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For all who want to read it, here is the prologue of my book.
The mist floated through the silent evergreen forest; the world was asleep, and the few on it who weren’t were involved in war. The animals in the forest did not hear the three riders making their steady way through the forest on an overgrown path. These were no ordinary riders; no, these were the stuff of legends; the Three Founders of Athenar. Elves, two of them, and the third was a cat-elf, no longer possessing his feline traits due to a great sacrifice made on his part on behalf of the one whom he loved. That, however, is a different story, one that may be told in full at a later time. Faerin, her beauty famed among all races, second only to her kindness, turned on her horse to speak with her brother, her pristine white robes whispering in the wind. “Brother, how do you know that the Seer you speak of will be able to help us win the war?” The war she spoke of had been raging across the land of Ellaen for nigh on a century. The enemy was a foul race of necromancers, named the Fell. They resembled in every aspect kindly old men. Yet the one feature that betrayed them all for what they really were was their eyes. The whites were a blood red, and the centers had no color, just a bottomless pit of black. They had come through a rift between dimensions with their servants, the dark angels. The Drow, traitors of the elven race, had joined them.
“I have researched tales of the Seer for a long time, sister, and I believe that she will be invaluable; there are too many similarities in the tales to discount them as superstitions or myths. In all the tales that I have heard and read, they speak of her wisdom and foresight; she rivals me, and may yet better me when we speak to her.” Said Faris, whose knowledge surpassed the greatest scholars and philosophers since ages past. It was he who made the sacrifice.
“Prophecies will not win wars, Faris, though if her wisdom is as great as you say, she might provide strategic insight into the Fell’s plans. I doubt her aid to us will extend beyond that.” Saith said gruffly. He was the bravest of the three, whose deeds in the war and even before it have been made into songs that have been sung from the lowliest taverns to the halls of kings.
The three steeds, white, brown, and pure black respectively, shied at the sudden edge of the forest that had come upon them out of the mist. It was not just the abrupt change in scenery; from lush evergreen forest to a stone embanked road that lead straight and true to the center of a small lake, the destination shrouded in the mist. There was something magical about the place, something that made the air heavy in their lungs and on their shoulders. The three riders could sense it as well. The horses of Faerin and Faris began to step backwards, the whites of their eyes showing, but the black war-horse of Saith merely flattened its ears and snorted. Faris closed his eyes; he was trying to sense what magic was at work. He opened them, and said clearly “Nishael Hanae.” He snapped his fingers, and the snap strangely echoed louder followed by a tinkling as of broken glass. The heaviness suddenly lifted, and the riders proceded forwards onto the road across the lake. “The feeling would have gotten worse, until we were crushed from both within and without.” Explained Faris. “Yet here is what I don’t understand; that was just a simple spell; surely that is not the extent of the Seer’s protection, unless that was merely…” “A test, Faris? Indeed it was.” Said a woman’s voice. The voice sounded ageless, and yet the bearer could not have been older than the oldest elf left alive. It was peaceful, and untroubled by wariness; it brought a comfort to the rider’s hearts, though experience taught them that not everything is as it seems. The mist cleared in front of them, and the riders saw a small cottage before them, at the end of the stone embankment. It was on a small island, the banks of grass touching the water giving way to small flowering bushes beside the house, at odds with the barren rocks of the path. The voice belonged to what appeared to be a woman, dressed in a white dress, intricately embroidered with gold thread. Upon closer inspection, the embroidery resolved into a type of tapestry, on which hundreds of stories were contained. Her hair was long and white, the same color as her eyes. They were not the white of blindness; her eyes seemed as if they saw beyond the here and now, more so than any elf could. Her age could be placed at about fifty years old, but all present doubted that that was the case. “Come inside, friends. We have much to talk about. The Seer motioned for them to enter her cottage, and the Three Founders dismounted, and entered through the open front door. The Seer closed the door behind them, and bid them to take a seat. There were exactly four wooden chairs in the small room, no more, no less, with cushions strewn on them to make them more comfortable. They appeared to be grown, rather than carved, and fit each of the Three comfortably. The fourth was different, also grown into its finished shape, yet it had only a multicolored woven blanket draped on it for comfort. The Seer took a seat on that chair, beside the stone fireplace and facing the other three chairs. Without any formalities or small talk, she immediately began to speak words of wisdom to the Three, astounding even Faris with her wealth of information and insight. He wondered how she had come by this information, but put the thought out of his