Forgotten Realms-Warders of First Magic-Chapter 1 a

[Spirit Hawkfellow]

This is the first chapter of my forgotten realms novella that I'm currently working on enjoy!!!

Forgotten Realms-Warders of First Magic-Chapter 1

633 Dale Reckoning- year of the Chasm



Demron gazed down up the large stone palette, and his grey eyes watched as the blue steel cooled, upon it. Several dwarves moved about bringing forth equipment of all types in preparation for the last enchantments he would need. The old wizard smiled at his work. Work he had labored many years on, and finally his goal was almost complete. Two more spells, was all that was left to finish the incantation. The last Bane Blade would finally be finished and he would be able to rest.

Demron thin hands smoothed out the long grey hair that cascaded down his shoulders. The old mage could remember when his hair had been as black as night, and full of life. Life, the very thought of leaving the world he loved so much worried the arch wizard. He had spent so much of it working on his fabulous blades. Many of the very blades lost to the foes of the fabled city of Mythdrannor that they were created for.

Now in his last moment he would seal his legacy upon a weapon that would be used to protect his home from the nightmare that was to come.

The Arch-mage had seen it, even as he had been crafting the blade, he had had a vision that the city would fall. His patron god Azuth had blessed his servant with a divination of the dark times ahead. It was that very reason that Demron emptied his soul to the swords upon the stone.



There were two, the last of their kind. Both were identical in both shape and size, each a bastard sword of exquisite make, forged from the best elven steel, crafted by the hands of dwarves. The elven steel was a bright blue, and had a slight gleam, the length of the blade wrapped into the hilt forged to resemble a dragon. Demron had been pleased with work, his dwarven workers had outdid themselves, in their craftsmanship. He had never seen so mighty an art work, as his eye wondered down upon the length of both blades.



Demron stood up, gingerly. He could feel the twinge of dizziness catch him, as he swayed.

Strong hand gripped his sides, and hoisted him back to his seat. "Rest father, it is still some time before the final enchantments." A young man with flaxen hair, evergreen eyes, and moon pale skin, looked on worriedly. The young man kneeled down before Demron, and smiled.

"Still time to share between father and son."

A tear fell upon Demron as he looked at his son, Nivian, and his hand cupped his son cheek. Demron let out a sigh. The price was too high. But then again he had paid it a long time ago. He gave his son a small smile, and ran his hand through the man hair. So much like his mother he thought. There was a peace to Nivian soul so much like his mother. The memory tore at the wizard.

There time had been so short.

So brief.

He knew that he would not see her ever again. His mother had been a moon elf, and now she walked amongst the elven gods of Arvandor. For Demron there would be no, stroll upon the elven glades; no journey west as the elves would say. There would simply be the darkness of death, and the cold of the void.

"Yes a few minutes for father and son. Are the incantations ready?" Demron motioned for Nivian to help him up. Demron could see the worry flash across his son face. "Be at ease, I shall not perish until the work is done, and my legacy, no our legacy is complete." He moved closer tot he blades, and brought two finger to his lips, and with a whisper incanted a spell. Blue light bordered them as they lay upon the cooling metal. There was a hissing noise as if the blades had been plunged into water. Nivian stood back as his father sealed a rune upon one of the blades.

"Father which blade will be going to the arms major of mythdrannor?" Nivian looked at the duel swords, expertly crafted. One of the blades had been finished, and rested, next to a golden sheath that flowed with filigree leather, pewter. Etchings of of the finest elven hands lay across the scabbard, and depicted trees and unicorns dancing upon them.

Demron coughed," Keryvian will go to the arms major to replace the ruling blade that has been lost. It needs but the last two spells, and Foe Bane shall live. None will touch the other. It is incomplete, thus none shall now it existed." Demron fingers continued to inscribe the runes, and his other hand sprinkled light dust, that would seal the magic unto the blade. A dwarf carried the small holder away.

Nivian, looked at the blade and hoisted it up. In his younger days, he practiced much with blades. His mother was amongst the greatest sword fighters of Mythdrannor, until she fell. It was then the he gave up the way of the sword and followed in the ways of his father. Spell art was like nothing he had ever known, it was powerful, and harder to wield than a blade. Yet it was subtle, when mastered, and could do great wondrous things.

It had been his task while learning the art, to help his father forge the blades of that would be forever known as Demron's Blades, and he was no small weapons master himself. With the training of both dwarves and elves, he had become a master smith in his own right.

