War of the First Age

VIII: One Half-Elf

1A, 936Y

Anni Opal-Slate

Palridian sat back on his throne, dressed in his royal red tunic and black trousers; black shin high boots were pulled up his legs. His brown hair was pulled back tightly in a short pony tail with the fringe swept to the left neatly. His tired green eyes stared off towards a large set of double doors at opposite end of the great hall, almost as if he anticipated that someone would come through them, pale sunlight pierced the hall as he just began to realise that the sun had risen. Slumping forwards in his throne he rubbed his eyes.

"Six hours," he thought to himself "Six hours and no sleep, everybody but me slept". Parry wiped the sleep out of his eyes and pulled at the skin around it, extinguishing the wrinkles which had formed. He sat back down in his throne and started playing with his left pointed ear, bored and wanting something to do. For all he knew everything was fine;

The New Anni Opal-Slate's construction was going ahead of schedule, It was located just across the forest and into the mountains and it was closer to the great harbour, though its border walls, which had already been built almost hit the gates to the Realm, Crystal-Slate. The Orcs kept to their destroyed island, across the Dead Sea and in their abomination of city called Or-Grorash.

"Damn Orcs" He scolded to himself "Keeping me awake with plagued dreams".

Parry eventually was able to close his eyes and fall into a deep sleep, but again he was plagued with horrible dreams, some part things he had done and other things seemed almost impossible for him to do.

Parry looked down at his hands; a mix of black and red blood was stained on his silver steel gauntlets. He looked up and saw his elvish made sword impaled in an Orc, about the same size as him and probably just as weak, the runt stared back up at him, his eyes glazed over and he wasn't breathing, the sounds of clanging metal mixed with the shouting and the roar of the men and orcs flew through the air. The sand around him was blood red and he was extremely hot but cold in his silver steel armour. But something was different about his uniform, instead of wearing the blue tabard with the yellow emblem of Anni Opal-Slate sewn onto it, he wore a crimson red tabard, the emblem of Skyrule appeared on it in black. His pauldrons were golden engraved in them was the symbol of Opal-Slate. Looking to his side he noticed a stout dwarf looking up at him, his fiery red beard blowing in the wind; he wore the uniform of a Captain of the Winterhelm Guard, instead he wore the same tabard as Parry. Behind him stood a great beast of a wolf, with brown fur that was mixed with grey and black of the underfur; black blood was covered around his mouth from the victims who had met with him, and was guaranteed an ill fate. The dwarf nodded towards Parry and he nodded back respectfully, red dust covered the dwarfs face and uniform. Parry then moved forward, clanging and yelling surrounded him, he retrieved his sword and power seemed to flow through him again. He then noticed something different about the battle, something else had entered it with blood curdling howls, Parry looked to his side and saw to his surprise, a great wolf-like man run to the side of him, wearing tattered tabard and armour, which fitting surprisingly well on the Werjian; The Werjian sniffed Parry and howled again, his beast like eyes filled with almost regret. Parry looked down at his sword and recognised it immediately, even though it seemed to blur. Parry looked at his hands and they seemed to stretch, everything seemed to jump around everywhere at random, the sands blew around, skipping some moment in time and out of nowhere a large crack was heard; A great floating city hovered above the battle, Parry did not recognise the city but it seemed to be helping to defeat the orcs, streaks of light fell from the city and exploded down below, large eagle like birds seemed to fly down and drop off people and pick up the injured. Parry turned around and the scene changed immediately, he was standing on a balcony, of the castle in Winterhelm, but it was snowing, heavily; most of the buildings were destroyed and everywhere around him seemed dead, the cold pierced through his now black-steel armour, decorated with skulls and was lined with fur. He drew his sword and looked at it, runes seemed to emblazon it, glowing, though they didn't seem to do anything. Parry couldn't understand anything of this dream; it seemed almost impossible or very unlikely. Deciding to walk on, Parry seemed to jump to another scene. Deep in a forest, almost in the middle of nowhere, he looked above. What seemed to be a zeppelin flew over fairly low but something was wrong, it was billowing smoke. Parry ran to a clearing and watched as the zeppelin dropped something before crashing, unknowing what to do, Parry just stood there and was enveloped in a great crack of light.