The Chronicles of Ematria

Chapter 1

“It is the will of the gods that I sing of one such as you.”

City of Earthwall, Province of Cicuria, 1275 AD

Our tale begins in Earthwall. A large city in the center of the Eastern kingdom of Cicuria. An imperialistic military state ruled by the family of Aurum the Great. Built in the shadow of an imposing mountain, the city of Earthwall is a curiosity. Its appearance is matched by the backdrop of trees of the forest that surrounds it. The vast majority of buildings are home to human citizens and its main attraction is the grand market which has attracted many to relocate to this grand city. However, there is a clear gap between the districts of the city where the humans lived and the other sections of the city.

Farion walked with a purpose through the dusky light of an alleyway strewn with refuse. A black scarf trailing down the nape of his neck, and clad in shaded leathers he skulks through the crowded market, eyes drawn toward the center, searching. He squints against the broad daylight, His ears are assaulted by the many vendors that tried to get his attention. yet his sharp, dusky eyes still spy his quarry.

People would stare at him as he walked through the bustling market. Like a rolling mist that could not be avoided. The elves that hunted for a living did not usually come this way through the market unless they had to. It was mid-day, and the market was packed with people. Humans sold everything from food to horses. Dwarves sold more practical items, like tools and weapons. Although most common folks do not typically possess the need for weapons or armor. Gnomes sold vibrant flowers and herbs of all kinds. A great majority of the scents about the market came from the stalls they tended.

Farion approached his target, a wealthy human selling elven girls into s*****y with the most charismatic air. “Yes folks, step right up! I have some fine specimens this day! Girls of all shapes and sizes to fulfill all of your needs!” The young elven man moves closer, nodding to the merchants and making idle chit-chat, before suddenly drawing a dagger from its place on his belt and ruthlessly and precisely flinging it across the market and into his prey. The vendor's lips move for a moment as if a fish out of water. In mere moments, his knees buckled, ushering him to the sweet embrace of the hard-packed earth. A shriek broke the roar of the market and several patrons in the crowd desperately called for the guards.

Pulling the knife from the man's stiffening body, the young elf freed the poor girls just as the clatter of the guard's armor breached hard-packed his keen ears. He sets off on a dead sprint, the guard's heavy armor clattering behind him. He vaulted over fences and dove through a few of the other stalls in an attempt to evade his pursuers. He springs off of a few crates and onto a rooftop, darting across the city and making his way back home, He had evaded capture, for now. Having given up on chasing the culprit for the moment, the guards return to deal with the corpse. On the chilling body, a small bushel of bloodstained feathers lay strewn out across his chest, just above the wound from the throwing knife. One of the guards spoke up in disgust. "Damn Knife-Ears. The poor man was just trying to conduct some business." The other guard spoke up, “What do we do, captain? If the sergeant finds out you let him escape...” The captain spoke up, “He won’t escape me” Farion melded into the darkness of a back alley, beginning to remove his complex armor. Slipping into some old cotton garments that would disguise him as nothing more than a peasant farmer, he threw his bag of equipment over his shoulder and pinched a rake from a nearby shop. As he stepped out into the light, he blended right in. The guards and the people remained unaware that the simple elven farmer that walked among them was the same assassin that had ended a slaver’s life mere moments before. But his actions had not gone unnoticed. A mysterious figure followed him back to his shabby home in the deplorable elven section of the city. It was a poor area. Many people lived on the streets in filthy, grime-covered tatters of cloth. The young man walked into a shabby-looking building. An elven tavern, near the guildhall. Although it could hardly be called such with the state of disrepair it was in. A pair of bloody feathers enclosed in his shaking fist, he sat down at the bar with a heavy thump. The elven bar-girl nodded to his enclosed fist, the blood-covered feathers peeking out, and walked into the back, returning with a small bag of gold.

“Thank you. The people appreciate your services.” Farion walked into a back room and began to change back into his armor. Then he heard a voice behind him, “Word has spread of what transpired in the market, Farion.” Faerandil rumbled, arms crossed. “Faerandil. I am surprised you have taken an interest in my affairs.” Farion murmured.

“Because you nearly got caught! What in the gods’ name were you doing in the market? The contract said to find out where the supply is coming from, not to openly murder someone in the middle of the square!” Faerandil roars, his voice thundered across the expanse of the small building. “We only kill if it is necessary, we are not common thugs!.” Farion spat back “I’d say it was necessary! I was not going to sit and watch another batch of our people be bought and sold like common cattle! And besides, the contract also said to put a stop to him, so I did!” Farions' face twisted into a mask of rightful rage.

