Ardulace

[VemuKhaham]

"Mazjón! Get me my camel!" The old bearded master barked at one of his adopted slave sons. "Quick!"

Mazjón hurried himself to the front of the caravan to do as he was told. He was only thirteen - nearing fourteen - but his master Azardis showed him no mercy when he was slow at performing his commands.
The fierce desert sun was still weak and half obscured by the great Aenysian mountain. Morning had come and the caravan was preparing to continue; everywhere masters were commanding their slaves around to do chores.

Mazjón had often mourned the fact that he was but one out of many, and his life was destined to remain as it was until he neared the age of twenty and he would be sold to the men of the sea. That way the masters ensured that their slaves would never grow up to rival them in spirit or physics, and the sea peoples always paid the best for healthy young adult men. From their fourteenth year, they would begin to receive Zjara, the drug that was supposedly the only way to reach heavenly Aenysia without having to scale its great cliffs. The older boys were therefore looked at with jealousy by young boys like Mazjón; receiving Zjara meant, according to the masters, that these slaves were truly adult in spirit, and were able to handle the drug physically. They were certainly right in a way: taking Zjara before the age of fourteen usually resulted in death, and sometimes unfortunate fourteen-year-olds even succumbed to their first inhaling of the golden smoke. One thing was sure though: those who had first tasted Zjara would never be able to do without it, it was simply that good.

Their current trade journey was also for Zjara. They were headed to Karaballa, center of the Zjara trade, a mixed derro, imp and orc hub located at the edge of this world, by the ravines looking out through a layer of toxic gasses over the endless infernal wastelands far below. Karaballa was on one of the main trade routes between those infernal demon lands below and this world, and since Zjara was made of the toxic gasses that originated from down there, the demon lords held a monopoly on the drug. And in Karaballa they sold it to all who would buy it, though always on one condition: that those peoples that had a trade agreement with the demons on the drug would come to the aid of the demon lord when their military service was required. However, the agreements usually only specified a number of men-at-arms to be sent, nothing specific; as a result, the masters would normally sent those slaves that neared the age of twenty when such a call was made, preferring to stay out of the war themselves. To a caravan master, war meant a waste of time, and time was money.

Mazjón would receive his first inhalation of Zjara in one week, on his fourtheenth birthday. They would probably still be in Karaballa by that time, his master had told him. If that would be the case, there would be plenty of time and the event might even be reason for a modest celebration. All things considered, Mazjón was looking forward with great anticipation to the event, which would surely change his life.

"Finally, there you are! What took you so long?" Mazjón handed his master Azardis the reins of his camel and as the great beast sat down, the old man mounted it.

The caravan was slowly set in motion and the day began. For hours they would toil under the desert sun, until the day would end. Only in three days would they reach Karaballa; before then, there was but one caravan stop, Breki Oasis, run by an imp who served some demon lord known as Breki, hence the name of the stop. The stop was heavily tolled of course, but it was the only place where they could resupply.

It was at Breki Oasis that something very peculiar happened to Mazjón...

[VemuKhaham]

The caravan arrived at Breki oasis somewhat later than the masters had hoped. Sandstorms from the north had made it impossible to continue on the planned route, and another way had to be taken.

As such, Mazjón and most of the others entered the palissaded oasis camp a day too late, and very much worn down. To make matters worse, it had seemed like, due to the same sandstorms, Breki Oasis was not accepting any more visitors within its walls, as many refugees and delayed travelers had chosen to stay there these days. Azardis and the other masters had had to reach deep into their pockets to convince the greedy imp that ran this place, Mlaluka, that they could stay there, hence their terrible mood all that night.

The slaves, such as Mazjón, were given a sleeping room in the northernmost stables, together with the camels, while the masters had gotten a room in one of the great inns that were all owned by Mlaluka. As the night progressed though, word spread with new travelers coming in from the north, that the sandstorms - which were described as unusually widespread and longlasting - would surely hit the oasis too. Windows were sealed and other precautions were taken, though those unfortunates who could not secure a sheltered sleeping place in the oasis had to pray that they would be spared. Mazjón and the other slaves were reasonably safe in the stables, but their night would be very uncomfortable for sure.

