Pokémon Acanthite Forums

New chapter! (link to dA)

This was actually written in English as part of my monologue task. I thought it would fit aptly in the story around here, and detail the various reactions to Seldrenr. Comments and crits appreciated.

XIV - Letters

Taken from a letter written by Sto Arnatius, 243rd President of the Angelic Republic, to Gar Felbin, Chief of the Presidential Staff at the Citadel.

Dearest Felbin,

The Vault is failing; I can feel its strength ebbing when I visit the Library. I can only see this as a sign that our democracy is coming under threat, dear friend, and that we must take arms to defend what we have worked so hard for in the past thousand years.

The Republic has been in a state of peace for this entire millennium, and so it is only natural that I fear bringing our people onto the stage of open conflict with the detestable race of men and the secretive elves. We are the only pure ones in this world, and who would I be to taint our people with the horrors of war?

I must consider this carefully, dear friend. I must think about what would be the best course of action, and whether my emergency powers will be needed. I fear for the lives of my family and friends if I do anything rash, possibly more so than the peace of mind of this Republic, the people I hold dearly to my heart.

I would appreciate your counsel, if you would be willing to give it to me.

Kindly reply quickly, so we may thwart this new threat with effectiveness, and not lead to the bloodiness of war that resulted in the same battle, in the same situation, a thousand years ago.

* * *
Taken from a letter written by Gar Felbin, Chief of the Presidential Staff at the Citadel, to the President himself.

Arnatius,

I can only share your concerns. However, we know how much effort and power was poured into the Vault when our forbears created it – I cannot see it breaking in the near future. If what you say is true, however, I can certainly anticipate its opening at some point.

My advice? Watch it. Take your best guards – and when I say best, I mean not only the strongest, but the most intelligent also – and send them to the area in which our historians and mathematicians say that the Vault would open to. Have them there, constantly. And when something happens – the gods know what, I’m afraid, they will have to use intuition in this matter – get them to report back to the Citadel. These positions must be held indefinitely, and instructions must be left for future Presidents also. We cannot allow them to be ignorant in such an enormously important matter.

I’m afraid it isn’t foolproof, my friend, but it is the best we can do for the situation. I hope you can excuse my pre-emptive actions, but I shall make preparations for such a task force while I await your response. Please do so equally quickly, my friend.

* * *

A period of centuries passed between the correspondence between Felbin and Arnatius. The former was correct – Seldrenr did take more time to rise, almost four hundred years more. And it is after that fact was confirmed by the slaying of the two angelic guards sent from Ab-Clodhr that the latest President began correspondence with the Queen of the Elves and the King of Man.

* * *
A letter from Bel Fulgens, 418th President of the Angelic Republic, to Denaria, Queen of the Elves.

Majesty,

I write to you as holder of this office for the first time in a number of centuries, in order to break the silence of the angels that has gripped the land for too long now, while we watch the various people on the ground below struggle in war and plague and famine.

It is with great regret that I must warn you of a new demon that comes to blight the world, and I do not use the word metaphorically. It would take too long to explain our history in a letter, and when I visit you (as I am sure I will in the coming months), I shall explain it fully. But know this for now: a great figure of evil and tyranny from our distant past has awoken and broken free from his artificial prison, and his (if the figure deserves a gender) machinations threaten the fabric of not only our existence, but yours also.

This is a short letter because of my duties to the angels themselves, and so now I must cut to the chase. A war will inevitably break out among the heathen and his forces, and ourselves. But this will not only be a battle fought in the clouds – it will spread itself to the ground, into the forests and mountains, where you hold your abode, and into the towns and villages where the race of man holds theirs.

And so I ask for your help, help in fighting off the greatest threat to the collective existence of peace that has ever been. It is humbly that I ask your warriors to join our angelic troops on the battlefield, and join into a military alliance for the good of the world. I understand your current internal problems, but understand that they are currently being solved, and trust that they will be resolved very soon.

I have sent a similar message to the leaders of men also, and hope that you will agree to enter into an alliance with them also. If not, then we have failed, and Seldrenr (as is the demon’s name in the Old Tongue) will prevail.

I beg of you to consider carefully but swiftly.

* * *

A letter from Queen Denaria IXX, by the Will of the Forest, to Bel Fulgens, President of the Angelic Republic.

