Daugion left obediently as Durion beckoned Isidore over to the door. Isidore passed the dead, prostrate elf that lay lifeless on the stone floor, his eyes still opened with his mouth gapping ajar, as if horrified at Isidore's ugly shoes. "Well hurry up! Get cracking!" bellowed Durion who disappeared behind the door. Isidore moved after him, almost stumbling over the dead elf's corpse. They descended a couple of stairs before parting the wondrous palace. Again they sloped the wavering pathway and made their way to the ship docks.
"Ah! Where are we going!?" said Isidore, running along with Durion's solid strides.
Durion looked at him with fuming expression, "TIME! TIME!" he said vaguely and quickened his pace, "Get a move on! Into the ship Isidore!"
"I don't unders -"
"Shut up and get in dammit!" he roared grabbing Isidore by the color and trusted him onto the walking plank that stretched to the entrance of a white ship that was engraved with ancient Elvin language and a string of silvery leaves lined the brim. The ship stood out majestically and along the deck were elf sailors preparing for departure. OKAY FREAK! I can't believe a guy like him could be so...
Daugion was embarking the plank with someone behind him, a man hooded with the same kind of cloak Daugion wore before. "Move Isidore there's no time to sun yourself here!"
"What?"
"GET UP!" he said urgently, grabbing Isidore's shoulders and pulling him up painfully. "Just because you are immortal doesn't mean you're the sophisticated one around here! I can't think like that, you can't think like that either! Think about this Isis: we all will die if not you! Now move it!"
Isidore climbed the plank, teetering now and again straining himself to keep balance. Alas he made into the ship crawling. In the past few minutes after he submitted the ship, a roaring war horn blew in the distance. The rest of the crew rushed in with no sign of difficulty. Embarrassed, Isidore entered a fair passage way that directed towards a glassy long table. A map of the magical world lay peacefully on top. Traffic was moving and Isidore was pushed into a room with the hooded person and Daugion.
"What's going on!" demanded Isidore, shaking Daugion violently.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled pushing away, stumbling backwards and landing quickly onto the bed which made him bounce back up.
"And who's this man cloaked in... in some sort of black table cloth thing!"
"It's Lester, Mr. don't-know-what's-going-on!"
Isidore rolled his eyes heavenward; sometimes Daugion could be impossible. Now and again he would be a good friend while sometimes he would be a totally mental! Daugion continued to stare at him expectantly until he moved.
"Nice to meet you sir," Isidore stretched out his arm. But instead of taking it she removed the hood, revealing a familiar fair face. Gawking, Isidore looked at her taken aback and let out a faint whisper, "Celeste?"
"I'm glad you remembered me, but so... we meet again my lord," she bowed forward, her hair slipping past her shoulders and daggled freely, almost licking the floor.
"I- but your name is -"
"Celeste Tudor, but you can call me Lester," she said stretching out her hand as Isidore took it.
"I feel so stupid! What are you doing here?" he asked her.
"I'm one of The Seven."
"Me too!" stated Daugion.
Isidore was still astound he paced around hoping to buy more time of thinking and resting.
"Will you please sit down!" ordered Daugion who got up and pulled Isidore onto the bed. Lester was pressed against the second bed while this was proceeding.
YOU ARE READING
Lord and Master
خيال (فانتازيا)IN A LITTLE TOWN CALLED MAPLE, there was a myth told throughout the country that: every year in that town, seven children are born to which will become great famous warriors, heroes, witches or warlocks, but only two will posses immortality and both...
