Shield of Lies Chapter One: The End of the Great Peace
 

It has been four generations since the Great Elemental War, and throughout this time a great peace has settled over the countryside: the proverbial balance that the Windrider had prophesized. Yet it is said that in times of peace, the wise prepare for war.
If this is the truth, then the Orcs are perhaps the wisest of all…

For it is on this day that the Balance will once again be swung to the side of evil, and the Great Peace will end in a heartbeat.

Titus of Delathor leaned against the great gate of the fortress, barely able to keep his eyes open. Delathor was a grand fortress built hundreds of years past, with incredible Stone walls surrounding the entire structure, and stretching nearly fifty meters into the sky. Above him, Archers and soldiers sauntered lazily across the top of the Great Wall. They had never defended a city, nor had they need to. Titus blinked an eye open as he thought he heard a sound in the distance, only to view the city of Delthardan below; it was a peaceful night, just like every other. Titus shrugged and closed his eyes again.

He opened his eyes again as he heard what sounded like distant thunder; but this was like no natural occurrence he had ever heard. The sound continued for what seemed to be minutes, growing louder and louder as it got closer and closer. Suddenly, there was a great cry from one of the great Guard Spires within the Fortress. The Bell within the High Tower sounded, signaling all in the town to return to their homes, and all soldiers to report to their posts.

They were under attack.

Titus ran from his post at the gate and sprinted around the fortress to the back. He saw what the source of the noise was.

Orcs.

There were thousands of them; Orcs, Trolls, Ogres and Bandits, equipped with what could only be armor and weapons forged by the industrious Goblins. All marching out of the forest at the base of the hill. Great battle cries rocked the fortress as the Orcs flooded toward them. Giant catapults and Juggernauts, self powered or Ogre guided rumbled to a stop in perfect formation.

Arrows from both sides screamed through the air. At the call of a Giant Orc bearing a grand axe, the hoards of the North rushed forward stopping at the wall.

There was no warning! Titus thought. This isn’t fair!

It was his last thought.

Antarrak, Lord of the Blood Pack smiled as he saw the human slaughtered by his hords of orcs. He turned to the Goblins and Ogres manning the artillery. “Break the Walls Down!”

A vast salvo of boulders crashed through the ancient walls, revealing great breaches which the Armies of the Blood Pack stormed through. The sounds of battle erupted throughout the fortress as the Orcs slaughtered everything in their path.

“Yes,” Antarrak nodded. “The Earth will be stained with the blood of many this day.”

************************************************** ********

Two months later…

Gabriel’s armor clanked as he marched down the grand hallway leading to the throne room of the Citadel of the Avariel, his eyes staring straight forward as he brought his message to Lord Gwaethir.

Restoration of the City of the Avariel was finally completed a few years back, and now the City shone with heavenly splendor. The once cracked and crumbling buildings were now replaced by tall emerald spires and towers, the surfaces of which gleamed as if they were made of Mithril. The once faded and destroyed streets and avenues were now wide and pristine, apparently coated in the finest marble. The black fenced cage that once surrounded the city had been replaced with the open skies above, a testament to the freedom that the Avariel now enjoyed.

The freedom that was now threatened.

Two Avariel guards saluted at his approach, opening the fifteen-foot mahogany doors to reveal the grand chamber of the Throne Room. The room was an expansive and triangular in shape, the pearly walls seeming to lead directly to the Golden Throne of the Windlord. A red silk carpet, laced with gold was spread down the centerline of the room, joining the giant doors to the Golden Throne. Above him was an immense skylight, forged of the finest diamond, which at all times lead a bright beam of sunlight or moonlight to shine directly on the Throne.

Gwaethir sat pensively in his throne as Gabriel arrived. Gabriel’s father, Jericho stood at his side, his gaze set unwaveringly on his son. It was obvious that he was expected.

Gabriel dropped to one knee and placed the broken sword he held at the feet of the Windlord.