“You never did listen well, did you, Farion? WE HAVE A CODE, and you have disregarded it time and time again!” Faerandil scolded Farion like a father to a child. He had always had a bond with Farion and seeing him become reckless and act rashly angered him. “You have always taught me to think outside the confines of myself! What is the issue if one less human is around to mistreat us?” Farion shot back, slamming his fist down on the table with a loud bang.

“That is not the point! If the guards have enough reason they will drive us out! If you had been caught? Then our people's blood will be on your hands!” Faerandil snarled, his face taking a vicious mask. Farion had heard enough. He turned and stormed out, returning to his home and slamming the door with a furious bang. Frustration coursed through his veins. How could his friend and mentor regard his actions with such contempt? Is this not what the Feathers did? Did they not fight AGAINST such injustices? He only had done what he thought was right. He paced back and forth, seething and simmering in his rage. A voice was suddenly heard coming from the doorway “You have a knack for disappearing, Young One.” Farion spun around and drew his dagger. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” The door slowly creaked open, a small figure shrouded in a ragged cloak stepping within the threshold. “That is not important. What is important is that you come with me, now.”

“And why should I trust you?” Farion spat, his tone defiant and full of suspicion.

“Because we need you to-” The posh-sounding females’ explanation was cut off by a commotion outside. The cities alarm bells were ringing in a symphony of chaos, The guards had found him. The Captain barked orders as he marched his men into the elven quarter of the city, “Spread out, No one leaves the quarter until we find that damn thief!” Farion quickly turned to the figure. “You were followed! Either you tell me what you know, or you will not walk out of here…”

“All will be revealed, but right now, you must run.” The figure disappeared in a flash of smoke, leaving the elf with a note;

“If you wish to seek that which haunts your dreams, Seek the Ruins of Vidaslaiin, I will be there.”

Farion scowls before darting out the front door and into the elven commons. It was rather chaotic for the young elf. The guards were seeking the premises for him. He hadn’t a doubt there was a bounty on his head. His feet took him off and through the elven quarter, toward the city gates. He weaved through the streets like a thread in a spinster’s able hands. He spun around to look back before he left the city for his journey... The hall of the Red Feathers was engulfed in ravenous flames. Screams and the clash of blades echoed in a haunting chorus as the building glowed a hellish crimson. He closed his fist and took a step back toward the burning building, but something told him to run. A nagging whisper just out of reach of hearing. With a frustrated cry, he turned back to the gates and ran toward the forest. He ran until his breath ran from him. Until the trees seemed to whisper. Until the road long since vanished. Until the sun began to set over the eastern ridge. Finally, he arrived at an ancient elven ruin. His breath came in uneven gasps. Wheezing and coughing. Sweat dripped down his brow as if from a river, his limbs like noodles. As he looked around, he drew his twin daggers from their leather sheaths. Looking for that figure who spoke to him in his home. He manages to get enough breath to speak after a time. “Alright, show yourself, mage. Where are you!?” After what seemed like eons, the hooded figure spoke, “At last, we have a moment’s peace.”

“Very well, now tell me what you want with me. And why you sacrificed my brothers and sisters in Earthwall!?”

The figure removed her hood and revealed that she is a bit older than he. Her eyes were covered in a sort of leather bandage. Her skin was smooth, not a single hair on her head. “Calm yourself, Farion. I am here to tell you that you are very important to my order.” Farion rolled his eyes, having never seen The mages’ face “A blind Mage. I suppose you are some sort of prophet, yes?” His voice was a deadly concoction of rage, grief, and frustration. The womans’ brow furrowed “Your sarcasm does you no credit, Farion. And you can call me The Seeker.”

Farions’ irritation grew as she spoke. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them, one way or another. “Then tell me what you want with me, Seeker.”

“You are a part of something much greater than yourself. Perhaps even greater than the entire realm.” her tones were deep and rich as if born from the depths of the earth.

Without so much as a warning, the young elf snapped at the mysterious riddler, not much for idle conversation at that point. “Speak sense, Mage! I grow weary of your riddled games.”

“I cannot gift you all the answers you seek, Young One. However, what I can give you is the knowledge that something far older than our history is coming. Something that could bring the world crashing to its knees…” She stepped around a corner of what surely was once a magnificent structure, disappearing once more.

