The Sword that Failed the Rider (open)

[Merril]

(Setting: Gil'ead, soon after the battle.)

The battle of Gil'ead had not been a terribly atrocious one. In this world, there could be very little resistance against the amassed forces of the Elves in a venue so far from Uru'baen herself. However, even as the victors, a sad song floated through the ranks of Elves. Oromis, most beloved, was dead, as was Glaedr. The silence was unbroken but for the funeral dirge.

The bodies had been recovered, and led in procession through the streets of Gil'ead. They would be burned, and their ashes returned to Du Weldenvarden, to the Crags of Tel'naeir. Merril watched from the edge of the street, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had met Oromis and Glaedr only once, but they had been kind to her, and she had often admired Glaedr's beauty and power from afar. Such days were no more.

Merril knew that she did not have long to stand and gaze. Islandzadi Drottning had tasked her with finding something that was perhaps more important than the bodies of the fallen; something that could be extremely dangerous if it were to fall into the wrong hands. She was tasked with finding the essence of a Rider and his Dragon, imparted over a century into the most noble of things. Merril was tasked with finding a sword.

The Elf turned away from the procession and moved quickly onto a side-street. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she cursed herself silently for her rashness in waiting for so long. Though Oromis likely had errected wards to protect the blade, every moment that Merril spent away from her duty was a moment in which the sword could be discovered. She knew that she could not allow anyone else to unearth the legendary weapon, whether by accident or design, so she quickened her pace toward the broken gate.

[colm]

Will reply as colm ASAP.

[Merril]

(You can jump in any time.)

Portions of the city were in ruins. For the most part the Elves elected not to use seige engines to conduct war, as their magic had always served better for the purpose of breaking the defenses of their foes. Looking around, Merril saw the results of that magic. Sometimes a little bit of destruction was necessary in warfare, she supposed. However, she knew that what lay outside of the city was what would trouble her the most.

Steeling herself, Merril adjusted her leather bracers and pulled her green cloak more snuggly around her shoulders. The place where Oromis had fallen was not far from the gate, but the fighting had been most intense there. As the Elf stepped through the shattered wood, she nearly gasped with the shock of it all. The cost of war nearly always devastated her. It was always the same way.

Merril had gotten used to seeing dead humans, but every now and then in her travels she would have the misfortune of witnessing the death of an Elf. Here the bodies of the soldiers of Gil'ead were strewn about, broken under the arrows, blades, and shields of the Elves. However, she also saw Elves that had fallen. A short ways from the gate, Merril knelt and held her hand to her chest, bowing her head in respect for the fallen.

"Friends and strangers...It is with regret that I look upon you."

Merril cast her eyes across the entire field, wondering who lay out there, still dying. How many had she herself killed?

"It may be that if I had known you I would have loved you. As you pass into the void, know that your life and energy do not fade. Nothing collapses, and to die may be far different than what anyone has supposed...and luckier."

For the second time that day Merril wept. Lifting her left hand, she began to sing in her native tongue, and the energy of the recently dead and they dying began to move. Slowly, at first, and then more swiftly came the echoes of her song back to her as the energy of the fallen filled the aquamarine on her left forefinger.

When her personal ritual was finished, Merril stood, taking a little bit of the collected energy into herself, creating a sense of solidarity with the dead. With that, the Elf ventured on toward her destination.

[Merril]

The battle-field was more bare here. Men and Elves alike were hesistant to fight beneath the fury of dragons. However, the sword that Merril had been sent to find was nowhere in sight. As she had suspected, Oromis had protected it well. Now finding it would be her most difficult task ever.

She spoke, weaving a clever spell. Naegling would have wards against magical detection or retreival, but her hand did not.

"Lead my hand to Naegling..."

Merril felt her mind race as her magic spilled out into the world. However, she felt nothing but a slight pull to the right. However, the magic soon faded. Naegling was protected against such things as well. Slightly frustrated that her mind was failing her in this, Merril sat down in a clear spot, crossing her legs and thinking. Soon her mind began to wander.

The Elf thought of what she knew of Oromis. Who he had been, and what he had meant to her and her people. It was her honor to carry out this task. Having Naegling in their possession would mean preserving Oromis' memory. Her thoughts coasted back to the time Oromis had spoken to the young prospective riders in Ilirea on the nature of the magic they would gain through the bond with dragons. Most of those that had gathered were dead now, either of age, or by foresworn blades and magic during the fall. But the magic of dragons stayed with her.

"What you see is not magic, just as what you see of the river is not the river itself. The river cannot be made to answer your call in full, just as the magic of a dragon cannot be made to answer."

Before Merril knew it, she had slipped into her waking dreams. There she saw Oromis and Glaedr, just as she remembered them. Naegling was at Oromis' side, and she could feel his energy. That was before Oromis had been crippled. It was how she had always pictured him.

She dreamed of the adventures that the golden pair had been on. Of their knowledge, and their trials. Always, in every dream, Naegling was by their side. All of what she knew of Oromis, Glaedr, and Naegling ended in the sword failing; Oromis, Glaedr, and Naegling falling together into history and the void. They were linked more closely than a waking Merril would have believed. Bursting back into consciousness, Merril gathered her dreams together and began to speak, narrating them, always coming back to Naegling.

Lifting her hand, she began to walk as she spoke. She did not walk to any place in particular, or speak deliberate words, but she moved and spoke all the same, her knowledge of Oromis, Glaedr, and Naegling shooting through her mind, more feelings than facts. Before long, her magic and imagination were replaying for her the fight over Gil'ead. She felt Naegling's magic, and the essense of a dragon and his rider that the sword reflected.

Merril had frozen in place, and was now on her knees, lost again as the moment took her. She watched as the Red and Gold dragons charged. She watched as the riders set their eyes upon each other, and drew their wills around them. She watched as the legends clashed...as the riders fought...as Oromis seized...as Murtagh struck.

Suddenly, the backdrop of Merril's memories fell away. The dragons, the din of battle, the riders, all gone. Only the sword remained, fading and falling into darkness. Falling away from Merril's reaching hand. Even its luster in the darkness was receding. In a last attempt to preserve it, to save it, Merril reached into her magic desperately. She did not know the words she spoke, or why, but they sounded right. A thunderous silence followed them. The gem of the sword winked in the failing light, and then exploded brilliantly in her vision.

When Merril regained herself her fingers were closed around the cool hilt of Naegling. Craddling the sword, Merril allowed her joy to fill her. She would return the sword to Islanzadi, and know that she had brought heart to many who would need it.