Login | Register


All times are UTC + 1 hour [ DST ]


It is currently Mar 29th, '24, 01:06




Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 2 posts ] 
Author Message
 Post subject: Fynn Ailithorne
PostPosted: Apr 7th, '10, 01:27 
Level 2 Player Character

Joined: Apr 3rd, '10, 19:33
Posts: 5
Location: New Mexico USA
“Wars come and wars go, there will always be someone fighting over something.” Said Fynn smirking from behind the delicate crystal glass. He swirled the light toned, sweet elven wine, taking in the scents of wild flowers, honey and a hint of spice, cinnamon, or perhaps nutmeg as the liquid released it’s perfume. Fynn was a handsome elf, even by elven standards. His deep Hunter Green doublet was cut just right as to accent his well-formed body and though his poofy sleeved shirt was designed to be laced up in the front, he preferred to leave is open about midway and casual.

Another elf, dressed in a blue silk frock coat, and white cotton shirt sat across from him being the other half of the conversation. His name was Maricyll, and he frowned at Fynn’s carefree attitude about such a serious subject.
“Fynn! There could be war at our very doorstep, and you don’t care?!” Said Maricyll, not noticing that Fynn’s true attention lay with his sister Si’yah, who was blushing and flirting with him with her eyes just out of view of her brother. Fynn took a drink of his wine and patted the air with his other hand before replying.
“Maricyll, you worry too much.” He chuckled, “There is always some orcs or a Rabian contingent knocking at our door. It’s a good thing the Warders are a good servant and answer such with the proper greeting for these unwelcome pests.”
“Your own father risks his life as a soldier to defend against these, unwelcome pests as you call them” The elf in blue added, obviously offended with Fynn’s reference to the Warders as common servants. The Warders were the defenders of Elmensfaar, and to be respected for their sacrifices.
Fynn frowned, “Why do you need to be such a Joy-kill Maricyll? Did you have to mention my ‘Dear’ father?” Fynn shook his head, “everyday since I turned 100, all I have heard from him is, ‘Fynn, keep your head up, watch your opponents movements, don’t drop your guard’, it makes me ache just remembering his lessons in swordsmanship.” He smirked to Si’yah, “I’m a lover not a fighter”.
Maricyll smacked Fynn across the face, “Best not be aiming that smirk toward my sister or I will test that swordsmanship Fynn Ailithorne!” Fynn flushed at the offense, and Si’yah blushed at being caught. He stood, straightened his doublet, and looked Maricyll in the eye, “Perhaps we should settle this honorably my friend, here and now!”

Before the to men could say another word, the air was split with a sound of a horn. It was answered by another and then another. These horns did not sound often, sometimes silent for years, but when they did, it meant one thing. Elmensfaar was under attack.

Chaos hit the streets, common folk scrambling for safety, soldiers running for their garrisons to suit up and meet up with their units. Maricyll kissed his sister on the cheek and paused only to give Fynn a stern look before running to his barracks. He was also a soldier, under Fynn’s father, and was proud to do his duty. Si’yah did a quick curtsey and ran off to her own home to be with her mother. Fynn turned, unsure what to do, but then ran to find his own Mother. She would be preparing his father with protective magics before he entered the fray. She would be in the Garrison as well, so he ran there as fast as his heeled polished leather shoes would carry him. Sure enough, he found them both, and as he guess, his mother was tracing runes and speaking arcane words over his fathers armor and weapons. He looked up at Fynn, his face was cold and stern, more so than normal. “Why are you not in some armor Fynn? We’re under attack!” his mother came around at that time and kissed her husband gently to calm him then looked at Fynn, her concern in her eyes evident.
“”Father, I…” Before he could reply, a scout dressing in soft leathers that seemed to shift their colors with the surroundings, interrupted to report. “Captain Ailithorne!” Fynn’s father turned his attention to the scout. “Speak plainly Dyrius, this is my son, not a general.” The scout grinned, the kind of grin that told Fynn that this man thought little of him, now putting a face to a name. “Jar’yan, we have had reports of a large force of Nherazkar soldiers, coming in from the north and west. This is going to be a rough one to route my friend.”

Jar’yan was the name of Fynn’s father, used rarely and only by his closest friends. He stood and clasp the shoulder of the scout, “Then Dyrius, let’s get busy,” He looked at Fynn, “and you my son need to suit up, incase we need to deploy reinforcements. Be ready, and make me proud!” He put his forehead to Fynn’s and smiled at him, a brief glimmer of love in his eye, and then turned to his wife, the lovely fire haired Ally’ssia, kissed her tenderly, and whispered to her, “Keep yourself safe on the battlefield, no risks, I will see you when we are done”. He then donned his helmet, and left with the scout to join his unit.

