The Mists of Darthmyre

Chapter One

Darthmyre castle was an immense structure, of beauty, grace and, above all, darkness. Towering spires rise against the skyline as one approaches it; it strikes a formidable picture. It is surrounded by swampland, swathed in mist. The Lord there is of Elven ilk, though he has not been seen by the general peasantry for many summers, and it has been rumoured that he had fallen ill to forces of darkness. Small, quiet villages surround it, and peasant folk make their way quietly about their day amongst the streets of the dank city surrounding it. Smiles are not something that one oft sees amongst the peoples of Darthmyre or even its' surrounding holdings. Once, many years before, it was a place of prosperity. A powerful fiefdom of the land of Alúra, a place where many gathered for trade and celebrations.

Those times though, have long since been forgotten. Now the peoples of Alúra tended to avoid it, and those who were unfortunate enough to live there daren't venture out after dark, or at all if it could be avoided. Creatures of the night stalked the mists, both natural and less than natural. It was speculated by many that this once prosperous place had been cursed by a powerful sorceress, while others speculated that it was simply the way of things; that the passage of time and the changes in the world surrounding them caused once great cities to fall into despair.

It is of no consequence why it is an undesirable place to most folk, for they didn't care for the reason to avoid it. But avoid it they did. It's just as well, really. Those people are smarter than I.

I stared from my vantage point on a hillock above the mists at the silhouette of the castle on the horizon for a moment, appreciating the beauty of the spectacle, shivering at the small knot of fear that twisted my stomach as I looked upon it. As an emissary of the southern Dragonweyr , Pyrmont, of the fire-elves, my Queen had sent me to find and make contact with the Lord of Darthmyre. They had long been friends and allies, and my Queen had become concerned as rumours had made their way across the lands. Rumours of evil ensnaring the dark-elf who ruled over Darthmyre, twisting his mind and sickening his body. While rumours are so often just that, it was cause for concern considering the state of the place. I had been ordered to leave my young dragon behind. They said it was a punishment, and a protection since a young female was far too valuable to risk. I knew it to be untrue; my dragon would perish with me if I were to die. I strongly suspected that the real reason was far more sinister. A dragon and rider ensnared and twisted by evil would make a powerful foe. It was a risk the fire elves were unwilling to take. I had to admit that I agreed with them, even if the separation from my dragon was almost physically painful.

I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath, attempting to banish the fear creeping in tiny icicles down my spine and urged my horse down off the hillock forward into the treacherous mists beginningthe arduous journey through the swamplands and into Darthmyre. Immediately the biting cold set me to shivering. My mottled green cloak was quickly dampened by the mists and the breath of my barrel chested coal black horse came out in a puff of steam. I hunched down, cold and slightly terrified despite the comforting weight of my elven wrought sword at my hip and the recurve bow at my back. Utter silence engulfed the place and I felt as though the snarled, bare limbs of the trees were preparing to snatch at me any moment. It was not oft that an elf would feel uncomfortable amongst trees; this place had the eerie feel of quiet, primal evil laying in wait for unsuspecting prey.

It should be noted that the ordinary person would not take their horse through such treacherous and unsteady terrain; but I am of the fire elves. Elven folk have kept animal companions close to them since the beginning of the world, though nowadays they are not what they once were. The residual magic caused them to be different from being in such close proximity to us. In days gone by, long before the time that I was born and long before the living memory of mortal man, these animals could talk. Nobody is quite certain why they lost this ability, and it seems to sadden those amongst us who are as old as time itself, most notably the most powerful Elven Queen, Awena, of the High Elves. I will never forget the look of deep sadness and wisdom in her eyes when I had the privilege to look upon her. Yet the animals that we do keep still retain some magical ability, much as the elves do compared to man. They are stronger, more agile, and have far more intelligence than their completely mortal counterparts. They are prone to longevity and have a much deeper, magical sense of their surroundings.