“Why should I listen to anything you tell me?” He spat viciously, keen eyes scavenging the expanse of the ruin before he snorted and turned about his heel. After all… why would he listen to the ravings of a lunatic? Farion certainly wasn’t about to go back to Earthwall. Surely the moment he crossed the threshold, a thousand sellswords would be out for his head. That is when the raspy voice of The Seeker once more breached his ears, her breath that of ice. “Heed my words, Farion Oakstrider. The days you have known are but embers of memory, from this day forth, danger will haunt these lands. Fate calls to you, young one. No matter how far you run, it's’ foot be far more fleet. ” He anxiously twirled one of his many daggers between his fingertips, his head glancing around wildly, face flushed crimson in anger

“The humans only care about themselves. Why should I care what happens to them?” he thunders, feeling certain he had caught the strange woman off guard.

“BRAINLESS BOY!!!” her voice rang out as if a sudden c***k of thunder, momentarily startling young Farion. “Your hatred of the humans clouds your wit! The humans are not the only creatures dwelling within the confines of this realm!” He stood a little straighter then. It was not often that one could silence him so quickly. At least for the moment, the mage possessed his attention. “Think of your people, Farion, son of Fendál. To save them, you must cast away your pride and anger toward humans. Let go of your hatred and look toward the horizon.” Farion considered his options silently. He didn't have anywhere else to go and he was to be walking right back into the guards waiting hands if he so much as thought to return to Earthwall. He knew nothing of this mage or if her tale could even be true. But if he followed her, he might get some answers to the questions that flooded his mind. THAT was at the very least better than a lifetime in prison or a trip to the gallows. After a moment of thought, he finally spoke.

“How do you know my father, Seeker? He was quite content not to converse with those outside his clan” Farion did not know much of his father or his mother. His only knowledge was that both of his parents were killed In the war with the humans.

The woman appeared before him once more, a sly smirk decorating her lips. “You already possess the knowledge to that inquiry, do you not?” an innocent tone. With the next heartbeat, her head whips around, ears tilted for better hearing. “Now, gather your things, we must be off. There is work to be done.”

The two of them journeyed out from the ruins, Farion sheathed his daggers and adjusted his cloak. The air became still and quiet… the trees and birds silencing their ever-present chatter. Farion glanced around before he drew his bow, scanning the treelines around them. He was uncertain as to why, however, the mage also seemed to sense something amiss. “The trees do not simply cease their speech idly...” The mage whispers, sightless eyes gazing northward. The sounds of trees cracking and cloven hooves tearing through the forest erupted behind them. “I thought we would have more time, Run!” She snarls, her grip tightening on her staff as her feet took flight.

“What is happening? What is chasing us?!?” Farion gasped, taking after The Seekers’ mad dash. Her footfalls remain the same, never once dropping her pace. “It is something far older than you or I. Even the trees and the earth have forgotten its name. Hurry, young one! It is of fleet foot!” Farion snagged some arrows from his quiver, bow gripped tightly in his hand as they continue their attempt to escape. Then, a ferocious roar echoed through still forest, the pair freezing as the very earth beneath them seemed to shake. It was unlike anything Farion had ever heard in his life. The roar sent a chill cascading down his spine and his veins filled with ice.

“What in the gods’ name was that?!” Farion shook out.

The Seeker turns to him, her face drawn tight with genuine concern.

“We have to move, now!” She forced her feet off toward the base of the mountain and Farion ran after her, not daring to turn around and see what was making such a sound. They darted through the forest, Farion slowing his pace as the sounds of trees snapping grew faint behind them. After what seemed like eons, they finally stopped after reaching a clearing with a brooding cave nestled behind a brush of thick trees.

Farion was thoroughly exhausted from running, panting, and coughing as he slowly stalked into the cave with The Seeker. “I believe that the danger has passed. Come, we must hurry before it catches our scent again” Slowly, they made their way to the back of the rocky cave, their legs quivering from the exertion of their flight. After taking a moment to catch their breaths, the pair found themselves at a massive dwarven door. It had probably been built into the stone many, many ages ago.

As their presence nears the mighty door, it slowly grinds open to reveal a grand hall. Its massive ceilings opened before them as they stepped inside. Farion was struck dumb by the elaborate architecture. He had never seen such magnificent craftsmanship in his lifetime.

The room appeared to be an old temple of sorts, several idols set in positions that suggested a religious nature.

He glanced to the center of the room where a large round table sat, several figures sitting in ornate iron chairs. Unlike the carved figures, however, these were very alive and locked in a heated debate. A dwarven warrior stood, his face set with a troubled expression. The elderly man stroked his great silver beard quietly, beady eyes narrowed.