“Your Eminence,” He began, in his deep raspy voice. “I regret to inform you that the defense of the Dwarven city of Morlok has failed. Of the two thousand Avariel soldiers we sent to assist our allies, only three hundred remain.”

Gwaethir considered this for a moment. “How badly were we beaten?” he asked finally.

“It was a rout, Lord.” Gabriel answered. “The Orcs have allied themselves with the Goblins, Trolls, Ogres, and countless other outlaw and bandit groups. Their numbers are many, and their technology is advanced. Our warriors were cut down in the hundreds by Orcs bearing crossbows which fire multiple arrows before reloading. Trolls and Ogres hurled barrels of explosive black powder, lit with fuses at our forces; killing hundreds with each blast. We were forced to retreat.”

Gwaethir nodded and turned to Jericho. “It seems that our forces are too weak to fight an enemy of this magnitude. In our haste to rebuild what we have lost, we failed to adequately protect it. Grand Edgemaster, your thoughts on this matter would be most welcome.”

Jericho thought for a moment before answering, stroking his white beard in concentration. “The balance has been disturbed by an unholy alliance. Alone, our forces are, and always will be inadequate. We have two options left to us, both can be used in unison with the other to ensure victory. We must form our own alliance with our neighbors who are too affected by this new plague of Orcs; specifically, we must recruit the assistance of the Empire of the South. They are the only ones who have the sufficient military forces to mount an extended campaign against the Armies of the North. If we can get them on side, they will be able to hold off the Orc offensive long enough for us to bring our second line of defense into play.”

Gwaethir allowed a small smile cross his face. “I believe I know where you are going with this, Edgemaster.”

Jericho nodded. “It is said that the easiest way to defeat an enemy is to cut off it’s head. I propose forming a smaller group of Elite warriors: The Elementals. We send word throughout the world that all who possess Elemental abilities be sent here for a mission of the grandest importance. While the Empire of the South distracts our enemy, this small force will move into their territory, and kill their leader: Lord Antarrak. Without their leader, the factions will war and split in the ensuing power vacuum, leaving us to send their scum back to the depths from which they emerged.”

“I see.” Gwaethir said slowly. “ The Armies of the South will be the sword with which we lock the enemy in combat with… while the Elementals will be the dagger with which we will slit their throat.”

Jericho merely smiled.

“Let it be done.” Gwaethir boomed. “Captain, send our fastest scouts to the air. Have them send word to One and All, that all those of Elemental prowess shall be summoned for a mission of the grandest importance. Throw a reward in for incentive as well.”

“Yes, My Liege.” Gabriel replied as he stood and bowed before them. As he spun on his heel and left the chamber, he heard Gwaethir’s words.

“Jericho, my most trusted advisor, I wish for you to go to the Empire of the South, and personally convince the King that we need his assistance. You are the only one to whom I can trust a mission of this importance.”

“Yes, Windlord.”

A week had past since the scouts had been sent, and a motley group of individuals were gathered in the Throne Room.

Gabriel stood with Kairii Swiftclaw, Gwaethir’s niece and heir to the throne. She was young and beautiful, even by Avariel standards. The two of them had grown up together, and Gabriel looked upon her like an older sister. They talked lightly about the events that were to unfold, and Kairii told him of her concern. Gabriel tried his best to calm her concerns, but was interrupted when Jericho sauntered up to them, the beautiful Judas at his side.

“My son.” He began. “I have a couple of matters of which I need to speak to you about.”

Gabriel nodded. “Of course.”

Jericho lead him out of the throne room and down the hall, leading him to his study.

“The first matter is that of the group you are about to join… I want you to take Dain Raekarn on your mission.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Dain?” He growled. “But he has no elemental powers. It would be impractical to take him on this mission-”

Jericho held up a hand to silence him. “He is also one of the only survivors of the Defense of Morlok. He is one of the few that actually knows what the Orcs can bring into a fight. He has experience that is necessary for the group. Now this is not a request, it is an order.”

Gabriel glowered. “Yes, Grand Edgemaster.” He replied.

