Immortal
Chapter1: Introduction
You know, for an immortal I get very very bored. Of course I can’t say that I’m immortal because I don’t really know, I can only assume. I was born a mere century ago, not long at all really, in a small village in the Alyssian countryside, or at least that was where I was found. If you looked at me though you would not see the face of age or the spider lines of experience on my face, nor a single white head on my hair.
I am over a century old and yet my body seems to have stopped in its early twenties. I am not an Elf, those fair folk have migrated somewhat north of Alyssian lands in the last millennia and the reason for this is simple. Alyssia is a land of Wizards and Sorcerers and they are human. The Elves and I have to say myself, view as a disastrous combination, largely because, in the main, humans are so hasty. I have been stabbed, even shot in the head with a musket, burned horribly, forced to live without food and water for a solid month, yet I have not died, nor even show a physical scar. I have felt the pain however. I do not enjoy being starved or shot. Of my century of life so far I have spent nearly thirty of them training in the sword and have become very competent, more competent than a human, though probably not of a master Elf as they normally spend several centuries perfecting it.
To round off my education in my 53rd year I believe it was I found that I was not a Wizard, but a sorcerer. There are great advantages to this rare gift. A wizard unlike a Sorcerer not only has to memorize spells but they have to use meaningless words and incantations to call their power. I say their power but it is not and that is the biggest advantage of a Sorcerer, Wizards use components and mumbled words to call power from the world around them. I on the other hand need no say a word. In layman’s terms a Sorcerer is a sponge, we slowly, over time, soak up mystical energies naturally into our bodies and store it, to access it we merely think what we want done and access that part of our mind. It is no where as easy as it sounds but that’s the simple version. The other difference is that anyone with training and study can be a Wizard but you are born a Sorcerer. My personal advantage is that because I do not age (one can even see an Elf age slightly in a century and they can die) is that my powers will theoretically increase to astronomical proportions because as long as my body exists it will continue to soak up mystical energies.
To say that I cannot die may also be a misconception, certainly normal means do not work, nor do simple magical attacks or death spells, quite the reverse actually, in one respect I am very strange even by a Sorcerers understanding, normal spells, even normal death spells can be absorbed by my body, the power adding to my own. This does not mean to say I’m invulnerable, for example I do not know how my body would react to a weapon enchanted to take magical energies (as everybody knows, the souls is held together by earth magic and such weapons, dark and as rare as they are) could possibly kill me or an enhanced spell enacted by more than one Wizard might kill me or a spell to wipe my soul from existence. All these things could kill me and I have no inclination to find out thank you very much.
In my 105th year, I grew bored and began to contemplate travelling, I had just gained my Master status from the humans (which is the highest Rank that they have as the poor short lived things seem to die within a few centuries) I find the idea of Wizards and Sorcerers bemusing in relation to ‘normal’ humans. Magic users ages are slowed incredibly, the earth magic slowing the aging process and they can live up to two and a half times longer than the average human, yet compared to the other masters, in looks at least, I was a spring chicken. The youngest of them looked about sixty and was probably just under twice that and the oldest was so old and shrunken that I could almost see death hovering behind his eyes.
Anyway I did not want to stay in this company, to be frank it was depressing and I began to look at the maps ready to travel. I Could not go to the west as the dragon wars were still waging and immortal or not I was not going to willing test myself against dragon fire, I wanted to visit the Elves, but not right at first, they might have a clue to exactly what I was but I felt some slight pull to the east I could not explain it. It was here that the Dark Elves were fighting a stalemate battle with the mountain Dwarves for land, the Fair folk, that is to say the true Elves, Fairies whatever you want to call them had promised aid but knowing them it would take at least a decade in coming and even then not in any force, not that soon. Maybe I needed an adventure, maybe I just wanted to test my limits. This is my story, the beginning of the Immortals adventure.