“Fynn, go now, do as your father bids” Ally’ssia said to her son, “I must join the other magi on the field.” She embraced him lovingly and kissed his ear. “I love you Fynn, may Seleen watch over you.”
As she walked away he whispered, “You as well mother” before turning away to go to his home and don the trappings of war.

Fynn had not lied when he said that there were always threats to Elmensfaar, but this time was different, the Nherazkar force was formidable. The days passed, and the reinforcements were called for, and Fynn took the place of a more seasoned soldier on the city gates. Days turned into weeks and smoke could be seen in the distance where the fighting was taking place. Injured and dead came back to the city, more than Fynn had ever seen before and he felt a sickening hole forming in his gut. Finally the report came that the undead had been defeated, but the toll had been great. As the last of the soldiers returned, either on stretchers or on their feet, Fynn’s parents were not among the ranks. He began searching franticly from infirmary tent to tent, but did not find them. He did how ever find Dyrius, the scout that had called his father by name. He was torn across his face with savage claw made gashes. One eye had been lost and his left pointed ear was mangled horribly. Fynn hated to even disturb him, but he had to know where his family was.
“Dyrius, wake up” he gently shook the scout who groaned as he opened his on good eye and looked at Fynn weakly. “My father and mother, do you know where they are?” An single tear rolled down Dyrius’s cheek as he whispered a single word, “Gone”.

There are many powerful words in the elven language, but none could have affected Fynn more than that single small word. It was all he could do to remain on his feet. Healers came and ushered him out of the infirmary tent as they treated Dyrius. Fynn only felt the sudden emptiness and loss of his world. He would miss the morning lessons in swordsmanship with his father, and afternoons spent leaning and understanding his magical abilities with his mother. Some how he made it back to his home, and closed the door to the empty two-story building behind him. There was no singing in the kitchen as his mother was preparing their evening meal, or the sound of conversation as his father would speak to her of his concerns and sometimes talk of another child. The silence was deafening.

Many weeks passed, and all invitations to parties or gatherings were refused. He read through his father’s journals on tactics and his mother’s poetry. He knew now why war was not to be taken lightly, why his father had been so strict with him on learning the sword and doing his part to defend Elmensfaar. He would give anything just to hear another lecture on how he needed to grow up, or how there was more to life than wine and fun. His life seemed very petty now, and he knew why his father did not smile often when he would talk about his latest outfit or romantic adventure with a local lady. He was suddenly disappointed with himself, as he knew his father had been with him as well.

The harp that sat in the corner was silent, though he could almost see his mother before it, making it sing with her delicate fingers. How he took it all for granted, and now wish for one more tune to still the turmoil in his heart.

He finally got the official report, “Missing in Action”. Dyrius survived his wounds and came by one day. It was the first visitor that Fynn had allowed entry.
“You look a mess Fynn!” Dyrius said, his one eye covered with a patch and long scars marking his face where a wight, summoned by a Nherazkar Necromancer, had savaged him. Fynn thought of a few comebacks to make light of the situation, but he did not have the heart for hilarity. It was true, and he knew it. He had not slept in days, and when he finally did, it was for short naps, disturbed by nightmares. They spoke over some wine and cheese while Dyrius told his account of the battle.
“There were too many, your father was at my side till the Wight leapt on top of me. The field had broken into chaos, you mother had all but exhausted herself of magic. Just when we thought we had caught a break, another wave hit us, rendered invisible by their foul magi. We were surrounded and engulfed by Nherazkar forces. When it had cleared, many of the units were dead, and your mother and father were nowhere to be found. We had won, but the cost was terrible.” He put his hand on Fynn’s shoulder, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Loss, it has the meaning of losing something, but in the years to follow, Fynn had found something, he had found his purpose, and he had found himself. The parties were few and he made little time for the fancy of ladies. he dedicated his mornings to the sword and his evenings to the arcane. Fynn knew what was important and when he finally came of age, he enrolled in the Academy to learn all he could about magic and how to alter it. He studied the spells and found ways to remove the somantic gestures from their casting. This would be a potent talent for the battlefield, when he would don plate steel armor and wield sorcery as easy as a wizard could in robes. This was his focus, and upon graduation, he took his knowledge and made it his goal to perfect it.

//Edited due to a consistancy error, Elmensfaar was never attacked by undead, so undead has been changed with Nherazkar forces. Heh, I'm a Noob :P


Top
 Offline Profile  
Reply with quote  
 Post subject: Re: Fynn Ailithorne
PostPosted: Apr 7th, '10, 19:16 
Level 2 Player Character

Joined: Apr 3rd, '10, 19:33
Posts: 5
Location: New Mexico USA
*bump due to pretty major edit, so the facts are straight*


Top
 Offline Profile  
Reply with quote  
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 2 posts ] 

All times are UTC + 1 hour [ DST ]


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 3 guests


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot post attachments in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
cron