Final version, next stop chapter 2!
The sun was setting low over the small Elven village known as Traad. The people there worked hard for what little they could call their own, far away from the human towns and their bountiful resources. They were also far away from the humans’ scorn and violence.
Inside a lovingly crafted house of wood lived a humble family, hardly worthy of note. There was Lilith, a kind and loving mother, Mikhail, a soft-spoken field worker, their daughter Minerva, a fledgling mage, and their son Arven, a strange, introverted and violent boy. Strange mutations at birth made him more like the elves of old than the modern, refined folk that roamed the village, with long and pointy ears jutting from a shock of white hair that framed an angular face centered around two deep-set eyes that glowed crimson with a great and terrible energy.
Arven’s very closest friends were his only friends, knowing him as an upstanding young man with a strong sense of justice and no tolerance for shenanigans. He was enlightening to be around, doling wisdom and lighthearted observations in equal measure. Arven’s enemies, ranging from boys and girls his own age to grown adults, knew him as a scourge, a terror. In his ten short years of life thus far, he had broken a collarbone over a sweet roll, verbally humiliated an abusive mother in public only to laugh when she killed herself in shame and even killed a man barehanded who had dared to attack him with a sword. His strange movements when engaging in violence had been not-so-affectionately dubbed “Arvenian” style by the villagers, who were none too pleased that he was teaching it to the children. Those close to him learned it by watching and being guided limb over limb with loving care; less fortunate souls learned by feeling its oppressive power and speed firsthand. It was safe to say that everyone in the village and some souls outside of it familiar with Arvenian combat, though Arven disdained killing and most times only wounded his victims.
On a night much like any other, a terrible feeling filled the air. Elves all had a sort of premonition; they could sense danger coming to their doorsteps and had all barricaded indoors. Except for little Arven, of course. He stood in the middle of the village square with a devilish grin plastered on his young face. He welcomed death and danger, flying in the face of Elven nature. His unwillingness to back down from conflict had brought him here the minute he felt the chill in the air.
Arven’s family watched in horror as their small son cracked his bloodthirsty knuckles in anticipation of the large mob coming down the mountain. They numbered easily in the hundreds. Arven showed no sign of fear, his grin growing wider as they came.
“Swords!”, he called over his shoulder, “Somebody bring me swords! Two swords!” At first, nobody answered his plea. “Two swords shall be mine,” he shouted throughout the small village, “Or we shall all die by theirs! Cowards!” The local blacksmith, Billiam, frowned as he gathered up his two best blades and walked them out to Arven. “You will surely die, child; why do you choose this fate?” Arven smiled sweetly at him as he took the blades. “I won’t die. You can be sure of that. And I chose this fate because nobody else will.” No words came to Billiam. As if pulled on puppet strings, he walked back to his metal hut and bolted the door tight.
Nary an hour had passed and the mob was upon the village gates. Arven walked slowly and purposefully to meet them, his devilish grin now a mask of psychotic glee. He could never explain why he possessed such a profound bloodlust, but it was there and it had to be fulfilled. By the time the gates burst, Arven stood at the far boundary of the village square. Knights ran his way laughing, only to be cut down with graceful and lithe flicks of swords, almost too fast to be seen. Arven’s movements confused his assailants, who could offer no resistance. A feint and counter here. A spinning kick leading into an upward slash there. A hilt bash followed up with a sword slicing unyieldingly through armor and wounding the wearer too badly for him to continue fighting. Arven was careful not to kill any men, if he could help it. The downed men piled up until a powerful voice called out from the back of the mob. “Enough!”
The knight captain strode forward with a stern look on his face that seemed to soak his entire demeanor. Every step had a stiff and powerful authority to it. The captain’s long and wide sword, as large as his own body, swept through the air in an impossibly quick flourish, ending with an arc that left it pointing directly at Arven.
“You! Boy! You’re the one embarassing my brigade?” Arven stepped forward, still grinning. “Yes sir, it would seem I am. Am I to assume you’re the captain?” The knight captain nodded. Arven took another step forward, unflinchingly. “I demand you call your men off at once. This village is peaceful.” The knight captain took another bold step forward in defiance. “All elves must be eradicated. Your people’s unnatural terraforming habits and use of magic are draining the planet and will leave it a husk in a matter of centuries, if not decades. I will not back down. You shall die, boy. You and everybody you love.” “You’re wrong, sir.” Arven stabbed his swords into the ground and approached the knight unarmed. “Spend some time here and you will see your misconceptions done away with.” The captain swept his sword viciously. “I am no fool, boy! The people of your village would see me reduced to ash with evil magic and my entire brigade done away with likewise.” Arven shook his head, then met the captain’s eyes. “Then why haven’t we done that? Why am I the only one fighting? And why did I not pursue your men who retreated when you called out?” The captain pursed his lips. “I don’t have to answer to you, monster. You are less than dirt. When I finish with you, God will reject the poor substitute for a soul that inhabits your foul heart.” “I’ve heard enough, ignoramus.” Arven’s calm voice betrayed the violent energy that had been building with his annoyance.