Now as his eyes fell upon the sword his father had created, he looked at it and marveled at it beauty. He took several swipes that brought a laugh to the old wizard.

"So much your mother. She was often a bravada, in her day."

"Was she father?" Nivian held the sword out.

" Indeed, indeed, much fire did Irelinie have, when she was younger, like most elves she had the wanderlust the, the fire to prove her self worthy." Even now as Demron closed his eyes he could see her clearly.

She had been beautiful that day in the courtyard, contesting another sword duel, that were so famous amongst the youngest of the elf nobles as well as human. Her blond hair, flowed around her, as wind whipped about her and her opponent.
Smaller than her elf she was dueling, none the less she was the faster, and her gleaming sword Arafaril, the purestrike keeping the young dandy with a well crafted rapier at pay. Young in those day but well into being the greatest sword smith of his day, Demron knew she had the other man. One look in her eyes, told him of her fire. Her porcelain skin tinged with fleck of gold, marked her for a gold elf.

Demron had known the gold elves fancied themselves the elite of elven kind, and it was hard to gain their attention or friendship. Yet when Demron looked watched the elven woman with her careful, quick movements, that allowed her to dance, in and out of the frey, something clicked in hs heart. Their had been a something so deep, so different, that made him want to befriend her. It had been the hardest thing in his life, trying to woe her. In the end he had gained her hand, and from their love had come the son he loved most.

Demron eyes misted as he gazed upon his son. His boy was very much like his mother. Even though he had the gift for magic, and arms craft, Nivian had the sword art of his mother that flared through his blood. As he lifted up the gleaming blue-blade of Foe Baen he knew that the sword had found it master. He looked and Kervyian and saw the younger blade, the blade that would be endowed with the most power He had ever tried to enchant upon a weapon. Demron saw greatness.

"The blade belongs to you my son. This shall be my final gift. Since it is the product of my toil it shall be a symbol of my love to you, as well as your mothers. I think you r mother would have liked that." A dwarf had entered the spell casting chamber, and handed the wizened mage the scroll of binding that would seal the powers of the Keryvian.

"Father, I don't know what to say. Shouldn't both blades got to those who need it in the ruling party?" Nivian asked feeling the elven hilt fashioned in the shape of a dragon warm to his touch. Demron shook his head, and scowled.

"No. The blade you hold in your hand is but a trifle, a blueprint to bring its brother Keryvian to life. It shall never know history, but Foes Bbaen will be remembered, for when you deliver Keryvian it shall be known as Foe Bane, and through it brother sword it shall know fame. Foes Baen will be with you for the rest of the days of our house. Let it be thus. Now my son I need to prepare the final castings. When it is done come to me and deliver it to the Arms-Major." Demron walked over to the large wooden table that had been crafted from Cormanthian wood and withdrew a slender wand. He then took up the scrolls and his prepared to cast.

Nivian gave one glance over to his father. As he walked out the chamber, he could here the final incantations of Demron begin.

Nivian rubbed the tears out of his eyes, as the Amathors of the realm clad in ceremonial elven plate-mail hoisted the fabled body of Demron upon a pallet, and walked with the theh body through the streets of Mythdrannor. Tears came unbidden, as fair haired Elf woman tossed celemember; white gilded flowers upon the funeral pallet of the wizard.

Demron had been well liked and known as a staunch defender of the people. Of all the N'telquisar, Demron had been loved most. His name would live on with the legend of the blades he created; Six Mighty blades that had taken his name.

His son smiled the last gift his father had given him, a precious gift that had Demron name. Foes Baen, laid in it scabbard, hidden unknown and unseen. Nivian sighed, with his heart heavy. He would honor his father's wishes, and carry it with honor for the rest of his days



Dale Reckoning-714, 21st day of Kythorn



Nivian gazed at the smoking heap of rubble that had once been the gleaming spell towers. It was there the Spell-major Josidiah flung himself from it very parapets and descended upon the horde of blood thirsty orcs, goblins and the demons that commanded them on.

'He bought us time with his life. We must make sure his sacrifice does not go unremembered." Nivian turned to see his captain; the last captains of the guard of mythdrannor walked up.

Fflar Merluth Starbrow was an impressive site to see. He stood over most elves well over six feet tall, and his body was garbed in the fine elven chain, resplendent plate-mail and greaves. He seemed more human than elf. Fflar usual well kept hair was tangled and singed by the many battles he had endured leading the last of the army protecting the people, as they fled the city. Fflar and his band where the last defense of the fabled city and had kept the armies of darkness from over taking the fleeing citizens of Mythdrannor. They had used expert and savory guerilla warfare and had made them bleed each and every step.

