Water for Blood

Chapter 1 - Eljah

Blood dripped from the battle tarnished blade. Its a beautiful long sword, four foot in length with a burnt bronze pummel. Gold wire and blood soaked leather twist around in perfect harmony leading to a massive garnet embedded into the bronze. Its color as dark and red as the blood on the blade, as if drinking to make its color more pure. A fine engraving of elvish writing runs the length of the blade. Its meaning a mystery except to those who study the foreign language.

Next to the sword stood a man. Human in nature, yet something about him made him different from other men. He was mysterious, almost as if he were a ghost or a mirage no ordinary man's eyes could comprehend. He was tall, almost 7 foot, burly with a large black war singed beard that reached his collar. His demeanor belittled that of the largest man in any village, but has an innocent, near forgiving face. His eyes are as deep blue and green as the ocean. Some people call him a savior and to others, death itself. In the end it came down to what end of the blade they found themselves.

Despite his reputation and many names, the name his mother bestowed upon him was Eljah.

As he stood over his last slain victim, he heard a slow whistle and a soft thud. There not two feet in front of him lands an arrow made of crystal. Next to it lay a message made of light passing through the arrow. "Run or die". No faster than he could read the threat, the arrow shatters into a million tiny needles thrown in all directions. He spins quickly exposing only his thick leather cloak to the blast while ripping his sword from the ground preparing for another confrontation.

When he returns to the direction of the arrow, sword ready to strike, he only only met by silence and the smell of rotting corpses in the summer heat. He walks to the area the arrow impacted to investigate. He knew the arrow was enchanted, but by whom? Or what? All of the enemies he fought that day did not use magic or enchantments.

There lay his answer. A small crystal bead no larger than a pearl.

After closer study of the bead, an even larger question begins to daunt him. "Why would the ancients get involved in a war that had nothing to do with them?" He quickly places the bead in a small pouch on his hip and starts off south, towards the city of Quenth leaving nothing but death behind him.

"Hopefully the mystic there will have answers to my questions." he thinks to himself. As he knows all too well, when it comes to the mystic of Quenth, everything comes with a price. "What will it cost me this time?" he begins to wonder. He quickly shrugs off the ideas beginning to creep into his mind before they consume his every thought like a fire to dry grass.