Silent Vows Chapter 2

She wept for what seemed like hours. She was alone, lost and didn't have a clue as to who she was. Try as she might, she could recall no memories of childhood, parents, where she lived, or how she came to be in this dreadful place. She wanted to collapse to the floor, and just die. However, the heat was taking its toll on her fragile body and the will to survive overpowered her. She stood, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and collected the items that had scattered across the room when she had fainted. She even decided to keep the mirror. The thought crossed her mind for a moment that the pack she had discovered and clothed herself with could quite possibly be her own things.


She made her way to the first tunnel she came to. Anxiety overwhelmed her as she thought "So many tunnels, I don't know which way is up!" But, because her water was running low, she decided it best to make haste thru the first tunnel she came to. She had to find a pond, a creek, even a stream or this heat would surely find her dead within hours. She took one final sip of the warm water contained in the flask before placing it back into her pack. Rationing it would be her only chance.


More remains of rodents littered the ground of the first tunnel and cobwebs made her visibility difficult. They clung to her raven-black hair and her seemingly youthful appearance aged from the white streaks they left behind. Her feet started to ache. The leather boots she wore were hardly comfortable enough to be roaming thru a place like this. They were thin leather, adorned with a few silver buckles to keep them fastened to her feet. If she ever got out of here, she was sure to buy a new pair at the first tailor she came across.


After what seemed like an entire day of walking she stopped to rest. Had she been going in circles? Her mouth was parched, her lips were cracked and bled. She ran her tongue over the sore forms in an attempt to wet them. But to no avail, her tongue felt of sandpaper. The only thing she felt was the cool blood that coated it, almost blissful. She reached for her pack and again retrieved the flask. Tilting it up, the last drops of water trickled into her mouth but offered no relief. She was now completely out of water and saw no end to the endless maze of rock and ash that lay ahead of her. If she kept on at this pace she would surely die from thirst! She felt the urge to lie down and it overwhelmed her. She rested her head on a nearby rock and drifted slowly to sleep.


Outside the caves a weary, and quite exhausted, traveler stopped to pick a small plant. He grabbed a small dagger from his belt, cut the root off and placed it in his waist pouch.


"Why did mother have to have this blight root today? And why me? She could've sent Kiladen but NO! God forbid the youngest son of the Briarstorm family have to do anything!", he muttered to himself.


He was obviously annoyed at his situation. Miles from home on a remedial task for his mother, he wanted nothing more than to just go home.


His name was Aildien Briarstorm. He was what you would call a wood elf. He was born in Kelethin, home to the Feir' Dal. Forty-nine, and built for his age. He was still only a child, as it wasn't uncommon for the Feir' Dal to live well into their hundreds. He wore chain armor, the color of imbued sapphires. With dark mahogany hair that fell just below his shoulders and half of it pulled into a makeshift ponytail. Two lonely wisps of hair fell to frame his face. His eyes were the color of the sky on a clear day. Although a serious expression almost always adorned his face, he had a lighter side to him. His pointed ears made it easy for him to hear long distances. His elven heritage gave him the gift of far sight, which gave him the ability to see incredibly far distances. His sense of smell was also heightened. After all, he was a hunter. A ranger by trade, he had been taught by his father. He was very skilled with a bow, and even better with a blade.


Finding another blight root, he stepped into the front of a very large cave. Not something he wanted to explore. But his senses wouldn't let him leave. He keen ears picked up something or someone breathing. Shallow, and faint. He drew his bow, and a single arrow from the quiver on his back. Armed and ready to attack, he entered. The smell alone was disgusting, but he couldn't pass up a chance at dinner. Nor could he leave the creature to possibly hunt him later when he prepared camp for the night. He silently and swiftly made his way into the caverns, checking every corner before he made a move. He was getting closer, he could smell the creature now.


"Could be a tipper", he thought to himself.


Tippers were known to be cave dwellers. Larger then raccoons but just as vicious, these animals tore at their victims flesh with their huge claws and ravenous fangs. He was not worried, however, he had hunted many a tipper in his days. Easy prey and made for quite a good feast. As he came closer, he thought best to draw his sword instead, so he replaced his bow to the latch holder on his back. Tippers were not known to run, as they were stubborn little creatures that fought to the death.


"A robe?" he thought as he approached the form lying on the cavern floor. "Only magic users wear such garments."


But he kept his sword drawn, casters were known for their trickery. He could only see the backside of the person lying at his feet. Although, he could no longer hear breathing. Pushing the dark hair out of the way, he became instantly startled.


"A Teir' Dal!" his mind screamed for him to run.


He couldn't however, for he knew his duty.


Slay the woman now, an inner voice called out to him with urgency.


The Teir'Dal were his most dangerous enemy. They were Feir'Dal that rebelled against Tunare, convinced the Goddess of Nature had damned them. They were known to all be magic users and were very quick to summon minions of undead to do their bidding. Their skin was light blue, as if they had been frozen for many seasons. A condition which his kind believed to be caused by the lack of love in their hearts. They were very cold-hearted and would kill anyone who stood in their way of achieving what they desired. They hated everyone, even their own kind. No love or mercy in their hearts, they strive for power, and destruction. Everything his own kind cherished, that was touched by a Teir'Dal instantly was almost always instantly destroyed or transformed into something that could only be described as malicious and evil.


His heart was beating the most irregular rhythm. He couldn't slay her, and he knew it. Because she was so close to Kelethin, he knew he had to find out what she was doing here, and what she knew of Morgalanth's plans. Morgalanth was the self-proclaimed leader of the Teir'Dal. He relished in the pain and misery of others around him, and his one goal was to spread the word of the deity he worshiped, Innorruuk the Guardian of Hate. Along with killing anyone and destroying anything that stood in his way.


His sword at her throat, he lightly nudged at her side with his boot. He must've tried for five minutes to wake her. Convinced she was no longer a threat in her condition, he replaced his sword to its sheath. He bent over her, trying to sense any sign that she was indeed still alive. He could hear her heart beat, very faint. The heat must've gotten to her. She lay there, unmoving and looking in horrible shape. Swiftly and without any effort, he grabbed one of her arms and swung her over his shoulders. She couldn't have weighed more than 100 stones. He also grabbed her pack, it could prove to have interesting information contained within it that he would question her of later.


"Must be my lucky day! Supper will have to wait." he thought as he carried the dark elf back to his makeshift camp, and began nourishing her back to health.