President,

Although I appreciate your concerns, I can only half-heartedly say that my forces will join yours in battle. My own life is beginning to fade, and with succession not officially clarified yet, I fear that civil war could erupt between the elves. The last hope are the two – they must reach me before I take my last breath, so that I may name my heir. But difficult times lay ahead for them, I am sure.

With the next leader of the elves so unclear, it would be rash for me to pledge the support of them indefinitely: if civil war does happen, then the new leader and his junta may decide not to continue their support. Indeed, there may not be any new leader after what could happen: you have never seen a hall war, Master Angel – they are brutal and bloody and devastating to all their surroundings. We have only just recovered from the last.

So I will say yes for now: if the threat increases, we will assist you. But I can make no promises as to the future.

It's really good. I can't wait for more.

I've fallen back in love with this. A new chapter shall be up shortly <3

I promised you, didn't I! Anyway, here's Chapter 15 - comments, as always, appreciated!

XV – In the Woods of Ab-Montr

The road was growing ever more enshrouded with trees as they travelled towards the great mountain, its lofty heights now clearly dominating the skyline. Where before had only been clear space and short shrubbery were now towering elms and oaks, relatively young for their species, but enormous and overbearing nonetheless.

The sun was hanging high in the sky overhead, projecting immense light and heat upon all who met its gaze. The trees however provided the perfect cover for this, the only indication of the day’s existence being the green tint that was provided as the magnificently golden rays pierced the ever-thickening canopies.

The sweet aroma of the brightly coloured flowers that grew on the roadsides pungently scented the air, a slightly exotic edge to it. Indeed, this perfume only served to cheerily augment the beauty of the area, in its mysterious and secretive way.

Cysagh looked over at Perioc, who was smiling at what he could only guess was familiar territory for her. Cysagh smiled himself at this, having become quite fond of Perioc in the few weeks that they had been travelling together: despite her strong personality, she had a soft underneath and was really quite a pleasant person to be with.

“We’re very close now,” she said, even her voice considerably becoming more sing-song and happy with the new surroundings. Looking round and seeing Cysagh staring, she quickly added, “I’m not a grump all the time, you know.”

The earnest look on Perioc’s face was the final straw for Cysagh, who burst into laughter.

“What?” asked Perioc.

“It’s just, for the past few weeks, I’ve always pictured you as quite stern and unforgiving,” began Cysagh. “But the minute we get to the forest, you look as if you’re away with the fairies. It must be the flowers having an adverse effect on you!” And then he began laughing again.

“I can be grumpy if you really want me to,” replied Perioc.

“No, don’t worry,” grinned Cysagh. “I prefer you this way! But what’s brought it on?”

“I don’t know,” said Perioc. “It’s something about being amongst old friends, as well as just being in such a beautiful place…”

Cysagh raised a sceptical eyebrow, and just nodded slowly. Not seeing this, Perioc continued in her contented daze, through the beginnings of woodland and into Ab-Montr.

* * *

Cysagh and Perioc were deep into the forest when night began to fall, and a chill crept into the air. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the last of the light disappeared from around them, Perioc instinctively pulled up on her horse, and came to a stop.

“We may as well rest now,” she said. “We should be safe within the forest, and another few hours aren’t going to hurt anybody.”

With one fluid movement, she slid down the sleek side of her horse, and flicked her glossy brown hair out of her equally brown eyes, that seemed to twinkle with some unknown emotion. Cysagh did the same – albeit rather more clumsily – and followed her, leading his horse in the same direction that she was.

As they moved off of the path, and among the swathes of vegetation and trees, Cysagh couldn’t help but begin to fall in love with the natural beauty of the area. Vividly coloured flowers made the undergrowth look like a rainbow, swaying gently in the evening breeze. The grass was a deep shade of green unlike any that Cysagh had seen in the places he had been – even Ab-Forteyna couldn’t rival what was to be found here. The sweet smelling air seemed to become even more pungent as they walked between bushes and trees, and even seemed to be growing steadily warmer; a fact which Cysagh noted out loud to Perioc.

“Is it meant to be getting warmer?” he asked, inquisitive.

“Yes, if we’re going in the right direction,” she said. “It should be just around here…”

And indeed, Perioc was correct, as the trees began to thin ever so slightly, revealing what could only be described as a small lake. With the temperature being so cool, a gentle mist of steam was visible hovering over the body of water, further highlighted by the swarms of fireflies that were sitting on the surrounding flowers, providing the area with a strange light that made the area wonderfully mystic.

