El-Vador's Travels

The
greatest of tales all have but one thing in common: they all begin
with a blank page. A little white nothing to divulge all your secrets
and desires and experiences onto, whether it be in the form of a
fictional account or a literalistic interpretation.

This
particular tale is a long-suffering one that has germinated for many
a decade yet never truly found its way out. Tales like that can
slowly seep from an individual's core into their own life with dire
consequences. Such is the manifestation of the tales within me that
for the longest time I was oblivious to what I know now. The very
tale I need to tell you is the one I have lived first hand.

S
ergeant Sykes remained at his post as those
around him stood agape at what they had just witnessed.

He had heard about the Elf, everyone had. The legend was spoken about
with a mixture of reverence and fear from so many. Unlike most of his
contemporaries, Sykes didn't prescribe to that particular viewpoint.
Whether the creature was an Elf or not had no bearing on his
day-to-day activities and thus he paid it little to no heed.

Yet it seemed that since this morning the creature they called
El-Vador was to become a part of his duties whether he wished it or
not.

It wasn't trepidation he felt at that, or so he kept telling himself.
A good warrior was always prepared and he felt the need to hear about
the more practical tales where previously he would have feigned
deafness. He had to admit that regardless of the embellishment such
stories were bound to contain, he now felt a strange curiosity about
the creature.

It sat in the chair before him, a vivid blue cylinder of energy
pulsing around it. The magi littering the corners of the room had
slowly picked themselves off the floor and stared in barely
restrained terror. They had not expected this to work.

It flexed experimentally, sinew standing out in sharp contrast to the
passive face, it would appear that it was trapped. The incantation
was a success.

Sykes maintained his vigil as the creature's eyes slowly scanned the
occupants of the room. He was one of three guards placed by the
doorway lest the creature overwhelm the field and attempt an escape.
The garrison had been very quiet when he had picked his men, most of
them believed it to be a death sentence. After all, what mortal man
could hope to stop a monster like this if it were to overwhelm the
combined efforts of the most powerful conjurers of the era?

The six magi had composed themselves now, apparently the energies
they were manipulating in order to simultaneously create the
cylindrical field and transport El-Vador unwillingly were very
taxing.

One of the older mages nodded at Sykes, who in turn pointed one of
his younger guards to the door, apparently it was time to fetch the
Arch-Inquisitor. The undisciplined expression of relief on the man's
face as he dashed out the dungeon door was irritating.

'Ah yes, of course he wouldn't be here. My capture has finally been
achieved and the Arch-Inquisitor wants to play games.'

The sound came from all around the room. Initially the magi looked
amongst each other in confusion to see who had spoken, apparently the
creature had thrown its voice somehow.

'None of you wish to engage me then? The very nightmare from your
childhood has appeared before your eyes for the first time and your
collective curiosity has been quelled by fear of reprisal from your
master?'

There was no mistaking that tone, the creature was goading them in
spite of its entrapment.

'You will speak when spoken to, Elf.' Sykes replied, as angry at
being baited as he was with the magi's lack of response to it.

A faint tinkling of laughter bit into his ears, the magi cringed at
the sound. 'Or you will do what exactly, my good man? Are you going
to pass through the barrier that even I cannot penetrate and exact
vengeance for my tone?'

Sykes remained silent at that, feeling a little foolish.

'Hark these words, fearless magi. For I intend to start my tale long
before your Arch-Inquisitor arrives. That is why you called me here,
is it not? To recount my travels unto you and await summary
judgement, no? The first of my tales has a humble beginning as do
most of this age, listen carefully.'

The magi beckoned the scribes forward and quills started feverishly
scratching on the velum parchment as El-Vador began to speak.

One
of the first questions I am asked is how I could possibly ascertain
the moments from this tale for which I was not present? Why not
simply stick with a first person perspective? You will have to allow
for a little leniency here fair reader, for this is more an artistic
interpretation of what I consider to have happened and I believe that
recounting it is necessary. There are certain... arts which aid me in
conjuring the memories of the long-deceased, they paint a skeletal
recollection of events. I shall not divulge any further specifics at
this time, even under pain of ending this story before it has begun.
Let the dead rest, even if I must do so with them.

T
he
cart groaned forward as the Urtaka pounded relentlessly on into the
Elven lands. Surrounding it were the sounds of a multitude of booted
feet marching in strict unison. Lithe Goblin archers and the
broad-shouldered Orcish spear men from southern parts that the sun
rarely touched made up the bulk of Chief Sarvacts' army. They eyed
the small number of heavily armoured Orcish champions who rode next
to Sarvacts with a mixture of distaste and envy.

'Six weeks of pissing marching and still they won't let us eat the
horses.' one of the soldiers grumbled, spitting into the mud of the
road in disgust. He was in the centre of the marching band and
subjected to the worst of whatever had been kicked up from the boots
of his fellow mercenaries.

An
Orc next to him snorted in derision. 'As if the likes of us will be
lucky enough for horse meat, you know as well as I where that'll be
headed.' he answered.

'And where's that?' demanded the first Orc. They had been arguing
back and forth sporadically through the trip, he wanted his
compatriot's head on a pike but the superiors wouldn't appreciate the
delay.

They
had been bonded in loathing of a common enemy though, aside from the
savage white skins that was. The Orcish champions were both haughty
and intimidating, a perfect source of hatred from those further down
the food chain.

