Δευτέρα, 15 Μαΐου 2006

Darthiir the Abban - vol. 3

It was a bright shiny morning when Darthiir entered Cormanthor for the first time. A green, gloomy, thick forest, with large grassy glades. He could almost spot every animal he could identify and many more. All kind of birds were singing around him composing the best ever song a bard could imagine. This heavenly choir could lift any burden. Things became clearer. The white raiders could have slained him instantly entering the forest. They where surely taking him to their leader. What was the point of alarming human authorities? If it was not an official invitation, why not wait for him ‘till he was on the road again?

Almost midday and the sun were shining when he took the first glimpse of the spired remains of the once proud Myth Drannor. Darthiir shivered. This place represented the unity of mankind for more than millennia. A magnificent city long destroyed by the rage of Yaguloths, guided by the hand of the evil Bane and only because of the jealousness and arrogance of a long lost elven Second House. The white riders guided him silently through the town of Cormanthor. Elves hesitated in his sight but carried on their route. Far at the end of the alley he could see the majestic palace of the Elven court.

While dismounting he noticed the white raiders staring at him. They did not move but they turned around silently. His mount followed them. He was alone, standing in front of the gates of the great citadel. The massive oaken doors opened. He walked through the hallway and while the doors where shutting behind, he noticed another door opening at the far end. He hesitated for a while, then looked around the peaceful hallway. Great marble columns holding a ceiling far above, decorated with vines and leaves. A green glow all round was the only light source he could see. He realised the air itself was glowing; he proceeded to the entrance of the Chamber of the Seven.

The doors sealed behind him. An endless room in front, no wall could be seen to the left, the right or the far end. Only columns, like trees, holding an unseeing ceiling. There was a bright light coming from the right, as the sun was shining through an unseeing window, giving the impression of being just beside an imaginary forest glade. In front of him a round fireplace, behind it a round table, further a great throne. None was in the endless room except two figures. A noble and splendid figure of an elf, dressed in white and gold and holding the sceptre of the elven rulers was standing before the throne, staring at a humanbuilt figure, dressed in a blue cloak and wearing the symbol of the unseeing eye.

“A dathiir indeed! Yet his under-blood cannot be escaped! He is the one!” spoke the man, being no other than Elminster. None could mistake the chosen of Mystra, the Istari that walked upon the realm for more than four millennia. Bowing before the ruler he waved his hand in a gesture and disappeared from sight. The thin elven figure stepped down the throne and walked to the round table waving a friendly gesture and showing a chair to Darthiir. As they sat down the elf spoke:

“Great things shall come and pass, the above and the below will be reunited. Eilistraee entrusted the future in your veins. Do not fail her.”