“We must be vigilant. We need to expand our territory and take on The Children of Tzedakah directly.”

Another voice speaks up, it came from the mouth of a human male. He stood and slammed his fist on the table with a thundering crash. In a booming voice, he shouted across the room, “Bah! Your head is full of rocks, Bluefur! We must dig in and defend what we have, not take the unnecessary risk of expanding and possibly sparking a war with a potential ally. We must consult the Nine Sages.”

“You humans are always clinging to your religion. We need a good dwarven perspective, not some group of humans dictating our every move!”

Farion speaks up, interrupting the two warriors. “I agree. The further we turn from the opinion of fanatical humans, the better.”

The human turns towards the voice that had just insulted him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Ah, Seeker, you return to us. I trust that you found the final warrior for our quest?” The dwarf chuckles, a mighty grin set on his broad features in response to Farions' statement.

The Seeker smirks from beneath her hood, “Indeed I have. A tad rough about the edges, yet I am certain that he is destined for greatness.”

Farion rolled his eyes and glared at the human form under his hood, his hair falling to his shoulders. This one reminded him of his youth and the loss of his parents and his culture. Farion spoke up after a moment, eyes scanning the dimly lit room “And just who exactly are the Children of Tzedakah?”

A third voice speaks up from the mouth of an elven woman on the other side of the room, its timid tone barely registering amongst the thundering voices. “The Children of Tzedakah are a cult of radically-thinking mages, who believe that they will one day summon the elven God of Nature, Temrasil. Although most only see them as benign, we believe that they are a genuine threat. Now, please, both of you. Can't we simply reach some sort of consensus? I'm sure both of your points are valid. However, should we not reach out to other governing bodies? Surely they could aid us.” Farion looked up from under his hood again, raising an eyebrow at the notion. “Only an elven high priest can commune with the gods. A human mage can’t summon any god of ours.”

The Seeker interrupts. “Nevertheless, Ilyana, we cannot hope to help anyone on our own. We must enlist other factions within Ematria to aid us. Now, let us begin with introductions, we have the newest member of our order now, child, introduce yourself.”

“I am Farion Oakstrider. I’ve lived in Earthwall most of my life, working as a...hunter.” He didn't say much about himself, seeing the human male across the hall looking him over.

The dwarf stood up from his chair, walking over and extending his hand in greeting. “Flint Bluefur. Loyal soldier for his majesty, King Gideon Hammerfell. Well, that’s not strictly true, I work for the Order of the Raven now, but once we are finished, I will go back to Helgrhan, and back to my home. You got a little meat on you, boy. I'm sure you will do fine.” He laughs, and steps away, returning to his seat.

One by one, the rest of the group introduced themselves. There was Darius Ironheart, a notable military commander from the eastern city of Preaterra. He was dressed like he was going to a ball, his long, tapered coat came down to his knees. His armor appeared more ceremonial than functional, and a large, ornate broadsword hung neatly in its place at his hip. He nodded to the elf, and in a low, but blunt tone he said, “I recognized your garb, you’re with that band of thieves, oh, what do they call themselves...the Red Feathers, was it?” Farion nodded, “Is that a problem?” Darius looked him over again, “As long as you keep your hands to yourself, no.” He returned his gaze to the table and to a map he was reading.

Then there was Ilyana the Green, an elven girl who was fluent in healing magics. A shy lass, but willing to do the right thing no matter what.

She greeted Farion with a wave and a smile. “It is nice to meet you, Master Oakstrider.” She managed to coerce a half-smile to form on his lips, “Indeed, your accent sounds familiar...you are from Autumnvale, yes?” Ilyana smiled a little bigger, “Yes, My mother was the local herbalist before…” Farion sensed she didn't want to talk about the war. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…” Ilyana stopped him, “It's quite alright.”

Next, there was Isibeal Ignes, a woman hailing from the northernmost province of Bannheim, a place even the sun dare not shine. Lavender eyes skim over the newcomer with an air of suspicion, lips tight as she offers nothing more than a curt nod. Farion half smiled as he addressed her, “A northern elf. A little far from Bannheim, aren't we?” Bluefur spoke up “I’d not anger her lad. She wields powerful magicks.” Farion spoke up, “I of course meant no insult, miss…?” Isibeal finally spoke up, “Isibeal, Isibeal Ignes. And there was no insult taken, Master Oakstrider. I must say you are quite the firebrand, barging into a discussion you knew nothing about. It's bold, to say the least.”

