Emillion sat in silence, gazing at the stars while the dwarves bustled around the campsite. His boredom was palpable, and he felt his thoughts drifting into the abyss as he watched the celestial bodies. Suddenly, the sound of colossal footsteps and the panicked whinnies of ponies pierced the night, and Emillion's lips curled into a grin at the prospect of casting a spell to distract his mind. As the magic began to heat his body, he despised the sensation; it reminded him of the life he once had within his flesh, which he now detested, renounced, and cursed. This gift had given Emillion his liberty, father, and purpose beyond death. Not long before, the dwarves received word that trolls were nearby, having captured some of the ponies. Emillion remained silent; however, before Ori joined the others, he discovered the key to Emillion's chains and realized the metal was designed to suppress magic, typically used to incarcerate magic users. Aware of the potential risks, he considered freeing the elf, knowing his magic might prove beneficial.
Ori: We require your magic; it may seem foolish to ask, but we need it, and your magic could aid us.
Emillion: Certainly, I'll assist; this journey is turning out to be remarkably interesting.
Ori was taken aback by the elf and sensed his honesty. Upon unlocking the chains, Emillion rose, stretched, and approached the fray. Raising his right hand, he snapped his fingers, summoning a mystical hand. Though small in size, the intricacy of its design revealed the spell's frequent use. It had elongated fingers with nails that appeared sharp. The hand emanated a red mist, and its nails were a stark black. Emillion strolled with his hands tucked in his pockets, humming a melody as he approached the light. Upon reaching the fray, he shut his eyes, and the mystical hand stirred, poised to fulfill its grim purpose: to kill. The hand glided silently; upon reaching a troll, it extended its fingers, sharp as spears, poised to claim its quarry this very night. It traversed the shadows soundlessly, slicing through the troll's flesh, as blood cascaded down the creature's throat. The dwarves looked at the sight in horror, the troll grasping at its throat as blood poured from its mouth and seeped through its fingers. The hand moved once more, this time slashing the eyes of the second troll, whose screams of agony filled the air as it clutched its face. As its belly became vulnerable, the hand struck again, slicing open the belly, causing a cascade of blood and entrails to spill onto the ground. Emillion opened his eyes, withdrew his hands from his pockets, and with an incantation in a language unknown to the dwarves, he cast a spell. A magical circle surrounded the hand, which then grew to an immense size. In an instant, it grasped the last troll's throat and soared upwards into the air. The hand stayed aloft, unfazed by the troll's scratching and hitting. Emillion watched the troll with diminishing amusement, his expression turning to annoyance. With a snap of his fingers, the hand flung the troll upwards, then grasped the troll's head, slowly and painfully squeezing until it crushed the head. The crack of breaking bones instilled dread and fear in the dwarves' hearts. The troll's body collapsed, its blood pooling on the ground. Emillion surveyed his handiwork with a surge of satisfaction as warmth drained from his body. He returned to Ori and extended both hands to the dwarf.
Emillion: I've done my part, now lock me away.
Ori gazed at the elf with trepidation, yet complied with the request, securing the cuffs around the elf's wrists. Emillion then returned to the ruins of the house, settled down, closed his eyes, and leaned against the pillar, a serene smile gracing his face as he awaited the sunrise.
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The Lost Ellon
FanfictionA young Ellon with magical powers, never close with his family nor his kingdom but lost in magic, both good and evil. But one night, he is declared missing and isn't seen for years, but why?