It began around midnight, when all the world was dark. Those few candles and torchlights that were still alight were quickly extinguished by the first winds. The wind's howling sound was only accompanied by the soft words spoken by those outside. "Mazjón!" It was Jeriny, a friend of Mazjón and also an adopted slave of Azardis, that whispered to him. "Let's go outside, and see what is happening!"

Lured by their youthful curiosity, they hurried outside and faced north. Their they saw, in the darkness, behind the pallisades, a great black mass quickly approaching. Already some of the pallisade poles were leaning with the wind. Quickly, the cloud of sand approached, and the two boys were making ready to run back to the stables.

It was then that Mazjón caught sight of something strange in the black clouds: a vague light, with various colours, ranging from grey to purple. He turned to see what it was, as it clearly came with the storms. Jeriny shouted for him to go back with him to the stables, but when he saw that Mazjón did not hear him, he quickly ran back to the stables.

It was not much later that the first clouds of sand and dust were blown into Mazjón's face, blinding him and confusing his sense of direction. He turned around to flee too, but he could not see the stables anymore. He suddenly felt a feeling of nausea and dizziness overwhelm him. The world became a blur and he could not breath; his lungs were filled with the desert sand and he was swept off his feet by the ferocious blows of the wind.

But as he lay there with his face on the ground, his consciousness returned to him as suddenly as it had gone. He could see keenly every grain of sand, every detail of every wall and person that were still far away from him. Furthermore, he felt strength return to his limbs and he, now ignoring the still growing winds, stood up and walked to the door of the stables. Pulling it open, all his sudden strength again slipped from him and he was blown inside, and the wind blew the door shut behind him.

'Istridon! Istridon, no!' Mazjón suddenly heard a wailing voice, strong but sad, echo through his head. 'Istridon! I must find him! Istridon!'

More strange visions and cries entered Mazjón's mind; visions of the desert, and of a great fight between two terrible dragons taking place in it, and of many distant lands, which Mazjón had never seen before.

When he woke up, he saw leaning over him Jeriny, his master Azardis and some other slaves. Azardis was looking very angry and now stood up and kicked Mazjón in his side. "Get up, foolish boy! I will leave you behind if you don't! Quick!"

The kick in the side returned Mazjón's sense of feeling, and it was not until then that he realized how terrible he felt. He felt feverish and hot, and indeed sweat was on his forehead. Sand was everywhere, in his clothes, eyes, mouth, lungs. He had to cough severely many times. When he was given some water by Jeriny, after master Azardis had again gone, he felt much better. Sleep again took over, and he slipped back into many more enigmatic nightmares... all of which mentioned someone named Istridon, who had to be found at all costs.

[VemuKhaham]

Since that last post on creativity and stuff here, I have perhaps been a less frequent poster on these boards than usual when I am in the middle of a holiday period. For which I truly apologise, and I will get to updating Rinascimento as soon as I can, though I must say that this afternoon, when I sat down to work on it, my hand drifted my mouse pointer automatically to file>open>On the First Wars of the Elves.

I thought I'd share what I wrote up in the time I could've been updating Rinascimento and in quite some hours during the past two weeks, if only to let you see what's been keeping me from updating, and also because I hope a few of you might be interested in my progress on the grander project of Ardulace.

It is a long poem, and right now not nearly complete. The style and structure are partly based on old English poetry, with two halves in each verseline, and with specific rules for alliteration, where the first word of the second (off-)verse alliterates with two or more alliterating words in the first (on-)verse. You'll notice that easily. I must say my ability to correctly use metre is still poor and so I largely disregard it for the moment. And in case you're wondering, I'm still considering inserting punctuation, or not.

The genre and themes are drawn from old English epic poetry (stuff like Beowulf), but mostly from middle English chivalric romance (think Arthurian stories). This of course all set in the larger world of Ardulace, my own creation, of which an outdated but still somewhat functioning description is given in the above posts. I apologise if things don't make sense, especially due to the names. Just know that Tyndin are a kind of halfling, but not quite the same: though they too are short people. Asatha is the sun, Eloh the moon. Toldelúc is the waterfall that flows from Upper Ardulace (paradise/heaven) into Middle Ardulace ('earth'), and is part of the great Ruin-Nál, river of life that flows down from Upper Ardulace. Faegdrin are very cool elite troops in the elven army.

