Obscuite - Chapter One

The leather bound book lay open on the stone table, precisely where it had been left three hundred years before. Its tattered brown pages, blotched with age and torn around the edges.
Spidery finger tips swept slowly across the table, raising a choking cloud of dust and blocking the light, which came from a spluttering torch in the intruder’s hand. Beside the book stood the waxy remains of a candle and a single quill, standing upright in an ink pot, which had dried out years ago. A chair lay on the floor where it had fallen, as the author had stood up suddenly and sent it crashing.
The dust settled and the candle was lit, and a gloomy illumination sprawled across the room, revealing the forest of cobwebs and dirt. What had once been a room of power and magic was little more than a hole in the ground. Threadbare tapestries, hung crooked, disintegrating at the slightest draft. The doorway pitched sideways on broken hinges.
Three hundred years before it had been the throne room for the chief of the Dockalfar, Forbeath. He had gathered the twelve members of his high council in this room and revealed to them his plan.

The only sound was the scratching of Forbeath’s quill, his council stood silently around his table, watching on with steely eyes as he etched the last word into the parchment. Each of the council were as equally cruel and evil, their eyes were pitch black and they stood with their hands clasped behind their backs as they would at a burial. For over a year now they had been fighting what seemed like an endless war with the Ljosalfar, Forbeath wanted the world and he was going to have it.
“The magic held within this book will mean that even if we die, we shall not be lost forever. It would take a single person of willing mind to revive us and we would once again be within this world.” There was a murmur throughout the council. A member spoke up.
“But what if we are dead for many centuries before the book is found?” The member was Agarth; the spiral tattoo on his forehead was the only distinguishing feature that allowed the council members to be told apart. They stood in robes of bronze, with shaven heads and blue lips.
“We shall remember noting of the time that we are gone.” Answered Forbeath, he did not need the council member’s consent on this, the deed was already done. They were loyal only to themselves and him. That was the way he liked it, it was interesting to see who would stab who in the back.
A clattering came down the stairs just behind Forbeath’s chair, a guard rushed in, his sword was in his hand and he was dragging a messenger of the Ljosalfar behind him. The light elf was terrified when he was dumped among the council members. His eyes flickered from one face to another, a silent scream on his lips.
“Talk!” The guard barked at the messenger. The messenger was struck dumb with fear. There was a crack as the guard slammed his fist across the messenger’s face. Crying out in pain he stumbled backward, the council sniggered at him, feeding off the fear in the air. Stuttering the messenger relayed his message.
“The Ljosalfar wish to surrender, they will meet you tonight within the Forest of Lumiére, they ask for mercy.” The messenger stood shaking.
“Is that all.” Forbeath asked, yawing slightly, he had no time for cowards. The messenger nodded. “Good” a strangled cry came from the, messenger’s throat and blood bubbled out of his mouth. The hilt of a dagger protruded from his throat and he dropped down dead.
“Your aim is as magnificent as ever my Lord.” The guard told Forbeath, he nodded in agreement and waved the guard away. There was no look of shock on the faces of the council, just a blank sense of uncaring. The blood seeped into the carpet, spreading across the room.
Flinging his chair back so it clattered to the floor Forbeth rose to his feet.
“I do believe we have a date with the Ljosalfar.” He laughed.
The evening was warm as Forbeath led the council towards the centre of the Forest of Lumiére. The animals had all fled at his presents leaving the forest silent. They reached a tiny clearing, the trees hedging it in. A lone Ljosalfar stood within it.
“Stop this war now and we can all go in peace.” His voice rose clear and calm in the night. Forbeath stepped towards him.
“Now brother,” He jeered, “Why would I do that?” The council did not interfere; they formed a semi circle, flanking their chief. “It seems that being King had made you feel braver than you really are Samuel.” Forbeth was right in front of Samuel now. “Or more foolish.” Samuel bowed his head,
“You are the foolish one Forbeath, and you brought this on your self,” Samuel looked upwards; streaks of light began to creep across the sky. “You became too sure of your own power and forgot that we had a weapon that you can never destroy. The sun.” Panic showed of Forbeath’s face.
Get to the trees, he screamed, but the council were staring at their hands, they were turning to stone. Swinging round Forbeath drew his sword and before Samuel had time to react Forbeath plunged it into his heart. Samuel pulled away, the sword lodged in his chest, gasping for air. Forbeath turned to his council again just as the sun finally came over the horizon completely.
The word turned silent. The chief of the Dockalfar stood captured in stone, with his council around him, and the King of the Ljosalfar lay against a willow tree, his heart still.


The stain was brown and faded, but obviously blood, stepping around it the intruder gazed around, drinking in what they saw.
“We have to leave.” A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, the sun trickling down behind him. Nodding the intruder picked up the book and placed it in a pocket in the folds of their cloak. Taking one last look at the room they turned to the man.
“Destroy it.”