Crimson blade: The wizards wrath

Origin of the crimson blade; 1

For nearly two years, Celdris had ruled, a self-proclaimed mage turned ruthless dictator. The once-proud inhabitants of Hearthstone seethed with resentment, their disdain for him now reaching unprecedented heights. No longer did they merely loathe him for his sorcery; now, a profound and visceral hatred burned within their hearts.

The people yearned for liberation, their spirits yearning to rise against the oppressive reign of Celdris. Yet, fear clutched at their courage, crippling their resolve. They witnessed firsthand his capricious nature, his mercurial whims that could turn the tide of fortune in an instant. And then there was his dreaded blade—the symbol of his power and the instrument of their subjugation. Whispers of rebellion fluttered through the air, but were swiftly silenced by the chilling realisation of Celdris's unpredictability. The mere thought of challenging him, of crossing swords with the wielder of that fearsome weapon, sent shivers down their spines. The blade's reputation, etched in blood and despair, cast a shadow of terror upon the hearts of even the bravest souls.

Celdris, ever aware of their trepidation, reveled in the fear he instilled. His every move, his every decree, was calculated to maintain his grip on power and to crush any flicker of resistance. The people of Hearthstone had become trapped within their own collective fear, their yearning for liberation a distant dream, suffocated by the looming spectre of his unpredictable wrath. And so, Celdris's reign continued unchallenged, the people of Hearthstone forever under the weight of his oppressive rule. They awaited a glimmer of hope, a beacon of courage that would unite them against their oppressor. But until that day dawned, they remained trapped in a state of quiet desperation, their souls burdened by the knowledge that challenging the merciless dictator and his dreaded blade would require an immeasurable sacrifice.

It was a cold, rainy night in Stonehearth, a small village shrouded in a dense fog that added an eerie ambience to the surroundings. The grey clouds hung heavily in the sky, casting a gloomy atmosphere over the town. Within one of the modest houses, a family of four huddled together, seeking solace from the storm outside. As the rain relentlessly tapped against the window panes, the family's tranquillity was shattered by a sudden and forceful kick against their front door. Startled, they jumped to their feet, their expressions turning from confusion to horror as the door swung open to reveal a group of Celdris guards standing at the threshold. Among them, a burly guard stepped forward, his cold eyes filled with contempt. The family consisted of a woman, a small boy, a young teen and a man who stood protectively in front of his loved ones. But it was their young son, battered and bruised, who captured their attention. The guard callously tossed the boy onto the floor of their home, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and fear. A black eye and a few cuts adorned his innocent face, stark reminders of his recent plight. The family gasped in shock, their hearts breaking at the sight of their child's injuries. In a menacing tone, the guard accused the boy of being a horrid thief, his voice dripping with disdain. He warned that if he caught the young boy stealing again, he would not hesitate to take his hand. The guard then emphasised his threat by subtly gesturing toward the blade hanging at his side, a chilling reminder of the power he possessed.

With his ominous message delivered, the guard turned on his heel and departed, leaving the family stunned and trembling with anger and worry. They rushed to the boy's side, embracing him tightly and offering words of comfort and reassurance. In the dimly lit room, the frantic footsteps of the boy's father echoed through the air as he hurried to his son's side. The man, known as Aldous, was a local baker in Stonehearth, a ginger-haired individual of little height but a heart overflowing with warmth. From his head to his toes, his body seemed adorned in a soft carpet of hair, a characteristic that made him stand out.

With a mix of concern and love etched on his face, Aldous knelt beside his injured son, his calloused hands trembling as he gently cradled the boy's head. The mother, Elara, a strikingly beautiful white-haired elf woman, positioned herself behind Aldous. Her ghostly presence, adorned with cascading locks of snowy hair, contrasted with the ruggedness of her husband. Elara's captivating blue eyes reflected both strength and tenderness, while her flawless physique hinted at her elven heritage. As Aldous and Elara focused their attention on their wounded son, Erlan.  the little brother Orrion clung tightly to his mother's blue dress. Orrion, a delightful blend of human and elf, possessed a cherubic countenance with golden orange curls that framed his innocent face. His enchanting green eyes mirrored the vibrant hues of the forest, while his tiny pointed ears stood as a testament to his unique heritage.

