07-13-2017, 01:52 AM (This post was last modified: 07-14-2017, 04:21 AM by Klayko.)
Story: There were three kingdoms that helped to make the overall population around the large continent. Vyris (Vih-Rihs) presided around the mountainous terrain, their skills in forging armor and weapons. Dalminia (Dahl-Mih-Nea) presided over the area around the rivers and oceans, making them ideal for farming and fishing. Then there was Tamris (Tahm-Rihs), whose seclusion to much of nature made them corrupt to a very dark power. For years, Dalminia and Vyris waged war against the slightly larger Tamris, but on the horizon, amid a festival starting today, things were about to change.
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The Iron Works Festival was held annually in the Kingdom of Vyris, a land mostly populated by Humans and Dwarves alike. Elves and other races usually dwelled there as well, but it were the two former figures that kept such a place rooted firmly on various armors, weapons and other items. Because they dwelled in the mountains, snow fell on almost every occasion, but the commoners were used to such an atmosphere. In this case, as various farmers and other merchants from across the continent came forth to sell their products in the Market square, a slightly youthful male ran with friends without a care of catching a cold. In this case, he was well built for his age, wearing a thin, long sleeve white shirt. Judging by the design, he was either a knight or even full royalty itself. The latter was true as he was the Prince. Still, he ran with friends without a care in the world, almost as if he was oblivious to being among low lives as his mother put it. He never saw such threats and quite frankly, he could hold his own given that he was trained to be a soldier and knight if not anything more. It made him fearless in a sense, but often times haughty.
Honor preceded it all mostly however. In this particular case, that was more than true. It wasn't him nor his human and dwarf friend who caused one of the farmer’s fruits to come rolling down from them running past. The load was just quite heavy and regardless of if they played a role in the matter or not, it was Austjrn or Austen as most had trouble referring to his royal name, who came to the aid. He picked up some of the large fruit into his hefty arms, walking towards the figure with a honest smile.
“I think these might me yours,” he stated, knowing good and well they were.
It was a day of celebration, the elf smiled faintly to himself as he wrote a letter back to his kin, answering their missives and inquiries while keeping out the parts that spoke of his whereabouts. When all was said and done, he picked up all of his wares and went up his cart to sell them during the Festival.
It had been a few hours since he had set up his stall when a group of young men...or boys in his opinion, ran past. He chuckled at their exuberance before noticing that some of his fruits had fallen off. He made to pick it up so it may avoid getting trod upon when someone picked his wares up for him. Taking the fruit from the younger male's arms, he offered a soft smile.
"Indeed it is, my good sir." He found it foreign to his tongue to speak the common tongue despite having done so in his years among mortals. He still found his own people's tongue to be easier and so left some of the common tongue's words with a softer note and a lilt in his voice as he sought to speak properly.
In Thanks of the kindness offered to him, he handed over a fresh fruit from his stall, "In thanks for your kind actions, hir nin."
He was an Elf. Austrjn had seen few of them around the area. They were often secluded from the rest, but the male before him was quite different from the few elves he had seen lurking deep in the mountains. Perhaps it was the impact of their environment that played a role as even a few humans were different. The Dwarves? Almost the same, from their short bearded appearances to their babble and disdain of working with elves. It was a little of a rarity to see though, an elf farmer. Perhaps when the war was fully over, Austrjn would leave from the mountains and travel over other parts of the land.
“I can tell,” he chuckled. “They look better than some of the other fruit I've seen.”
It was a compliment of course, though the last words that the elf had spoken, from his native tongue clearly, were lost on the Prince. Still, rather than tilt a head in confusion, he smiled warmly. “Thank you so much for this.”
He could stay a little more, but all that running around was meant for something. In this case, he had somewhere to be, his friends urging him to follow them. He gave the elf a kind gesture before being back on his way. He left the figure to setting up shop and judging by the looks of others who painted their faces with a shade of green envy, some competition to contend to. It wasn't a lie though as the male bit into the crisp tasting fruit. It really was better than what he usually had been served before.