“What is this place?” asked Cysagh, in awe of what surrounded him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” replied Perioc, sitting down among the grass. “It’s one of the natural springs that surround the area. Ab-Montr is formed over a dormant volcano, and so the water around it is naturally heated by the magma underground. The place is famous for it—”

“The Misty Rivers,” interjected Cysagh, now also sitting himself down. Seeing the surprised look on Perioc’s face, he recounted a story from his childhood. “It’s one thing that I can remember from when I was really young. My mother used to sing a song about them to me while she bathed me. She used to say that it was elven.”

“You mean the Epic of Deriel?” said Perioc.

“I don’t know its name,” replied Cysagh, “I just know the song. It’s always been stuck in my mind.” Perioc smiled.

“Does it sound something like this?” And with that, Perioc began to sing in a clear, haunting voice, the distinctly different sounds and notes of the song rising and falling with the rhythm. The sheer beauty of the song itself was enough to behold, but there was something about Perioc’s voice that sent a chill down Cysagh’s spine.

Memories came flooding back to him, of the face of his mother; of home; of his friends, and as Perioc sang the last verse, describing the tall ship of the hero, Deriel, sailing into the darkness and away from this world, Cysagh joined in, ending on the famously unresolved note, giving a sense of more to come at the close of the song.

Quietly, he said, “Yes. That’s the one.”

“I thought so,” replied Perioc. “It was written millennia ago and was a staple within the six halls, but only now really used at big occasions.”

“Your voice… is beautiful,” said Cysagh, still quiet with reverence and reflection. Perioc went visibly red, and murmured a word of thanks. “Where did you learn to sing like that?”

“I… I honestly don’t remember,” replied Perioc. “I just remember hearing elf-song as a girl, and singing along to it whilst I played in the nursery. And this particular song just stuck. Like I said, it’s massively historical, but I never knew of its connotations.”

As Perioc finished speaking, an abnormally chill breeze swept through the clearing. Rubbing her bare arms, Perioc stood up, and mounted her horse again. “It’s time to go,” she said. “There are dark things which haunt this forest at night. We’d best be getting to the city gates before it gets really dangerous.”

Cysagh nodded, and used to it now, clambered back onto Andatr. With a clatter of hooves, the two were once again moving, back towards where the huge central mountain was towering above everything, like a child surveying the spiders before he blots them out of existence.

Time passed quickly on this particular journey, and indeed in less than an hour, Perioc stopped abruptly at a particularly tall and thick set of trees, with lustrous purple fruits hanging delectably from the branches.

“We’re here,” she whispered, a tantalised smile upon her face.

“Where are the gates?” replied Cysagh, puzzled.

“That’s the beauty of it: you can only get in if you know where the gates are – that way people can only get in if they’ve been granted access. Fortunately for you, I’ve been here before.” And holding her hand up, Perioc muttered a few further words in an unintelligible language. Cysagh blinked, and where once stood trees now was a colossal iron gate, rusted with age. It originally seemed to have been painted green, but weather and other factors now made it more of a dull, black colour.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” asked Cysagh.

“No, it’s much too heavy for that,” said Perioc. “Just wait.”

And indeed, no sooner had she said this than the gates, with some unknown force, began to creak open, the inharmonious sound of rusted metal scraping itself filling the now cold night air. It took about two minutes for the gates to swing completely open, and the sight that lay beyond was extraordinary. The thickly forested area was all but gone, with elven outposts and cobbled paths dotting their way throughout the trees. This particular area was quite quiet, no doubt due to it being night, but houses were present, their small windows glowing with yellow light.

So bewildered by all of this was Cysagh that he forgot to notice the small man now standing in front of his and Perioc’s horses. His attention was brought back though when the man – or elf as he was – began to talk, a strange accent clouding his otherwise perfect speech of the human language.

“Lady Perioc, and esteemed guest, we have been expecting you. Welcome to the city-fortress of Ab-Montr.”

Where did you get the name "Mordrenr" and other ones from? I'm curious.

They come from my made up language, Angelic. "Mordrenr" loosely translates as "doom". And I got that language from a mixture of Cornish, Welsh and British (it was an ancient Celtic language).