“If you won’t listen to me, then entertain me!” His eyes lit up. He threw himself at the knight captain with an upward sweep of his blades. The captain blocked the blow with ease. Arven leapt into the air backwards to avoid a counterblow. The captain’s massive sword darted like a dragonfly, but Arven showed no signs of distress as he dodged each blow with laughable ease. Arven flipped like a dolphin over a horizontal sweep and the stab he countered with was parried by a diagonal upward slice, forcing Arven to spin backward to throw the blade off course and prepare his next assault. The captain continued to match Arven, showing no sign of fatigue after the fight had gone on for some time.
The spectacular battle raged on in the village square for hours with no signs of slowing down. Blades with nicks and dents, but no blood, flashed faster than anybody else could keep up with. Arven’s eyes glowed a terrible bright red, locked on the captain’s earnest blue eyes. The boy was tapping into his inner Elder Elf, the blood burning in his veins a terrible remnant of a warlike and powerful race that was long lost to history. A red glow outlined phantom horns, growing gnarled from the back of his head and his elbows and knees. The captain’s heart dropped into his stomach, but he didn’t let his terror show. Both fought intensely, pushing each other back with each supersonic blow.
After the sun had risen, the captain and Arven leapt backward simultaneously and gazed at each other for a long moment. “It is quite obvious that I cannot best you, boy. Continued fighting holds no benefit for either side.” Arven nodded as the glow left his eyes and his phantom horns faded. “Indeed. You are formidable, brave knight captain. Though your quest be misguided, I commend your bravery and skill. I felt the burning of your heart in every blow. You truly believe that the Elven menace will rob you of your beloved world if left unchecked; I could feel your conviction.” The captain nodded in turn. “Indeed. I am not the only one who feels this way.” The captain looked away from Arven’s glowing gaze. “During our battle, I could feel your heart as well. You desire only peace for the world, despite your unquenched thirst for blood, a commendable show of self-control. Yet your existence is an affront to the way of life of a great many. I truly pity you, elf.” Arven set his swords aside, then walked slowly over to the captain, unarmed, and offered his hand. The knight captain slowly laid down his blade, reached forth and shook Arven’s hand. His remaining standing men, all two and a half dozen of them, gasped in utter horror and began talking amongst themselves. The ones Arven wounded had long since passed out or been taken to cots a few yards away.
Arven’s eyes met the captain’s. “Sir, I have a proposal for you.” The captain scowled. “I’m listening, elf.” Arven took his hand away and gestured to the village behind him. “You and your men will disarm and stay with us in this village for one week in peaceful coexistence. If you still feel the same after that, you may send every army in the kingdom upon this village.” The captain thought for a second. His men had fallen into utter silence in response to the outlandish suggestion, awaiting word from their leader.
“So be it, elf. In honor of your dedication to peace and formidable combat prowess, we will do as you say. Should our opinions not change, may God have mercy on all of you. Every able bodied man in this kingdom will have none.” Billiam the Blacksmith was called out to collect and store the knights’ gear and each soldier was invited into somebody’s home. The captain refused to hand over his gear, but his entire brigade surrendered theirs with a minimum of fuss. Arven bowed low as he held the door open for the a soldier and showed him to the family’s guest room, turning to wave at the knight captain as he made his way into the Village Elder’s home.
The knight captain removed his helmet and armor in short order, depositing them unceremoniously in a corner. “You seem glad to be rid of your burdens.”, the village elder said to him with a laugh as he walked to the kitchen, “What happened to being cautious around us untrustworthy elves?” The captain sunk into a nearby chair and locked worried, droopy eyes with the village elder. “The young elf, Arven, he was holding back.” The elder simply laughed, which infuriated the poor captain. “Don’t you understand?! One wrong move and the boy will kill me and wipe out my men!” The elder walked slowly from the kitchen to offer the captain a particularly aromatic cup of tea that bore a faint glow. The captain looked it over dubiously, then shrugged his shoulders and drank. His pride didn’t allow him to tell the elder how utterly delicious he found it.
“We fear little Arven around here, too.” The elder sat next to the captain with many a popping bone to be heard.”If you think he was hard on you and your men, you should see him when he gets angry. Keep in mind, of course, that if he was indeed holding back in your battle, it was in the interest of peace. Little Arven is a peacemonger if I’ve ever seen one, even if he is a bit frightening and prone to anger at times.” The elder sunk back into the couch and gazed at the ceiling. “Why, I remember when he was only four years old, a man attacked him with a sword trying to get at his mother for her purse. Arven simply clapped the blade between his palms, threw it aside and beat the poor old thief to a pulp with his tiny bare hands.” The captain, visibly terrified, decided he’d heard enough about the elven boy that almost ended him and decided to change the subject.
“What is life like, here in the village, elder? I’ve noticed almost no traces of modern technology - no steam engines, no magnetic circuitry running computing machines, no flying plows for your fields, no electronic games for bored children…” The elder turned to the captain and smiled. “We elves were given magic as a gift from God and we use it for everything, shunning all of man’s petty technological advances. The things that make life more complex rather than more convenient. We don’t need them complicating our lives. We live old fashioned around here and that’s the way we like it. You may find other Elven villages with different values and that’s fine, but around here, we live by the ways of old.” The captain nodded, taking another thoughtful sip of the glowing tea. After a long and strangely peaceful silence interrupted only by slurps of tea, the elder pointed his cane at a doorframe across the room. “You sleep there.” he said as he gathered his withered frame up and walked into a dark hallway. The knight captain settled fitfully into a simple bed in an unadorned room. Sleep overcame him in moments, despite his many unsettling thoughts.
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