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He was late. Already the others, some six hundred in total, encircled the fire to encourage the passing of winter. He cursed himself softly for having spent so long preparing for the occurrence. He moved forward quickly and quietly, eager to join the already gathered conclave, yet unwilling to disturb the peace and serenity of this most holy of places and times.
They surprised him, grabbing him from behind as he moved towards the ensemble. Shocked, he yelled and reacted with the speed only the Promised have, yet it was helpless. They outnumbered him five to one, each as young, strong and fast as he. He struggled, pulling violently against his oppressors but they held him all the more tightly. The fear in his cries was almost tangible in the deathly silence of the grove.
Struggling he was brought forward between trees and Promised awaiting to begin the religious proceedings of the Gathering. He saw the faces of those he knew and was filled with hope, but they stood staring at the flames, impassive to his cries shattering the quiet. They watched, unmoving, as he was dragged between them and held before the matriarch at the altar. Impossible though it was for them to help, his heart broke at their reluctance to help him even as his strength broke in his captor’s grasp.
Naked, her body only painted in the dark ochres of the ground and trees for the celebrations, the matriarch and leader of the Promised coldly regarded the limp man before her.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you? You have threatened the safety of the Promised and to draw us into war and conflict.” She paused, waiting for his nod of agreement.
“We cannot allow for even a chance of the fulfilment of the prophecy. You all know this.” She raised her voice, speaking to the entire ensemble, not just him. “Our charge has been removed from our hands by the traitorous actions of our allies, thus we need no heed our Promise, lest we are dragged into further death.” He nodded his acceptance once more, as did all those around.
She brought hands together, drawing upon the magiks flowing through the ground. Her head bowed in concentration and her hands began to glow, lighting the beautiful swirling patterns of paint around her body. Finally, the ochre itself began to glow and streaks of pulsating power swept around her body.
He kneeled in dutiful acquiescence to her, his captors having left to join those gathered around. She focused on his body and her tremendous power encircled him, seeking any possible entrance.
Moments later, he collapsed and was carried out of the enclave, his arm dragging in the dirt.
As he was hauled off, his friends and family stood motionless and apathetic, watching him for the last time in their immortal lives.
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Of Humans and Elves, part 5 |
| Of Humans and Elves, Part 12 | Wyvern's Project 3 |
| The Song of the Elves (poem) | Of Humans and Elves, Part 8 |
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