I will absolutely value any comments, especially on how this text comes across to you the reader, because this is the first time I dare put myself to such a genre and style, and I need any feedback to know if the content is clear, the style is fluent, the reading is fun/good/terrible/difficult, etc. And I like suggestions, and am open to them, as I'm still revising this text continuously.

I will add new parts when I write them up, and hopefully before the holiday's through, there will be more or less a complete poem here. And hopefully too, I'll update Rinascimento.
_________________________________________

On the First Wars of the Elves
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In Lewwynna land of the River		Long the Tindyn dwelled in peace
Elves then entered Veluna Vale		Amran highborn led them there
Taeril’s star sent them down			Toldelúc heavenly water-stair
To lord the light over the shadows		Deliver that land from evil lingered
Now were called from their caverns		Curious Tindyn by the Elves
Asatha then them first embraced		Eloh also the little folk loved
Bright was all the Land in Between		Before on the swamps black birds swept down
Sickletoothed seafish snapped rods		Scaring Tindyn far from the River
Wayward wolves roved on the prairies	Waiting in ambush on witless pray
Omens of demon armies all			Enemies advancing from the east
Imps whipping worn down duergar		Wielding weapons of relentless war
Mighty hosts too many to number		Mustered by their master Hisrazal
Soon they stood at lake Lauym		Stronger than all the Elven might
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From Veluna forth came a carriage		Followed by Faegdrin fierce and fair
Silver-shining shields and swords		Scales below black silver-rimmed cloaks
Helmets tall and ponytailed high		Heading north to icy Halream
To seek aid for the swordgathering		Strong goblinkings they would call
On the white wagon woodenwheeled	                Were seated two noblest of Elves
Gilbarad goldhearted Amran’s general	Greatest of the king’s retainers
On his left a longnecked lady		Loved Herwen of Veluna
Gilbarad’s dearest young daughter		Determined admirer of Ardulace 
From Ruin-Nál they swiftly fled		Fearsome foes to circumvent
Many miles they moved around		Mountains that pushed them further east
Then through woods and wilderness		Went the hurrying wanderers
Into lands beyond all Elven lore		As leaves fell lifeless from the trees
And all turned white and wintery		While wheels and boots crushed crystalfloors
Then they came to Kalmàr river		Cold grey water spawned at Castin’s hill
Drifting north to join the Lifegiver		Down into dark dales undiscovered
Magdem’s people they approached		Pale snowdwellers strong in power
Eager to find true allies there		Amran’s Oaths they would bring
Moistveils unravelled beneath moonlight	Morphing into a motte-bearing island
Reaching out to each opposite shore		Arched drawbridges by spearbearers watched
Whiteshining cat-eyes spotted the carriage	Cowhorns blasted across motte-and-bailey
Bridges were blocked and spears deployed	Bolts on barred gates opened with groans
Torches enflamed lit the entrance		Out came a pale blue-painted king
Striding proudly past his guards		Appearing then upon the bridge
“Who comes there to king Magdem’s court”    Called out the lord to the carriage
“From southern lands you fare		Far lands where we have no kin
Only baneful beasts from those woods	But you behave unlike them all”
Now eloquently Gilbarad answered		After descending from his wagon
“From baneful beasts none of us stem	                Barely escaped we from their wrath
Our kin, the Rae, came from above		Carried down by angels wilfully
That fate bereft us of our flight		For wings we had but have no more
To bind our destiny with thee		Dorú of the Earth, embattled by evil
Swords we bring but in their sheathes	                Shall stay they when we are with thee
But the Enemy amasses near our homes	And all they pass they doth enslave
Our woods they burn and waters spoil	Weapons now beyond count we need
Yet even if every Elf were armed		In every fist wield sword or spear
Still would we lack sufficient soldiers	                Spearbearers to fight the force we face
My solemn king Amran to me then turned	Trusted general Gilbarad Galdor’s son
And commanded me travel from his court	Carry his Oath north to any listening ear
A promise sworn of mutual protection	Pledges of trust and peaceful friendship”
Awed by the visitor’s amiable words		Arms were lowered and dispositions eased
Magdem now gave Gilbarad leave		Go forth into his court upon the isle
Gratefully the noble elf agreed		Accepting Magdem’s hospitality
Before he stepped across the bridge		Bade he his daughter stay concealed
She waited still inside the wagon		While the father followed through the gates
Along many stairs that circled the mound	Magdem led his honoured guest
Then into the strong wooden shieldhouse	Strode the pair past a weapon stockpile
The lack of a fire-hall nearly alarmed him	Lords this cold keep-place surely did house
A hatchway in the floor was found		Fire and hall were buried deep inside mound!

