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Last Child of Ungoliant

02-26-2006, 07:57 PM

i will here post sections in a story, i would appreciate feedback, consisting of constructive criticism only, no bashing it cos you just don't like it please!

i will post sections in seperate posts (obviously) over a period of time.

Prologue.

Kothar looked out from under the cover of the bush he had slept under, this late into spring the bush was laden with berries, but he knew better than to eat the supple fruits of the Bolsar bush until they had grown black, and edible. Already the sun was stealing into the sky, spreading her thick rays into the cold air, lighting up the low hills, and waking up the people in the villages spread around the base of the hills, right down to the edge of the water on all sides of the land. He knew they would be looking for him, his younger brother and sister, yearning for him to take him out on one of his regular trips to the island on the north side of the mainland, yet he had told them many times that they were too young, too irresponsible to go with him out there. That, however was not the only reason they couldn’t go with him, but they were not yet old enough to know that. He gave an audible sigh as he got up, and started to walk down the hill, to where he always secured his boat a few miles west of his village, the largest in the area. He knew to get as far out into the sea before his siblings raced down to the beach, begging to accompany him.

All of the people in the area knew of the trips Kothar made out to the island, and they all knew of the one who lived out on that island, though none knew who, or what, he was. Some said a wizard, destined to keep the people of Falaronia safe, others said a Tartarian prince, descended from the line of kings before the republic came, whilst some of the younger villagers suggested such notions as a dark Elf from the cold northern wastes, or a Spyronian troll, if indeed any lingered on from the ancient days. In any case, Kothar was not in any hurry to indulge them in any of their pet fantasies, knowing it was better to let them keep guessing than to tell them, for the truth can sometimes be stranger than fiction, and these truths are best kept hidden, until their time has come, but sometimes, the truth has a way of coming out, all on it’s own.

Last Child of Ungoliant

03-07-2006, 03:54 PM

One.

His yellowed finger scratched the top of his head, seeking out the elusive itch, as he slowly grew accustomed to the early morning light. He knew the young man, Kothar, would soon be setting out from the mainland, and an hour after would skilfully land his boat on the beach and trudge up the soft sand, toward the small stone-walled house. He also knew that the precious bag of purplish fruits that he had asked Kothar to gather would soon be placed softly on the table, ready for him to use. He walked to the doorway, and looked southwards over the small island, squinting in the sunlight he could just about make out the largest island of Falaronia, with it’s low hills, and clusters of villages, although the eastern and western ends of the island were lost in the blue haze. The small rows of fishing boats could be made out, as they made their way back to the harbours, after a successful morning’s catch, ready to deliver breakfast to the villagers. Holding his hand up to his eyes, he squinted through his fingers, and saw what he looked for; a small red boat, being rowed across to this little isle, now only half an hours journey away. Turning round the corner of the small building, he looked to the north-east, and saw the great black clouds being pumped out by the industrial cities in the Republic, although the great lands themselves were much too far away to be seen with the eye. He turned his head, letting a single tear drop from his cheek as he returned to the south side of the building, to await the coming of the young man.

Kothar wiped the sweat from his brow as he heaved on the oars of the little craft, knowing that he was now over halfway to his destination. Looking southwards as he rowed, he saw the flotilla of fishermen plough back into the harbour, knowing that his younger brother and sister would be on the dockside, though they would trudge slowly back to the home of their parents when they knew that Kothar was not returning for them. As he pulled back on the oars with his muscular arms, he noticed the familiar crow land on the plank next to the bag, and he knew that he was nearly to the beach. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the man, on the beach, watching and waiting. Kothar grinned to himself, and gave a quick burst of energy, that propelled him masterfully onto the beach. Leaping out with just one step, he reached back in and pulled out the cloth bag, shouldering it before walking up the beach to meet the old man.

“You’re earlier today,” said the old man, the crow resting neatly on his shoulder, “Yes,” said Kothar, “I knew the fishermen would be returning soon, so made the journey as soon as possible,” he replied to the old man. “A wise choice,” said he “Do you have the berries?” he went on. Kothar nodded to him, showing the bag as evidence, before the two of them walked silently up the path to the grey house at the top of the beach. “I don’t understand why you want unripened Bolsar berries,” said Kothar, once they had sat down at the table “They are quite toxic until they turn black!” the old man smiled, “Toxic?” he asked, with a wry smile, “Only to humans, but not to me, or my kind,” he said, and began to eat the fruits, occasionally sharing one with the crow. As he ate, his yellowy skin returned to it’s natural shade, eventually settling on a vibrant green, his yellow eyes lit up with a light from within, the old man was visibly better than when Kothar had met him only twenty minutes before down on the beach, it seemed as if many years had fallen off of this man, although Kothar knew just how old he was, and he knew he was old, old even for one of his kind, the ancient race of Straka, but he came from a noble lineage, one blessed with many times the span of the others.