Nivian had been impressed by Fflar who at one time was an equal to the captain, but know with the fabled blade Keryvian in his hand had become the elves final captain. In a way it was fitting that this moon elf would carry his father's last work, in the last defense of his beloved home.

"The enemy will not relent. It will be kill or killed, there will be no escape for us. Josidiah showed us the way though, if we are to die, let us die fighting." Nivian, wiped a tear, as he looked to the commander.

Fflar smiled and hoisted his blade. Keryvian flared a bright blue. Fflar had been using the blade non stop for the days he held it and knew that the demons where now heading on his and Nivian positions. The blade hated the creatures of the lower depths and hungered for their flesh. Nivian noted the bane-blade's fire and new the enchantment his father had laid on the weapon.

Demons.

The knight peeked from the side of a crumbling war, and saw the creatures.

Yugoloths were mercenaries of the lower hells. Great, masters of death and destruction. They were garbed in their finest hellish armor, reddish and dark. In their thick death dealing hands, they hoisted up black blades that were slick with elf blood. They were tall reaching a span of ten feet; massive and strong with muscles tensed to strike, and covered in black chain-mailed links. Their eyes gleamed in a blaze of unholy fire, and the heroes that rushed against them fell from their stare in fear. Nivian watched the creatures, and saw men tremble from the fear the demons inspired.

Fflar stepped forward, and took the watch and sighed.

The final stand was coming.

Fflar put his hand on upon Nivian and smiled. "The call to Arvandor is upon us my friend. It seems this will be our last time we tread the leaves of Cormanthor, and listen to the birds of the elven court. Fflar turned to the rest of the heroes in the large company of elves, who dared to protect their homes,

"The enemies seek to crush us. They seek to devour our hope, our lives. Let us show them who the better is. Let our steel answer there charge. Let our steel show them the folly of their ways. We shall show them that the people still abide, and that our blades sharpened by hope still bite.

"Fflar, come see this." Nivian pointed the mass gathering. Fflar could see a crowd of twenty Yugoloths, part like a terrible see. Each hoisted their bloody black blades, and stepped aside as their captain came through the throng. The creature was almost fifteen feet tall, and from his back two great wings of skin and scales sprouted forth. The creature skin was covered in scales of green amethyst.

The beast from the hells was mighty in sinew, with rippling muscles, and a great chest that gulped air and released noxious steam from it maw. Two great canines jutted forth from that very mouth, along with rows upon rows of dagger like teeth. Fflar, knew the creature, and knew that their doom was assured. Before him stood the captain, general, and the leader of the horde.

There stood Aulimpter, the Nycoloth, and the dog face demon craved blood. Fflar marked his enemy well and knew he would have to slay the creature quickly if he was to end the threat of the armies of darkness. He turned to Nivian, and grasped his arm. "Take a few men and flee. Do not waste your life here Nivian." He implored the half elf. Nivian was shocked. He would not leave this elf to his death, not against a creature of darkness such the Nycoloth.

"No I can not. I will not leave you. Let us lock blades in battle, and if so we shall travel the woods of Arvandor together." Nivian angrily replied. Fflar gazed at the half elf, and held Keryvian in his hands.

"Your father created a masterful weapon. Foe bane has been the blade that has given our people much hope these days. I shall see if I can put it to greater use. Let us prepare then." Fflar moved to a better outcropping, he saw the sky darken. Black arrows rained from the sky, and the elves scattered. Nivian cursed and dived, narrowly escaping an orc arrow. A few elves were not as lucky as arrows pierced their flesh, and they howled, in their final deaths.

Fflar saw the orc and ogre brigades that where heading towards their positions, and cried out.

"Spells and blades, no quarter!" The commander leapt, more than thirty feet, the power of Demron's last blade taking him to the lead of the column. With one solid swing, it caught an orc standard bearer straight through the chest. The orc screamed as Keryvian ate away at it evil hide and bone crumbled from the might blow.

Nivian's eye widened. What valor, he thought, and pointed 'Fireball now! Protect Fflar!" The spell-casters called upon arcane words of might, and their power was unleashed. It burned through the horde of creatures that bellowed their rage at the last defenders of Mythdrannor.



Fireballs, lightning, and acid rain ate away at the foes.

Many scattered from the storm; other came forth bearing weapons of angry vengeance. Nivian son of Demron followed the last captain of Mythdrannor, as the mighty forces clashed in the ground shaking rumble.