'They'll
stay mounted in case the battle turns.' the Orc replied. 'Then flee
should the Elves get the better of us.'

This
brought derisive laughter from a number of them listening. This
Orcish army? Defeated by a bunch of Elves?

Their
commanding officer was less than pleased at the talk. A scarred, ugly
creature that more growled than spoke. 'Shut your holes the lot of
you. If that gets back to one of the champions he'll kill us for
sure.'

'Like
we couldn't take him.' one of the Orcs replied, but the strain in his
voice spoke of a lie.

The
Chief loathed everyone in his army without exception. What he had
done at his previous posting in the depths of the capital to be
relegated to the mountains in the east was unknown, but either he had
pissed off the wrong people or he had committed an act horrific even
by Orcish standards. It was more than likely both, Sarvacts' eyes
suggested that he had witnessed a great number of terrible things,
many of which he had perpetrated.

He
may not have liked his own men but he reserved his true hatred for
the Elves. Those gossamer-thin creatures that should snap before them
like so many fragile blades of grass had foiled him innumerable
times. Sarvacts had initially been tasked with taking a small
village, but after repeated failures brought about by underestimating
the outlying forces' skill in battle he had finally mustered enough
of an army to wipe every Elven face from this mortal coil altogether.

Through
the frozen mud of the road to the north rose the Elven mountains, it
had been a long trek from the south-western frontier lands but they
had finally bridged the gap that separated the two races. Bright
forests obstructed their every attempt to scale them and mist clung
to the peaks to deny them sight, often descending early and foiling
any attempts to press forward.

'Urgh but I hate this weather.' muttered one of the soldiers. 'Why
would you want to scale this place anyway? What is there to gain from
it strategically?'

Their
commanding officer grunted in return. 'If you were a few years older
and a few years wiser you'd know just what those sly creatures were
capable of at the peak of their powers, hunting our lads down like
animals for sport, not stopping until we were driven to the very
fringes and the darkest of places.'

They
plodded along in silence for a while. But the questions weren't over
yet, and before long one of them spoke up again. 'Those woods look
deserted if you ask me. I see no army that could slaughter us,
perhaps a cold snap has killed them off.'

'Oh no, you can't see them,' replied the Commander. 'That's not to
say they aren't out there watching. Whether you see them or not, they
will spot you and put an arrow in your socket as soon as they feel
the time is right. Which is usually shortly after they first lay eyes
upon you.'

More
nervous silence followed, the Commander was the only one in their
group who had practical experience of fighting Elves. That he was the
only one who seemed to take them seriously as a result spoke volumes.
Usually Orcs and Goblins would sing as they marched, drumming
ferocious battle songs depicting what they intended to do to their
foes and especially what they'd do to the women that were left
behind. Not now, the thought of Elven eyes peering out through the
forest and readying a killing shot had stolen their voices.

Gurgash looked toward the huge Orcish flag that a standard-bearer
carried at the head of the column. The great red snake on tattered
green canvas, a source of pride and resolute determination to
overcome any foe. Let the Elves come, they would soon feel the bite
of this superior Orcish fighting force.

Gurgash's
hand tightened on the shaft of his spear at the thought of impaling
his enemy upon it. Let them crawl out from their hiding, when they
did he would make them scream for mercy as he split their bellies
open. He couldn't help but feel that such thoughts were bravado on
his part, he was entirely new to the war and to marching and conflict
in general. The last few weeks had been eye-opening to say the least,
there was a lot less glamour about being in an army than he had been
led to believe. His cousin Harg had warned him, not that he had much
choice in the matter, having been drafted against his will for this
conflict.

They
forded their way across another stream, Goblin scouts dashing forward
and securing the land with their heightened senses and ensuring that
they weren't marching into an ambush.

The
standard-bearer splashed across, the water rising no deeper than his
thighs. The Orcish champions forded the stream next, even making
something simple like crossing a stream appear like it was an
imperious procession. Gurgash noted that while the champions were
covered by the scouts and their wary eyes, they weren't planning on
forming any protection for the other troops crossing the ford. Chief
Sarvacts and a selection of his toadies didn't bother crossing at
all, allowing the troops to advance first lest the scouts were proven
wrong.

'Coward.' muttered Gurgash under his breath. 'The pointy white-skins
have struck a fear into him.'

The
commanding officer kicked him, hard enough to stagger him and make
him curse in pain. 'That's your last warning, no bad-mouthing the
Chief or I spit you and let the ford carry your carcass clear of us.'

The
army had almost finished crossing the stream by this point, there had
been little sign of an ambush in the water, though it wasn't really
deep enough to cause impediment. Gurgash drew his sword and held it
high so the blade would not suffer the water. As he crossed, his
boots crunched on gravel in the stream bed, he imagined himself
striding over the battlefield upon the tops of Elven skulls. Cold
water poured down over the tips of his boots and soaked his feet,
dispelling the daydream quite effectively. He cursed quietly, knowing
that cold feet were the least of his worries right now. He would have
to sit close by the fire once their marching was over, illuminated
for every Elven archer to train their sights upon, or risk losing a
toe to the cold.

He
squelched up onto the north bank of the stream. 'Welcome to our new
Orcish lands!' Chief Sarvacts bellowed from horseback, not at Gurgash
in particular but to all the men who were coming up onto dry land
just then. 'There may be Elven forces that oppose us but their blood
shall stain these river banks before the end of the week.'