Together, this close-knit family formed a protective circle around their injured child, their love and devotion interwoven like an unbreakable bond. Alodus's hands, rough from kneading dough, now became gentle and tender as he comforted his son, assuring him that everything would be alright. Elara's soothing voice whispered words of solace, infusing the room with a calming aura. Orrion, the youngest member, held onto his mother's dress, his trust in their unwavering strength evident in his innocent gaze. At that moment, the room transformed into a haven of unwavering love and unity. Despite the darkness that had befallen them, this family stood as a beacon of resilience, their spirits resolute by the challenges they faced. Together, they vowed to protect one another, to heal their wounded hearts, and to seek justice for the pain inflicted upon their beloved son.

Aldous regarded the boy with a mixture of concern and slight annoyance, his tone laced with care. "What were you thinking, Erlan, stealing like that?" He slowly helped his son to his feet, his expression a blend of worry and sternness. "You're fortunate to still have your hands intact. Celdris and his guards are merciless.n cast a disappointed glance at Erlan, shaking his head. "Are you alright?" he asked in a gentle voice with, genuine concern evident in his eyes. "Yes, father, I'm alright. It's just a scratch," Erlan replied eagerly, attempting to reassure his worried parent. Brebon let out a small sigh as he set a teapot on the stove to boil. "Just make sure to stay out of trouble. Hearthstone is going through dark times, as you well know." Erlan's mother rushed over to him, her face filled with relief and worry, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Once she released him from her grasp, Elara, his mother, couldn't help but gently pinch his pointy half-elf ear. "We're just so grateful you're safe, Erlan. Only the gods know what we would do if anything happened to you," Elara exclaimed, her voice filled with a mixture of maternal love and concern.

After a few minutes had passed, Brebon, Elara, and Erlan gathered around a small round table in their cozy home. The table, cluttered with an assortment of items, showcased the bustling nature of their lives. As they settled down, the family engaged in light-hearted conversation, discussing a myriad of topics, allowing their worries to momentarily dissipate. Savoring the warmth of the moment, they indulged in cups of fragrant tea, its comforting aroma filling the room. Brebon, a master baker with his skilled hands, expertly sliced thin, crusty pieces of bread he had freshly baked earlier. With a deft motion, his sharp knife glided through the tender dough, creating delicate slices that promised a delightful crunch. The aroma of the freshly baked bread mingled with the tea, creating an ambiance of comfort and contentment. As the family shared laughter and anecdotes, their worries momentarily pushed aside, they savored the simple pleasure of each other's company. The taste of warm tea and the delightful crunch of Brebon's homemade bread served as a reminder of the love and care that filled their humble household. 

Following a cozy teatime and playful moments with Orrion, the family collectively agreed to extinguish the flickering flame inside the lantern, casting a gentle glow across the spacious room. Elara lovingly tucked Orrion into his bed, ensuring his comfort for the night. Meanwhile, Brebon and Erlan retired to their own slumber as well, seeking rest. With the arrival of the morning sun, a golden ray of sunshine pierced through the windows, illuminating the room with its warm embrace. The family awakened to a radiant day, unlike the bitter rainfall of the previous night.

As the family sat down to eat their breakfast, they heard a persistent knock at the door, which sounded louder than usual. Brebon, who was still feeling uneasy from the events of the previous night, approached the door cautiously. He could feel the weight of his wife's gaze on his back as he reached for the handle. When he opened the door, he saw a tall and slim man standing before him. The man had a rag covering his face, except for his eyes and the skin around them. Brebon, recognizing the rag as an Elven pattern, knew that the man was an Elf. The man had emerald green eyes that seemed to shine in the morning light. Brebon couldn't help but notice the short, curved, serrated blade at the man's side, as well as a multitude of flasks and a quiver with seven arrows on his back. He wondered what kind of man would carry such weapons on a peaceful morning like this.