The Obsidian Empire

Chapter 1: A New Home

Flames and smoke stain the air, a rise of shadow crosses over the winter sky which burns with crimson flame against the blackened sun. Standing, small, but staring up into the eyes of the end, awaiting an inevitable fate but no fear festers within his heart.

The scales of ebony glinting in the flames, the violet eyes igniting violence, voices screaming and echoing, bouncing from one ear to the other but never actually being heard.

He stands with fire in his heart that fuels his hand. Hurting, but not helpless. Hopeful but not blind, awake, aching with the need to come back alive but knowing his chances are slim.

Then the fear sets in. Festering inside him like poison that only spreads the longer it remains. No cure, cutting cold icy grips of invincibility. Slowing time to halt, hold, harnessing the fear that burns through his veins in place of the anger.

Running. Rushing, raging flames and cracking walls crumbling around him, closing in, casting darkness as his faith dwindles, diminishing, the feeling of death drawing near.

Light. Shattering glass then splitting, biting, slicing cold wracks his bones until all he can feel is the feeling of nothing at all. Weak, but strong. Strength instills his heart even as his body stops moving.

And he falls. Frozen, facing waves of ice and snow, showing him all he was missing. His lungs beg for air but his body drifts off.

He thinks of those arms. Holding him, helping, soothing the pain and anguish with soft whispers in his ear. Imagining the look on the mage's face as he sees him standing once again.

But his body, bound and broken, could only sink down into the deep, the dark, waiting for relief but he waits longer than he thought.

Only dark remains.

Llwell awakens with a gasp. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, drumming the pulsing sound between his ears so he takes a few deep breaths to try getting himself under control.

Then his hand burns, sending a violent jolt through his arm, up to his bicep but thankfully stopping there. His grip on his wrist remains firm, despite how his hands tremble against the pain.

As the pain eases, he lets his body relax a bit, easing the tension to lower his hand and shift to sit on the side of his bed, then turn to glance around at his room. He's still getting used to how big it is. This room alone is about the size of Guardian Ildilyntra's tree dwelling over in Clan Tathalan. It even has an upper loft and everything. A fireplace set with a loveseat and matching chair, end table with an unopened bottle of wine and a notebook. Then up on the loft is the small personal library and study for himself.

The bed itself is also taking some getting used to. To go from sleeping mostly in bedrolls to a common twin sized bed in Ayiolas was enough of a change on its own. But this bed is massive and set with smooth sheets and blankets, pillows that are comfortably cold to the touch, even a silk-covered canopy.

The windows are also massive, and they show a beautiful view of The Living Forest and he can even see a glimpse of the Moving Sea from the balcony and Lake Olirial that's not too far through the forest from the stronghold.

He wills himself out of bed with a deep breath and grabs his glove from the top of his dresser, pulling it onto his right hand as walks out to the balcony, leaning forward on the stone rail to peer down at the progress of the rebuild.

Seeing the settlers working hard with each other to fix these ancient elven houses of the once forsaken elven capital, Tibratall, is moving beyond words. They've been here about a month, and since then have had some assistance lent to them from their allies in the Tathalan Clan. Guardian Ildilyntra was more than happy to lend aid and send some of the clan scouts to help establish a safe home for these people to live. So seeing humans and elves down there working together on something like this warms his heart.