the mood for conversation so he did not greet the stranger. But the figure stood beside him for a while, then greeted him in a polite manner. “Greetings Darthiir, I am constable Sheef”. He could not reject this guest. He offered a seat and ordered a second jar of elven wine. Soon he found out that he raised the attention of the authorities and Mayor Standon has asked for his presence in the townhall next morning. So there may have been a plot after all, one that he was not aware of.

He woke up early in the morning wondering why he was summoned by the mayor of Mistldale. He hasted to the townhall where he learned the urgent news. The rulers of the elves demand his presence in front of the Council of Seven. An otherwise great honour, but possibly an imminent danger for him. Two white rangers were sent to escort him in the heart of the elven dominion.

Vol. 1, Vol. 2, Vol. 3, Vol. 4, Vol. 5