The Fithiarch and Gideon, Part 1

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The Fithiarch and Gideon, Part 1

Post by Guest on Fri Sep 19, 2008 10:30 am

I've written this for a school assessment. I'm considering developing it for a full story, or for a new RP. Please, tell me what you think.

The Fithiarch and Gideon


The sun was casting long fingers of shadows as it struck the trees on it’s descent past the horizon. The final dying rays created an eerie pink and red glow in along the earth, as waves of darkness stretched to the stars. Thousands of feet above the horizon, the glowing white stars were beginning to peek through the blackness, and the moon was struggling to bring itself to its full bodied glory. Although the sun was only just setting, it was well past midnight in this particular realm. This realm was a hazy place, half in and half out of the mortal realm. Humans often roamed accidentally into this realm, but humans are blind creatures. They never see what is real, but only what they wish to see. They wouldn’t see the leopard spotted tail peeking out of a pretty young lady’s dress, or furry fox ears beneath the striking black hair of a handsome young man. They are, as a race, stupid creatures, blind to the wonders of the mystical realms that they were once a part of. The immortal creatures of this land, the Faerun, enjoyed playing with human beings, tormenting them, teasing them. The Faerun were harmless though, although there were Dark places, where the nicer Faerun feared to tread. Tricksy though the Faerun were where humans were concerned, they were not malicious, and they tried to keep them away from the Dark of their land. Some humans did wander towards the Dark though, those humans whose hearts were full of darkness. Darkness was drawn to darkness, they all knew.

Those poor humans never returned.

The Faerun didn’t take a huge personal interest in the humans that wandered into their realm, as a general rule. It’s not that their rulers forbade them to; it’s just that no human had ever served as more then a passing diversion. However, one day, as they were want to do, a group of young human girls were noticed plucking the roses out of one of the Queen’s favourite rose gardens. These roses were an extraordinary shade of pink, the purest pink at the base of the flower, darkening to a vibrant pinkish-red at the curling lips of the petals. The leaves were a luscious green, and the thorns were non-existent. The girls flocked into the garden, squealing with delight at finding the flowers, and began vigorously picking them. Some pulled the petals off the roses and stuffed them into their bodices, whispering to one another that if you did so, you were surely going to be married before the season was over.

One girl, however, stood aloof from the other girls. She wandered slowly about the garden, her fingers playing with a length of her wavy, chocolate hued hair. She would bend slightly every now and then, and put her nose into the heart of one of the flowers and inhale with a blissful look on her face. She was certainly what the Faerun would class as beautiful. She was slender, yet had well defined, soft womanly curves at her breast and hips. Her skin was a soft olive colour, either it was her skins natural hue, or it was the result of spending time in the sunlight of her realm. Her arms were slender, but strong, as were her legs, the Faerun noticed, possibly from some form of labour or other physical activity. Her face though, was the pinnacle of her perfection for the Faerun. It was beautiful, soft and above all, symmetrical. Symmetry was the reason the Faerun were so beautiful. Their bodies and faces were perfectly in proportion and were a mirror image of the other half of their bodies. This young woman’s figure and face had this quality too. Her almond shaped green eyes were perfect, sparkling, framed with thick black lashes. Her eyebrows were delicately shaped and in perfect alignment. Even her fingernails were lovely. Her lips were full and almost the same shade as the lips of the rose petal.

She was, the Faerun decided, perfect.

This perfection was not only noticed by the Faerun, but also by the creatures that inhabited the Dark. The ruler of the Dark was a man named Morragan, his title, The Fithiarch of Carconnor. Carconnor, the name of the Dark, was a horrible place. While wastelands and barren forests were often human perceptions of horrible places, the Dark was not. Carconnor was a myriad of beautiful and thick forests. The forests were Dark, the foliage was Dark and the creatures were Dark, yet beautiful, like all the creatures of the Erith realm. A flowing river separated the edge of Carconnor from the rest of the Light Lands of Erith. The Dark ones could not cross flowing water without feeling the water pull and rip at their very sinews, tearing flesh and causing their purple blood to spill. To try and cross the river Mornenion meant certain death for the Dark ones.