As they approached the study, Jericho continued.

“And there is one other matter to attend to: a great warrior must also have a great weapon.”

He gestured at a giant sword that rested on a mantle on the wall. Five feet of glimmering, deadly glory: the Great Sword Thanatos.

“It is said that only those with a noble purpose for its use can wield it. I want you to take it on your journey.” Jericho said as he rested his hand on his sons shoulder.

Gabriel reached up and grabbed the hilt in awe. He pulled the mighty Zwiehander from its resting place, and hefted it into the air. To him it seemed light as a feather, though it should have been unliftable. Gabriel looked at his father in amazement.

“Go.” Jericho said. “The others are expecting you.”

Gabriel, Thanatos in hand returned to the Throne room where the others were milling about and conversing. They had already been briefed on their mission.
Among them were several familiar faces, including that of Talos Veldrin: the Drow who had fought along side his father in the Great Elemental War; and Hakar: an old childhood friend, son of Delmenon and Tamona, and nephew of Talos. Gabriel smiled and walked over to them.

Ooc: okay, post your thoughts, or what your character is doing, or how they came to find out about the situation, or foreshadowing, or a bit about their past… stuff like that.

Before the message

A group of about three noble ladies, looking for husbands with estate, were frolicking around the village of Tergar. From what they'd learned, there was a noble who could be heir to a great estate that lived there. As long as they fueled the typical cut-throat actions, they'd be set for a pompous life.

They complained a bit at the mud and muck, but stopped and adjusted their dresses at the gate. It creaked open slightly, revealing three travellers. A dwarf, and two men.

One of the men, who wore a neat coat and was covered in mud and who knew what else was laughing, and patting the other man on the shoulder. "NICE ONE KAU!"

The second man laughed, and walked in, wiping some mud from his face. The women stopped in horror, until one plantively asked, "Is one of you Lord Alec?"

There was a brief pause, and the dwarf said, "You're on your own for this one laddie. I've got to go check on the wife." With a groan, the coated man said, "But I hate listening to the speech."

The man named Kau spread his arms, and said, "Look ladies, the guy in the coat is the so called 'Lord Alec.'" He pushed his cloak out of the way, and said in an imitation of a minstrel, "Presenting the Lord Alec Hailar!"

Alec glared at Kau, then stepped forward and said, "Yep. Here I am."

One of the ladies looked confused and asked, "Oh my! Were you attacked by bandits, and your horse shot from under you, and only two guards remaining to save your valiant self?"

There was a stunned silence. Alec stated, "I gave up that life. If you're here for a husband and estate, you want my brother." He crossed his arms. There was an explosion of cries of disgust and anger. Alec rolled his eyes, and let it finish. Always, always nobles had to say he was a disgrace.

"Okay, cool it ladies. Now, go back to your wagons, and enjoy your day." They turned. One of them tripped, and screamed as she landed in the mud. As they stormed off, Kau rose from the mud. His cloak had disguised him perfectly for that stunt.

Alec sighed, and said, "First thing's first. Let's get cleaned up, then I'll go to the bar and have a drink while you scar the local women." "DEAL!"

***

After the message

Alec was indeed cleaned up. There was no trace of anything dirty at all on him, and despite the fact he was wearing his coat and armor (Which had been cleaned up) he looked presentable. Largely because his sheath had been shined up, the sword polished, light crey pants found, a red shirt put on him, and his hair was neatly done.

He hated every moment of it. All he wanted, above all else, was to get out of there and back into the wild. Oddly enough, he also prefered food he got there as opposed to the stuff that was being served.

It was pretty clear he was in a throne room. And, when people started ignoring him, he talked to one of the trees they had in there.