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[VemuKhaham]

The epic continues. Same poem, same idea, next few scenes. Any comments appreciated, even if just to say I should stop this shit at once.
_________________________________________

Then into the strong wooden shieldhouse	Sword-stacks and spear-piles there lay stored
Cold stone walls and a wind of chill		Welcomed little the weatherworn elf
The lack of a fire-hall nearly alarmed him	For lords this cold keep-place surely did house
No lively lanterns lit the gloomy hall		Forlorn it was of weft or fine woodwork
Suddenly now slammed shut the doors	Sending out from behind a stifling sound
“Why shiverst thou,” spake the king		“Show thee my guestliness I shall”
Hidden below a hatch in the floor		He revealed a hole into the earth
Ere despair had encumbered the elf		Embraced he was by echoes of cheerful song
Down the ladder they descended		Darkness fled the opposite way
For below a gold-lit hall beckoned them	By the wholesome bonfire to sit down
Drums then ceased the dancers’ rhythm	Doused were the weedpipes at the smoke
A circle was formed by Magdem’s folk	For they fell still at his first tongue-stroke
Now the elf lord warmed his weary limbs	While speaking at length to this goblin-gathering
Heated was the fireside trade of words	War was the cause of their dissent
Brave warriors bashed spears upon shields	Bloodlust was burning in their eyes
One named Orlum warned against rashness	Only just had passed the season of war
His was a venerable and weighty voice	Vain is he who gainsays his elder’s advice
Galdor’s son showed no such dishonour	So were muted the spearbearers’ shields
And all the court of the goblin king		Concluded there would be no war
Before spring would melt the ice and snow	No sooner would the goblins go
|
Gilbarad got up with such great haste		Gone he would be before a goblin could blink
But Magdem quickly bade him stay		Beds would be made for all his men
A meal made of the best bear’s meat		Many feasts held until the day he remained
Yet such was the haste of Galdor’s son	So tortured was he by the fate of his folk
That naught could keep him from his call	Carry king Amran’s Oaths to the north
Polite now were the parting words		Passed on by Gilbarad to his host
Who rushed to answer them with regret	Remember he would his new-gained friend
“North up the river for fifty miles a realm	Richer than any of our race you shall find
More numerous than the stars their numbers	 Norba is their noble king named”
From the bravest of the battle-ready		Born from Magdem’s noble blood
The king’s son Hagor then strode forward	Swearing an oath to the royal court
“If my father does not forbid me		Follow to Norba the elf-chief I shall
I know very well the lands of the north	Now let me be a token of our peoples’ bond”
Court nor general could this plea refuse	Kingly Hagor parted, praised by many
All the gathering followed the general		Gilbarad leaving Magdem’s isle
The wagon still was waiting outside		With Herwen the fair hidden within
Hagor then entered and saw the elf maiden	Oh, helpless was he against that dear sight!
When Hagor saw that he frightened her	Hastily he begged for forgiveness
“Humbly I ask thee, heavenly angel		Hear me before thou fearest me so
My body is filthy, my fur is beastly		But full is my heart with faith for thee
My teeth are keen, my claws tenacious	Though only useful to keep thee from harm
For upon my noble parents I pledge		Protect thee I shall until I am dead
Worthless is this lowly wight’s life		While wandering with thee, my supreme Lady”
In Herwen’s eyes appeared a pity		Purer than the waters of lake Nál
“I bless you, bitter creature of the earth	But call me not of angel-kin
Though I once was with angels in heaven	We, our kin, wandered from there
Never again shall I see that glorious place	So long as I live I will remain here
Strong memories serve as a blissful curse	Sweet and bitter is their taste
My heart longs to show you that Heaven	Heavy with pity as it is
But blissfully ignorant you are blessed	Burdened not by that elf-kin’s bane”

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