Morragan ruled these lands with an iron fist. All creatures in Carconnor were his loyal servants. They would fight for him and die for him without question. He was cruel, often childish, but he knew no other way to be. He was royalty. Disgraced royalty, but royalty none the less, Morragan was obeyed by his minions without question. He was undoubtedly handsome, and many women and female creatures vied for his attentions. He gave his attention to many, and made them feel like they were the only one. They never were. No woman, Dark One or Dark Creature alike, ever turned down the Fithiarch. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, perfect like all the Dark Ones, for they were just Faerun who turned to the Dark when the Dark and the Light split, but he also had a certain aura of power surrounding him, that all were attracted to.

The Fithiarch was a tower of a man, standing at 6’7” with broad shoulders. The Fithiarch was perfectly muscular, every muscle well formed, clearly visible when he moved, and symmetrical. He had a light complexion, pale, yet beautiful. His straight black hair flowed down his back almost to his waist. He almost always had it tied back in a pony tail, but if it was loose, it flowed about his head and shoulders like water. Indeed, his movements were so fluid it was almost like he was swimming, or floating through the air. They were fluid, graceful, yet powerful. The crowning glories of The Fithiarch, however, were his eyes. His eyes were a piercing, icy blue-grey. His face had an inhuman, animalistic quality about it that made him very attractive, yet also very intimidating, almost terrifying.

Those icy eyes were staring across space and were eyeing the new entrants to Erith very curiously. A quick perusal revealed that none of the young ladies, despite from trying small little tricks and some folklore remedies to attract a male, had done no wrong in their lives and could not be coaxed into the Dark. He was almost about to move away from his window, when he stopped suddenly, and peered once again through the window, no longer curious, now eagerly. A woman had moved away from the group and was wandering. He leaned out of the window, an evil grin on his face. She was perfect. Beautiful, strong and alluring. She had an aura of power about her, and her heart, he was pleased to see, was as black as night. This was strange, however, as she had done nothing in her life to turn her heart and soul to the Dark. It was almost as though she was born with the Darkness in her heart. He grinned. She would come so easily, she would fall so easily.

She would be his trophy, his ultimate conquest.

“Durion!” Morragan called. Within moments a man strode into the room. He could have almost been Morragans' twin, except that he was several inches shorter, and his hair was a white-blonde colour.
“Yes, my Lord,” he said, with a curt bow, and a snappy snap of his boots.

“Look out the window, Durion, and tell me what you see.” The Fithiarch gestured to the window and moved to one side, ushering Durion to the window’s ledge.

Durion gazed out and immediately grinned and leaning forward, as though drawn to the sight before him. “Oh, my Lord,” he whispered, breathless. “She is beautiful! Perfect!” He turned away from the sight and leaned casually against the windowsill. “Do you want her, my Lord?” he asked curiously. Morragan appraised his General.

“Why Durion?” Morragan asked, equally as curious. “Do you fancy her also?”

Durion grinned. “She would make a nice trophy wife, my Lord.”

Morragan nodded and pushed Durion out of the way so that he could once again gaze out of the window. He stood in silence for a few moments and watched the young woman wandering around the roses. A wife. He had not considered that. He had merely thought that the woman would be a plaything, something to show off to the other creatures. A sort of a, ‘look at the human that I have, she is more beautiful then any of you’, kind of toy. But if he took her for a wife… She could bear his children, his heirs, and no one would question their legitimacy.


“That she would Durion,” he finally murmured in reply. “That she would.” He turned away from the window after one final look at his prize. “Retrieve her for me Durion,” he said. “Bring her to me unscathed.”

“The rest of the women, my Lord?”

“Do what you wish with them. If you do plan to scar them permanently though Durion, I suggest you kill them. We don’t want them running back to their realm with stories of otherworldly men and their monsters.”

“Yes my Lord,” Durion replied with another snappy snap of his boots, and he strode from the room, barking orders to his soldiers on the way.


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