Finally, there was Pojin Darkraven, a gnomish scholar who had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge. An educated gentleman of high stature as his rather ornate clothes might suggest. “Good to meet you, lad. I have not met many elves, except for Isibeal and she doesn't speak much.” His tone is bitter upon the woman’s name, a short snort exerted from Isibeals lips. Farion addressed the gnome, “And I have not known many gnomes, but none that I have met seem quite so scholarly as you.” Pojin replied, “Well I believe that a man’s mind can do far greater things than his hands. A position which, frankly I have been ridiculed for taking.”

The Seeker gave an exasperated sigh, “Well now that introductions have been made, we must address the true mystery. I do believe that Lord Ironheart possesses some information, yes?”

Lord Ironheart rose to his summons and unrolled a map of the kingdom, several marks made at specific locations.

“As you can see, The Children of Tzedakah have a few strategic points all around this area. We need to eliminate them without raising suspicion. Our numbers are few, but with time, perhaps we can convince the other races of Ematria to join together to defeat these mongrels.”

Farion interjected, “I can take out the outposts. The feathers are trusting enough that they will listen to me. And I have the element of surprise”

“Absolutely not, I will not allow a group of common thieves to tread on all we have worked for.” Darius retorted. Farion stood, closing his fist. “And since when were you the leader of this outfit? Last I remembered, I don't take orders from you.” Darius also stood from his seat, “Why you obstinant little..”

“Enough.” Isibeal stopped the two men before the argument could escalate, offering her solution. “What we need is a plan, not for you two to be bickering like children.” the lavender-eyed woman states in a lyrical tone, eyes gliding across the map in appraisal.

Farion closed his fist and gave her a half-hooded glare, “I know these forests like the back of my hands. What could they possibly do that will stop us?”

“Perhaps you know the forests, yet I hardly believe a common ruffian would be aware of the security measures taken at these posts. They are not common guards.” Isibeal states calmly, eyes drifting back to those of Farion. “I am well aware of the expeditions of your little troupe. I hardly think they are qualified to take on such a high-risk mission.”

Farion fired back with increasing vigor. “The Feathers have faced many mages, how are The Children of Tzedakah any different?”

Isibeal’s face goes pale for a moment, hardening to a stony gaze. “My elder sisters are no mere mages, boy. There is a reason I have urged an air of caution in dealings with the Children of Tzedakah.” She states in a guarded tone, the crystalline necklace about her neck seeming to shine in the dim room.

Pojin closes his book, gently placing it on the table, “And how is it that you know so much about their operations, Isibeal?” He asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“The Children of Tzedakah are the enemy. Is this the appropriate time to question my allegiance?” Isibeal inquires, brow raised in question.

Darius places a hand upon his blade, “So you are in league with our enemy? Is that why you seem to know more about their tactics than any one of us?”

“Oh?” Isibeal mocks in honeyed tones. “I was unaware it was a human custom to be in league with those that make attempts on your life. Quite a peculiar notion.”

Darius turns to Farion, “I was unaware of any attempts on my life. But then, you elves are all such upstanding citizens of the world anyway.”

“Please, Lord Ironheart. Must you make every situation about yourself? I doubt your death would be of much consequence in the grand scheme of things.” Isibeal groans, her eyes taking on a more vicious tone. “I could hardly be in league with my sisters. After all. I hide something they so desperately seek.”

“Well, since we are all so keen on sharing secrets, I had a suspicion that the Red Feathers would try to destabilize Preaterra. It is your nature. You are a backward and primitive people and your gods are nothing more than images, conjured by your lack of knowledge.”

“Lord Ironheart… have you ever spoken to an ethereal entity?” Isibeal inquires, brow furrowing as she rises to her feet. She hit a nerve. “I hardly believe this to be true. They would not wish to sully their very nature in a meeting with your kind.”

Darius slammed his fist down on the table, “How dare you! I knew that Aurum the Great’s army was right to invade your lands! You need to be taught obedience and discipline through the true god of our great empire!”

A bitter laugh is exerted from Isibeal, her facial expressions seeming to quite enjoy this argument. “You’re truly uneducated to speak to a Roya-” her words were cut off as Farion launches across the table with a mighty cry. He had enough of Darius’s mouth. Vaulting over the table and lunging forward, he pinned Lord Ironheart to the ground and began assaulting him. The two of them roll around on the stone floor, brawling and screaming at each other, Their hatred for each other’s races reaching its boiling point. Isibeal’s eyes catch subtle movement in the corner of the room, hushed laughter breaching her ears.

“BOTH OF YOU! STOP THIS AT ONCE!” The elvish tongue