“Tell me, Lokarr,” Kothar began, once the old man had finished eating, “Where are the others now?” The old man looked at Kothar, his yellow eyes turning down to the floor, “It is a very sad tale,” he began, “I will not tell you all of it, for many dark years lie behind, and I foresee many more dark years yet to come, but I will tell you enough for you to be able to understand.” They moved out onto the grass that lay between the house and the beach, and sat down, the crow flapping up onto the roof, nestling onto a small nest, the old man looked up and smiled, before turning to Kothar, “Millennia ago, the Straka were the only sentient race in the world, aside from the guardians, and the guardians knew that the others would soon come, the elves, trolls and the three races of men, although they knew not when that time would come. It chanced upon a time that the guardians met with the eldest of our race, and instructed him in the arts that the Ones who come not into this world had taught them, and told of the coming of the other sentients, and how the time of the guardians was soon to be ended, but because they knew not when the others would come, they told the Straka to keep the lands in readiness for the coming of the younger races. Aeon upon Aeon passed, and the world became a fair green place, under the tutelage of the guardians, our arts had become strong, but their time passed, and they retreated to seven islands, far to the north, where now only rumour of them remains yet, although the Ones above know whither they went, and that is to them.” Lokarr ate the last of the fruits, and placed the seed in a small earthen cup, before continuing with the tale.

“We carried on the traditions taught to us by the guardians, and soon became aware of a new presence; the first of the others had awoken. It was a joyous time for us, the light Elves had come into the Northern lands, and we taught them the arts of healing, the powers of growth, and the knowledge of all things that grow on the earth, and they were grateful. Others came too, the dark Elves, who liked the moonlight and his sheen, rather than the sun and her rays, they too learnt of us many things, like their cousins of the light before them. Another thousand years passed since the coming of the Elves, and then the trolls had awoken. The first king, Spyros, met with us, and led the others of his kind out from the east, after being enamoured of the knowledge which we imparted. All of these races prospered under the trade that developed between them, never was there hostility, the trolls became masters of stone, whilst the Elves were scholars of all that grew and was green.

“Time passed, and the skills of seafaring were taught to the Elves, and they passed westward, settling on the fair green islands to the north-west of this little isle, whilst the trolls remained on the eastern lands, crafting great halls of stone, and all the people of the lands were content. After another four thousand years, the first of the human races came. They were the Falaros, the ancestors of your people, and a peaceful race, who learned masonry from the trolls, agriculture from the Elves and seafaring from my people. They eventually settled on a large island, naming it after their own people, Falaronia, although a great plague hit, and many young men were stricken, until we were able to get aid to them, and only in the last hundred years has your people been able to recover their strength.

“After another hundred years, the Tartari came, they also were peaceful, and established a kingdom in the lands south of where the trolls dwelt, not far from where the greater part of my people lived, and still all were contented, though we knew that there was still one race to come. They came after another two hundred and fifty years, the Tarusians. They came from the south east, unlike the other two human races which came from the far eastern lands, and they were swarthy, with long matted beards, and wild hair. Many of the Tartari were fearful of these newcomers, although the ninth King of the Tartari, Kunnar, met their leader outside the gates of his city, and offered them land to build their cities, but the leader of the Tarusians only let out a hoarse laugh, ‘We will take these lands you offer,’ he said, ‘but we will not build cities, we will have these that you have kindly built for us!’ Kunnar was fearful now also, none of the races that had come to the lands where we dwelt had any knowledge of warfare, for it had not been needed. The Tartari sent messengers to us, until the Tarusians besieged their citadel, for they had grown to be a numerous people in the sun-drenched lands of the south east, before setting out.

“Under this massive force, the Tartari had no chance of survival, and the Tarusians eventually lost the cities to the invaders. Rajko, the Tarusian leader set Kunnar’s head on a spike outside the largest city, which he established as his capital, and soon set about plundering the libraries of the city, learning all of the knowledge that he could, before burning the works of the Tartari, eradicating their writings forever, and setting up what he called ‘The Supreme Republic’, the trolls dwindled to a small people, after numerous attacks on their towns, and they fled far into the north east, whilst the dark Elves set out for the icy north, where they settled, creating the land of Epiria, though the light Elves came back to our cities, and set off, with us, to the seven islands far to the north.

“Without any checks on their power, the Tarusians became a heavily industrialised people, their cities belching out black fumes, day and night. After another hundred years, four hundred since Kunnar’s death, a toxic cloud appeared in the south of the seven islands, and many of our people fled, though they were never seen again. I was seven hundred years old when that happened, and I took my boat to the seas after burying my friend, the last surviving light Elf, though if any dark Elves still remain, I do not know. One hundred years ago, I landed on this island, although the people of Falaronia had forgotten their tales of the past, still suffering the effects of the massive population loss they had received from the terrible plague. My heart had become somewhat gladdened; the furnaces of the Tarusians had grown silent, though now they have awoken again, and the people of Falaronia have slowly begun to recoup their population size, and your people have now begun to advance your knowledge again, though you have a long way to go before you reach the level of your ancestors.”

Lokarr sighed heavily, his crow landing on his knee, “That is the tale of my people, intertwined with the histories of all races, the death of the light Elves and the Tartari, and the fading away suffered by the trolls and the dark Elves, the fall, and rise, of your people, and the ascendance of the Tarusians