Lord Antarrak stood in a half-destroyed Elven fortress. Bodies of Elves and Orcs were strewn everywhere around him, and his giant axe, Suragol, was coated in blood. His goblin captain and mechanics mastermind, Haterr Wergola, came up behind Antarrak on tiptoe, sourly attempting to avoid the large pools of fresh blood, and saluted. "Archers, sir," he muttered, pointing a clawed finger toward a turret, where an Elven captain was trying to boost the morale of his archers. Antarrak peered down at the Gblin, who was a runt compared to the towering Orc. "I know. Give me your axe," he ordered, extending his bloodied, gauntleted hand. The goblin handed over his axe with out question, and watched Antarrak hurl it towards the tower. As the captain turned to face the battlefield, the axe hit him square in the face, splitting his head in twain. The soldiers panicked and screamed as they were struck down by a large barrel of explosive powder. Antarrak turned and walked away from the wreckage, pleased at the carnage he'd caused. "Now, to report to Ashtar on our......progress."

************************************************** **************

Talos Veldrin was in a corner the still unfamiliar throne room. He looked much different than he had than on the day he'd last seen Jericho; the day of Delmenon and Tamona's wedding. His pale silvery hair, which grew to his shoulders, was now dirty and unkempt. His armor and clothes were weatherbeaten, his boots and gloves caked with mud, and his sword, Deathsong, still smelled of blood. He was a very grotesque sight to behold, and he was excercising in a corner away from the other guests, doing handstand push-ups. His hair had fallen over his face, and his equipment and shirt lay in a corner, causing women who passed by him to gaze at his dense muscles and various battle scars. He watched Gabriel as the Half-Elf entered and shrugged, continuing his handstand push-ups.

Gabriel approached Talos and bowed. "I presume you are the bladesinger?" he said. "My father has said nothing but good of you and your exploits. I am Gabriel, Captain of the Guard and son of Jericho."

Jechir was not living the life he expected. He knew the old man would have died sooner or later, but deep down inside, Jechir wanted to become a scholar. He loved his studies with the old man. Odd... Jechir thought to himself. I can't quite seem to remember his name... He shrugged and continued setting up his trap.

The life of a bandit was rough when you had to do all the work yourself. Jechir stationed himself just off of a well-used path. He was hoping to singlhandedly stop and rob a small caravan of wagons. Hoping a small demonstration of his powers would do the trick, he lay in wait for what seemed to be days, although it was in reality only a couple of hours.

The caravan came, just as expected. A small group of four wagons complete with guards came into view. Jechir counted to three and then leapt into the middle of the road.

"Halt! It'll do you all good if you hand over the gold without a need for confrontation."

The caravan guards looked at Jechir, confused, and then back at each other. They promptly began laughing. Jechir sighed, as he hoped it wouldn't have to come to this. He cleared his throat.

"I'm giving you one last warning..."

With that, the largest of the guards stepped forward and began unsheathing a large, two-handed sword. "Perhaps you don't realize the insult you have just given us, bandit dog!" The man began running towards Jechir. "I'll have to teach you some manners!"

Jechir quickly drew Flashblade and mumbled a few words. As the guard got withing striking distance, Jechir held Flashblade to deflect the blow from the larger man. As the blades collided, a very small flash of light blinded the guard. Jechir spun off of the man, and spun behind the man. With the hilt of Flashblade, he struck a crushing blow to the back of the man's helmet. The guard crumpled, knocked out, but very much alive.

Jechir knelt down to the fallen guard and shouted, enough for the other guards to hear, "And perhaps I shall teach you some swordplay!"

Jechir stood up and held Flashblade so it caught a glimmer of sunlight. He began chanting ancient, mysterious words. The other guards were hesitant to move forward after what he did to their ally. Jechir stopped chanting and smiled to the guards. "About that gold... I'll just take it and allow you all to go on your merry way."