Prepped before him was the royal ball with the elite from Dalminia. He didn't like such things, but he really could not complain. They were put in place to help maintain peace and promote unity. Either way, he was bidden to put on his best and that meant making sure his war hammer, known already as Frostbite, went through a proper maintenance at the armory. He preferred it over a sword as it was blunt and powerful all on its own without having to cut, but even it had to be refined. There was only one person in the capital who could properly refine it though. He liked to dwell in the slums of the kingdom. Throughout it all though, a particular set of farmers began to ride in through the castle's walls towards the market.
"Thank you so much, hir nin." He took the compliment for what it was, offering a bright smile to the young man before him as he placed a hand above his chest and bowed his head.
Waving away the youth, he finished setting his stall up as he sung a soft tune to himself. His kinsmen would no doubt be attending such a festival, though only two or three may only come due to his people not being the most...sociable.
Running a hand through his dark hair, he looked up at the sky and pondered about his kin back in his homeland. His father hopefully is still doing well. The last letter he'd received was his father asking him if he shall return to them. He smiled to himself as he recalled how he responded. He'd sent back a simple flower with a promise that he shall. Someday.
He ignored the stares he sometimes received from the other vendors or the flirtatious looks some women would throw his way. He would respond with a patient smile and a polite answer when inquiries were asked of him. The duration of his time, he'd managed to sell most of his wares and he was figuring he might be able to go home in a few hours if his luck continued.
(As I informed you, my keyboard has practically gone kaput on some letters, so sorry for this longer delay than usual.)
Austrjn and friends found themselves walking down a dark path in an alley. It was something they were used to however, hearing the sounds of hammers clank and the smell of iron. He was the first to pull on the large wooden door attached to a brick laden building, opening it forth to step inside. The room was small, believe it or not, arrays of armor and shields scattered about and weapons hanging on the walls in various places. They weren't his hammer, suffice to say. He was willing to believe that was what his ears were hearing being worked upon.
Frostborne was its name. Austen had the fortune to go searching through the caverns, remnants of a dead Frost Wyrm that helped make most of the mountain. When it died, it's large heart became like stone and from there, it was used by the King and his family to help forge new materials with. This Dwarven weapon-smith, known as Dürmjrl, knew how to access the fell beast's former potential. Frostborne emitted a cold pulse from the sleek gray and polished squarical frame that made up the warhammer. The prince smiled a little as he arrived just in time to pick it up. With having already bonded to it, the freezing pulse never harmed him.
"I think I've delayed keeping my parents held up long enough," he stated to the other two, thanking Dürmjrl before heading out the dark room. "Let's get this over with."
He really hated the idea of this ball. He got why it was done, but he didn't like it at all, wearing suits that were only worn once to impress. There was also the issue of trying to have him court other royal suitors, who he only saw every once in a while. At least he got his hammer and shield out of it. He was back into his room right as the sun was beginning to hide behind the mountain to give way to the moon. He let out a slight chilled breath in the partially warm room. He liked the place just a bit chilly as believe it or not, he thought it to be the ideal temperature to snuggle up against something or someone. Either way, the room was filled with the royal dressers, where he was practically being placed into a regal attire, but pieces of armor were placed carefully here and there.
Having managed to finish his sales, Beriadan had began packing his stall up as his thoughts went to what else he can do. No one knew of his High-Elven heritage, nor his status at court around this area so that of course ruled out joining the feast. (He was never one for socialising anyway, he recalled how often he became more acquainted with the wine than his fellow guests.)
Deciding he may as well head on home, he picked up his now empty crates and loaded it up onto his cart and leapt onto his horse's back. Whistling a low note, his horse began trotting off towards the direction of his farmlands. Humming a tune under his breath, he closed his eyes, relishing the cool might air caressing his dark skin. He felt a smile tug on his lips as he settled himself onto his horse's back.
It was moments like these that he was grateful that he did not keep to his homeland...or else he would have been sent as an envoy to that feast. Though he tolerated dwarves, he never was as close to them as his younger cousins were. He was civil, polite and diplomatic but not exactly the most friendly.
Seeing his humble dwelling made his smile grow a bit wider and he urged his horse to go even the smallest bit faster, excited to just be home and sleep away the night before he returns to his usual cycle of waking at dawn and toiling late into the day.
