A fantasty epic I thought of doing. I wanted it to be a comic, but I can't draw very well, so I am doing a story instead.
All the other delegates walked into the conference room, but as Yori tried to enter the guards blocked the entrance with their battle axes.
"What is the meaning of this,” he demanded.
The Orator stepped out from behind the guards.
“I specified that I wanted King Hurim’ethiel to attend this meeting.” The Orator’s voice was flat and did not show any sign of gender.
“My father dealing with rebels in the Great Forest. I was sent in his stead.”
“Hurim’ethiel. None else.” The Orator’s hooded figure reentered the room and the door closed. Yori resisted the desire to curse. Unlike human curses, elfin curses tended to have some sort of effect, and he did not want the Orator mad at him. He walked a short distance from the door and sat crossed legged on the ground. He then took a bottle from his belt and splashed its contents on the ground. The water seeped between the stones for a few seconds, but a bit of magic turned it into a circular, reflective surface. Shortly afterwards, the king’s disgruntled face appeared.
“What could possibly be so important that you would-”
“They won’t let me in," Yori said, cutting his father off. His father could talk for hours on end if not stopped quickly.
The king scowled. “Fine then. Leave the meeting place. I will come to the next summons.”
“The Orator said that this meeting is of the utmost importance. And you know better than I do that the Orator does not joke around.”
The king realized what Yori was going to say next.
“You,” he said as his son opened his mouth, “are not switching places with me. This is delicate business and I do not think you understand the importance of-“
“Father, I am ninety-two years old! I am ready! I brought a scroll just in case. Besides, you said that you were simply finishing up.” Yori knew that his father’s indecisiveness mostly stemmed from his worry over the growing number of revolts. He was also slightly intimidated by his son's growing involvement in politics. But eventually he let out a sigh.
“Alright.” The king waved his hand and the water spilled onto the cobbles once more. Yori put the water back in the bottle and stood. Taking out a scroll, he broke the seal and began to chant the words scrawled across it.
There was a vague feeling of disembodiment, but his vision settled and he found himself in The Great Forest. The dappled light was dim, but it was much better than the flickering torches in the dungeon-like place where the meeting was taking place. The place was as familiar as his room. General Zirimith came up to him and bowed.
“Welcome, Prince Yoriai’thistiel.” Yori nodded at him and he straightened. The prince examined the clearing in which the fighters were gathered. They had all stopped whatever they were doing to watch him.
“So the rebels have surrendered?”
Zirimith nodded. “We are going to the peace talk now.”
“Alright.” Yori gripped the handle of his sword. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The king rolled up the blank scroll and frowned at the darkness of the building. Part of the reason he had had his son take his place was because of how much he hated this dank dark place. Wood elves weren’t meant to be in underground.
The king walked into the room, the guards parting for him. As he took his place, Elathoryne looked at him sniffily.
“Late again, Hurim’ethiel?”
“Tidings to you as well, Elathoryne.” The queen’s haughty nature irritated him, but King Huri had come to learn that this was typical of all high elves. Grand Mayor Fregor Hopskitch blew a smoke ring.
“It’s good that you’re here, Huri! I thought that we would have to start without you.” The hobbit flashed his white teeth. Igrin For mumbled something into his beard that might have been a greeting. He was a dwarf of few words.
The human prime minister, Roger Carson, was sitting next to Hopskitch. His eyes darted around nervously, as if looking for threats to his three piece suit.
“You really shouldn’t smoke,” Carson told the mayor. “It is very unhealthy.” Hopskitch just chuckled and blew a smoke in his face, causing the prime minister’s face to crinkle in disgust.
“Carson, hobbits have smoked for hundreds of years and we still outlive humans.”
Carson tried to retort, but a heavy silence settled over the room liked a spell. It was time for the meeting to begin. A crystal goblet was set at each person’s place, filled with crimson liquid. The Orator, seated at the head of the table, picked up his glass and tipped some of it into Elathoryne ‘s wine at his right. She then did the same. This tradition dated back to the earliest days of the council.
It was meant to promote goodwill among members, but even so Huri noticed the other council members chanting incantations and using charms to check their wine for poison. The king waved his hand over his goblet, but it did not change color. Satisfied, he raised it to his lips, aware of Elathoryne’s eyes on him as she did the same. When all of them had drained their glasses, the Orator spoke.
“I told all of you that this meeting was very important, and it is. I am declaring myself leader.”
The hobbit took his pipe out of his mouth, a befuddled look on his face.
“You already are our leader.”
Huri had the oddest feeling that within the darkness of the hood, the Orator was smiling.
“Not of the council. Of everything. All of you are to leave your government posts immediately.”
Roger Carson stood up, his face red.
“This is an outrage. You can’t…” His outburst trailed off into a strangled noise. Huri watched in horror as he fell to the ground, clutching his throat. The goblets, Huri realized, had been poisoned. As the spasms began to seize him and he collapsed on the ground, Huri hoped that somehow, the Orator was stopped.
* * *
The guard lifted his hand from the elfin king’s throat.
“Dead. All of them.” The Orator nodded and stood. Even the artificial light that now did not dispel the darkness beneath his hood.
“Our time is upon us. Initiate the plan.”
* * *
Yori padded silently into the site the rebels had specified. His eyes looked around, but there was no one there.
“We are here,” He shouted. He heard a rustle and three elves stepped out from behind the trees. Yori walked a bit closer, Zirimith close behind.
“We have come to make peace.”
One of the elves, whom Yori assumed was the leader, shook his head.
“We make no deals with the house of Loirn.” Yori heard a groan from Zirimith and turned just in time to see him slump to the ground, a sword in his chest. It was an ambush. Yori pulled out his sword and dispatched the general’s killer, then he turned and engaged the three elves in front of him.
But even as he fought, Yori knew that they were outnumbered. Yori wondered what his father would say if he died. Probably something about how he was right and how foolish his son was to have thought he was ready. But if there was anything Yori hated, it was admitting he was wrong, even in death. So Yori continued fighting, even after the last of his men were dead. However, when the fighting stopped, Yori was surprised. He had survived. Now what was he going to…
A sharp pain pierced Yori’s side. He cried out and noticed an elf standing with his bow extended. The attacker then fled, his empty quiver bouncing against his back. He had probably gone to get reinforcements. Yori fell to the ground and tried heal, but the arrow had been coated in kimili juice and had sapped him of his magic, stopping his healing powers. He was completely defenseless, and the party that elf had gone to get would probably finish him off.
Yori heard the bushes shaking, and a hooded figure came towards him. He tried to stand, but his legs felt wooden and his sword weighed a ton. As the figure stooped over him, his eyes flickered closed.