Blades collided and slashed against blades. The defenders blade hewed orcs down in great bouts of hacking. Orcs returned the blows with deadly axes and spears that slew their foes.

Fflar moved with almost supernatural speed, as he slew a gnoll captain who had risen up wielding a spiked cudgel. Fflar slammed into the creature with his shield, and from the right side Keryvian slit the creature in two. Orcs came rushing in by the dozen, and there they lay at Fflar's feet, Keryvian doing butchers work.

Nivian, ducked a blow, and danced from the creature at the same time rising his fingers, and shouting

"Krizerat"

The rays flew from the elf's hand and impacted into the howling gnolls face, searing his eyes from their sockets. Nivian rammed Foebaen He tore the blade out, and spit on the creature who would desecrate his home. into the creature chest piercing its vitals.

He saw Fflar cross the large yard. His eyes widened as orc archers ran up to reinforce their warriors.

Fflar was far ahead and easily in rage of their weapons.

Nivian had to get to him before the orcs could fire. The bladesinger ran at full speed.

Two orc blocked his way. The Nivian, skidded between the foes, even as the orcs struck out with there weapons. Nivian much like his mother before him had become a master, swordsman and like his father could cast spells with just a thought.

The half-elf danced between the orcs. It took time for the stupid creatures to understand what the half-elf was doing, but by the time they did; it was to late. Foes baen cut through the right orcs leg like cheese, and sent the stumbling beast to the floor, howling in pain. The other creature tried to cut Nivian with it orcish long knife. With a simple wave of its hand Nivian conjured a wall of blades in the air, six in all. They all struck the orc with deadly precision. The orc cried out as the blade dipped into its body and stole it life.

Nivian turned to see his captain upon a hill of orc and gnoll bodies, his blade Keryvian doing bloody work. Then he saw the archers and saw his friend and commanders doom.

Fflar's, eyes narrowed as several orc archers came up to reinforce the ranks. He was in line of site of the tuskers, and knew his doom was upon him. Fflar brought his blade to his lips and gave a salute then hefted Keryvian to the air, in a salute to all those who had fallen and cried out. "Mythdrannor!" The elf captain awaited the swift arrows of death. What he got was a great configuration, as fire and streams of electricity rained down from the sky above. The orcs screamed in horror as the peels of lightening stuck them, and fires scoured there flesh. They tried to flee but there was no escape. The human mage flew high above them, dealing out death with two wands; one of lightening and one of fire.

The Orc archer crumbled, under the storm, and Fflar gave the flying mage a salute. Fflar's salute would be the last thing the brown garbed mage would see.

A spear flew high into the sky and shattered the mage's magical defense, taking him full in the side. The man catrwheeled in the sky, the spear sending him flying into the nearest abandoned stare front. Fflar eyes widened when he saw the magical energy seethed from the impact of the explosion. There was a large boom and the mage was no more.

Captain Fflar could see the mage killer. The creature was a hulking brute, with hell forged armor, and a black blade. A Yugoloth, Fflar raged. The Yugoloth was followed by thirteen of his elk, each caring a black blade that dealt death in mass amounts. In the middle of the demons group, Fflar could now see the leader of the group. The commander of the Armies of Darkeness that had besieged his beloved city for more than three years. There guarded by thirteen hellish lieutenants stood Aulimpter.

Slight fear crypt into Fflar heart, but he fought it off as his eyes looked over the creature. Surely a denizen of hell, Aulimpter flesh was green lined with scaled, and ridges. Two great wings bulged from the creature back. Four well muscled arms clenched weapon that could give death at a moment notice. Those arms were meant to wield weapons; Fflar thought. He noted the mighty breast plate of red and black, etched into the skin were runes that rode upon the pauldrons and armor plated grieves.
Fflar could see that the creature had taken note of him. Its dog like face, lifted up and gleaming eyes that could have been forged from the bright fires of a smithy gazed upon him in hatred. Saliva fell from the two great canines that erupted from the bottom of the creature jaw. Fflar would have to be careful, the brute was indeed large standing over 12 feet in height. He hoped that he would have the advantage with his speed and Keryvian. Even know the baneblade of Demron yearned for the flesh of the demon. Fflar smiled, all in good time my friend he thought. As the sun raised high in the air he knew that his time had finally come. In this battle there was little hope of victory. The gain though was enormous. If he could strike down the commander of this Army of Darkness, they would fall into nothingness, and mostly likely the horde would shatter. This hellish creature was the bowman firing the bow. Fflar knew if he could cut the twine of the bow, it would no longer work.