head, not wanting to interrupt, lest it break the stream of information. The words followed no pattern that they could discern; one moment comforting, and suddenly changing to words of warning the next moment. The strange thing was, they found their questions answered in her words before they could even ask them. The Seer not only spoke of what the enemy’s plans were, but of the history of the war; showing the Founders why the Fell did what they did when they did it. The day faded into night, and then to morning, and still they sat, as tireless as the foundations of the mountains. At long last, and with the same abruptness as when she had began, the Seer stopped, saying “That is all I have to tell you of my knowledge, yet that is not all I must say to you at this time. Three prophecies will be spoken this day, even by the one who has doubt in his heart.” The last words said pointedly to Saith, the Seer looking him in the eyes. He could not hold her gaze, and dropped his head. The Seer continued “The three of you have words you must say, words that have been on your hearts for some time now, words of prophecy. I know the words, yet it is you who must say them. Thus will these prophecies come true. Faerin, speak the words on your heart.” Faerin stood up, her face showing that she was deep in thought. She spoke slowly, as if repeating by ear what she was saying. “There will be one who comes after me, one who holds life sacred, yet is forced to take it. He will be cursed, betrayed, and hated for being pure of heart. Yet the curse placed upon him will not last forever. He will teach the one who ends the war. These are my words.” Faerin sat down, and it looked as if she had just comprehended what she had said. The Seer spoke again. “Faris, speak the words on your mind.” Faris stood, and began as Faerin did, slowly. “There will be one who comes after me, one who is wise in the ways of peace. He will not be born of any race in this land; he will be born of one who has no kin. By his actions and through his guidance, the one who ends the war will come of age, and be brought to this land. These are my words.” Faris finished, and a look of puzzlement crossed his face as he looked at the Seer. The Seer smiled knowingly, and Faris sat down. “Saith,” the Seer said, and as she did, Saith’s eyes widened in surprise and comprehension, and a single tear slid down the fierce warrior’s face. “Speak the words on your soul.” Saith stood, and began, his voice slightly choked. “My prophecy will begin with my voice, yet end with one who follows my ways. There will be one who comes after me, one with mixed blood, yet, like steel forged in dwarven furnaces, will come out the stronger for it. Something dear to Faerin will become a part of him, and will help him in desperate times. He will hold death in both hands, yet only deal it out if there is no other way; the power to give life will run in his veins, though he is frightened by it. He will seek peace, yet evil will force his hand to war. He will be the one who ends the war. This is my half of the prophecy, these are my words.” Saith sat down, his mood dark, his thoughts troubled. The Seer then spoke. “Through your bond with each other, great things have and will be done. You will cause this war to pause for a while, to give this land a rest; you will deal a great blow to the enemy. Ye there is one thing you must do; each of you live your lives by a virtuous creed, a way of life that guides your actions. You know the path in front of you, the Way you must take, by the ideals you hold dear. However, there will be many elves who follow you, many elves whose paths are not as clear to them as they are to you. Therefore you must record your way, so that others may follow, their paths lit by your teachings.” “We will do what you say, Seer.” Said Saith. “Then I bid you all a heartfelt farewell. We will not meet again.” Faris was saddened by her words; there was so much for him to learn from her. Faerin and Faris stepped outside, yet Saith remained behind. “Is there something more you wish to say, Saith?” asked the Seer. “Forgive me for doubting, Seer; it was not my place to do so. I should have learned in my travels that there are stranger things than being able to see the future. I… I have just been at war for so long, against the Saksith,” he spat the word disdainfully. “The Fell, that to see its end with a vision is beyond me. So for that, I ask your forgiveness.” The Seer put her hand on Saith’s armored shoulder; her touch was light, her hand was comfortingly warm. “This war, and all evil, has brought this doubt that now troubles you. It does not diminish you; it just means you hope for better times. Go, and be at peace with yourself, for there is nothing to forgive.” Saith nodded, and left. He mounted his pitch black war-horse; the others were waiting for him. “What troubles you?” Faris asked him as they started to ride away. “The Seer gave me a vision of the future; it brought both hope and despair. I asked her forgiveness for doubting her words.” As they made their way along the stony road and back into the forest, a bird that had been wheeling overhead came and landed on Faerin’s shoulder. It was fiery crimson; indeed, small flames could be seen at the edges of its wings and its plume; it was a phoenix. “War is at hand, Faerin.” It said in a deep, male voice. “You must ride to the defense of Athenar.”
_________________ "True Evil cannot be reckoned with. Only Defeated." - Sen L I Starfire
(Banner thanks to Imlosiel the Lost!  )
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