He swung Flashblade in a wide arc, causing a blinding white flash to spread in a large radius around him. This was enough to blind everyone in the caravan, if only for a few minutes. Jechir acted quickly. He ran to the lead wagon and opened a large box. The box was filled with coins. He opened up a pouch on his belt, and proceeded to fill it with as many coins as would fit. He left the rest, and hopped off of the wagon. He disappeared back into the woods before sight returned to the people in the caravan.

~~~~~~

After spending a few days in a nearby town, Jechir received the message. He didn't know how these people knew who he was or where to find him, but he didn't question it. Finally, his life may have some purpose! He followed the map enclosed with the message and found himself in a greater city than any he dreamed of. He thought of the old man's stories again, and if ever any doubt existed about the truthfulness in the old man's words, that doubt was now erased. While waiting for the meeting to start, he tried to idly start conversation with the other people gathered, making mental notes to himself about the appearance of everyone gathered. He tried not to look intimidated.

Mat had just left the forest and was heading toward a town, on his way there he learned that called Baragron. As he neared he saw that their was a comotion in the square. When he reached the square he saw an avariel. The avariel was announcing Windlord Gwaethir's request that all people with elemental power's be sent to him for a mission of great importance, a reward was also mentioned. "I am a bit low on money now, and things are becoming bit too dull anyway. He thoght to himself. and he spoke up......
5 days later he was regretting his choice, after the inicial excitment of being in a grand avariel city, things quickly grew boring and Mat began feeling restless. Sure Things were very quite outside the city as well but their was still some excitment to be had, but in the city, high in the sky and guarded, life was quite (and in Mats opinion quite boring). So when he and the others were assembled Mat was hoping that from here on things would start to liven up.

Getting the message:

Sarin snorted as he walked down towards the gates of another stone city. He had been following leads to his destroyed village for years, and while elven patience is told to be legendary, Sarin's was running thin. Remember who you are doing this for,Sarin reminded himself. Don't let those who die do so for no reason. His eyes unfocused, and he was brought back to an event about half a human lifetime ago. It seemed like yesterday. He was also slightly uncomforable with the stares he always got from the guards and everyone else in the mostly dominated human cities. Humans overdressed for their climate, Sarin muttered to himself over and over again in the grugach dilect of elven.

He noticed a rather large gathering in the square with one of his winged brethren. He went to investigate closer, and was spied by the avariel. "My grugach cousin," he intoned, speaking elven. "Windlord Gwaethir requires the aid of any with elemental powers. You would not be an Elemental user, would you?"

Sarin stared at him and said quietly, in the same language, "And if I am?"

"Then we would appeciate it if you would come. Since the dwindling of the elven race, a new threat has arisen," the avariel said, "and we need warriors like yourself. And a grugach, even an elemental user, is a rare cousin to find."

Sarin thought about refusing for a moment. He was not some rare beast that some lord could use at a whim. Then he considered that the Windlord might know the slayer of his kin, and on top of all that, it is possible that the Avariel had suffered as much as their land borne cousins. He owed it to all elves to make the murderers pay for their sins. "I will come," he said slowly, softly in the elven tongue, "and speak with this Windlord. I make no other promises."

At the gathering:

Sarin snorted. He had yet to talk to this lord or that lord, and everyone seemed to be sizing each other up like a pack of wolves. He sincerely hoped this hadn't been a waste of his time. He could be shaking down the leads of the drow he'd heard about, or doing a million other things. Only humans and 'civilized' elves could make such a commotion about a thing as simple as a meeting, he thought.

"Ya know, its quite suprising that although I'm a Goblin, I'm no way at all associated with the horrible horrible disgusting no good bad meanies Orcs. I mean, I may look like it, but I'm a nice guy. They kicked me out, I think for being too nice to Humans and Elves. Really...like me." Gug said to anyone who would listen. Since he pretty much peaked at just above the kneecap, he had resorted to yelling a lot. He was still a tad jumpy since he had been 'called' upon to 'help'...but Gug was suspicious of that, since someone had to be REALLY desperate to call on Gug.

Talos looked up slightly at Gabriel, leaning his body forward and backflipping to land on his feet. "I am. I assume you're Gabriel, Jericho's son. You look much like him and your mother. Have you read my letters?" He paused to put his shirt on and attmpted to straighten his hair. "I sent letters to your parents almost daily, and they replied with mentions of you more than once." He extended his hand. "Though I've never seen you in person since you were born."