Summoning the magic of Keryvian, Fflar crouched and with a powerful leap he jumped almost sixty feet across, and landed in front of the Yugoloth that had slain the mage a moment before.

The Yugoloth stupidly gazed at the Fflar. Fflar hoisted his balde to the sun, as the warriors engaged in battle. Nivian sent another orc warrior to his death as Foes's baen tore though the creatures bowls. He kicked the body to the side, just as he was about to reach Fflar. He saw his captain go into a crouch, and leap across the square to land in front of the demon. Nivian had never seen so great a leap. Fflar could have been a blade-dancer that battle for the way he danced about his foe. The hulking beast never had a chance, as Fflar simply sidestepped the creature blows. It began to tire, and then Fflar had his chance. Nivian yelped in joy as Fflar ran ahead and with two mighty blows he sundered the creature's arm, and lopped of the Yugoloths head. There was a resounding thud as the body slapped against the ground. Fflar strode upon the beast and hoisted Keryvian to the sky. Nivian had never seen such valor; this was truly a warrior of the people, forged from the very fires of battle, and courage. He could here him cry out to the leader of the demons. The Yugoloths stepped aside to let, their commander through. The beast was enormous and even from where Nivian stood the stench of brimstone made him almost gag.

He watched Fflar stride over proudly and ready. The Captain of the armies of darkness stood forth, his heavy foot shaking the ground. The battle was joined as both magical blade, and devil forged steel met head on in a climatic burst of arcane light and clashing metal.



Nivian gripped Foes' Baen in his hand and readied to continue the fight. Then his eyes widened, and the air in his chest exploded out as if being punched. He could taste blood rise in his mouth, and the piercing pain in both his back and front. His eyes looked down and he could see the bloody tip of a barbed spear sticking form his chest. He tried to form words, but only more blood and air came forth. He felt a wrenching, pull as the he barbed spear tore from his body. The pain was like nothing he had ever known in his life, and he nearly swooned from the mortal blow.

Nivian was dying. The half-elf turned to see who had wounded him so. There stood his murderer, garbed in gleaming plate mail, not forged of this earth. Two great fangs grew from the bottom line of its jaws. Yellow eyes seethed in hatred and glee from it victory. It was hairy and stank of wet fur. In it hands was he barbed spear, which was ready to strike again to steal the life of the Nivian. The orc came forward in a rush, the spear out. The impact caught Nivian, and the half-elf screamed as the spear ripped into his belly. Nivian life flashed before his eyes. His father, his mother, all his companions all his loved once, they all beckoned to him to join them. The light was fading, even as the Orc howled in victory.

A victory short lived.

Foe Baen ripped into creature neck.

Nivian struck true, and clove the orc's head from his shoulders, with one mighty blow. All his strength spent, the half-elf son of Demron the Bane blade maker, dropped to his side. He could here the echo of his blade clang against the pavement and skid. For a brief moment he could here what seemed to be elven music, and eldritch words, as he slipped into the sleep of death. His last vision was that of Fflar locked in battle as the light faded from his world

Fflar's arms grew weary; the battle seemed to go on forever. Keryvian screamed, with every strike across the air. It vibrated with every touch of demon's skin it struck. Both elf and demon wheeled away with powerful blows where a normal man would have since fallen. But the battle had taken a life of its own, Fflar speed matching up against Aulimpter brute strength. The captain of Mythdrannor bled, and he knew his time was nigh. His only thoughts know clung to his wife and child that had escaped the city and were safely away. Knowing that they survived, Fflar was content. He would sleep in the fields of Arvandor this night. He would slay the foul stain that had caused so much destruction first. Fflar, tiring, threw himself at the Demon. Aulimpiter laughed and rushed in his great sword wishing more elf blood, Fflar saw the light dim as he brought the blade around in an epic swing that whistled through the air.

Aulimpter weapon came to block, but Keryvian mightiest of Demron's blades hit the demon forged weapon with such force it shattered, and tore into the right flank of Aulimpter, up into his heart. The eruption from the shattered magical weapon ignited the air and ripped through the area.

The Yugoloth's let out screams, but they were quickly silenced as the wave of death, ate there flesh, and stripped the meat from their bones. Fflar felt the blade strike home and he closed his eyes. The blast took him, and all turned black, as Fflar Captain of Mythdrannor knew no more.