On a spring morning on his 105th year (which was also the 658 year of the starlight sign) he packed his bags, checking for his spare clothes, his whetstone, his razor, his soap, some food and looked in the mirror. Standing tall, though not as tall as some humans, the eyes that stared out at him in the mirror were a deep sea green, the eyes seemed ageless and completely out of place for the young human face that surrounded it.
The straight, midnight black hair was so dark that it seemed to have a tint of blue fell slightly past his shoulder. It was tied up in a loose pony tail. His face he knew was what humans would consider beautiful but he hardly paid it any attention. He had been married before, in his 30th year, before he truly understood what he was and he watched her age, and watched her die of the pox before entering the academy of magical arts.
He did not wear his master’s robes, as pretty as they were, they would simply highlight him as a target and (as he constantly reminded himself) the next time he got into trouble may be the exception to the rule of his immortality. His name was Darin D’Yanthete and he was many things, Immortal only being one of them. He wore loose woollen trousers and matched green shirt. His one indulgence was the silver embroidery around the high collar and cuffs. That and his weapons were his only indulgences when it came to money. He had only five weapons, a beautiful sword of Elfish design, four dwarf made daggers and a small silver ring with a jade setting that was his conduit.
He looked at his ring, probably both the most innocuous and powerful weapon in his arsenal. Wizards needed conduits, Sorcerers did not need them but it made them more effective. A conduit was a thing that could store and focus magical energy, for most it was a neck charm of some sort but for him it was a ring. He found it useful because although he could channel his own power without the ring, it expended more of his energy to do so; the ring simply caused less to be used and had been previously enchanted as a gift of his master status to hold an emergency amount of useable magical energy. He smiled; the smallest is sometimes the most deadly.
He settled the Elfish blade in it sheath on his back, threw on his cloak and with a quick glance at the room that should have been his home for more than fifty years but in reality had only been somewhere he had lived he smiled at the opportunities ahead and walked through his door closing it softly behind him.
With a thought he reached into himself and just for effect as there were some young students looking he whispered gibberish for half a second in the harsh sounding old tongue. His door seemed to turn to crystal, as hard as anything on the planet; no one would get through that door without breaking the illusion first. Of course it was an illusion, he did not have sufficient reason to expend so much energy in a spell of changing, besides it was a very good illusion and like all illusions of magic, as long as the viewer believed that they were really what they were seen as being that would be how they stayed unless dispelled. He also, just for amusements sake put a twist on the spell so whoever released it would be covered head to toe in magical soot that would not wash off for days.
Smiling at his own childishness he walked out of the academy without a word and into the unknown.
For three days he walked, he didn’t take a horse because that would attract too much attention, and he saw villages and the people in them slowly change. At first the people were smiling and laughing, prosperous and happy as he walked by. As time went on however he moved across a land decimated by the evils of mistrust and fear. The war going on had sapped people, Humans and Dwarves of their hope, their food and their young.
He came across one nameless village and the windows were barred and way stopped by middle aged people and ancient dwarves holding rusty weapons. He looked into their eyes and saw mistrust and fear in every part of their being.
“What ye about?” asked the leader, a grizzly faced dwarf who looked so ancient it seemed that his face might crumble under the experience and years.
“I am simply a traveller looking to work for a place to sleep and a bit of food” Darin replied.
“Yeah? Well we have little of one and none of the other so get!” shouted the old Dwarf gesturing with a weapon in what should have been a threatening manner, if it wasn’t for the fact that the axe that he held was rusted through. He was hardly listening though instead he spun on his feet and saw a Dark Elf foraging party behind him. The people behind him readied their deeply ineffectual weapons even as the silent four Elf team moved upon what seemed to be the easiest prey, him. He slowly drew his weapon, dreading this moment.
He could sense the dark hearts of these swords, he could sense the pulsing death radiating from them and he knew he did not want to test his Immortality against them. They approached with mocking smiles and his eyes locked with the first. His heart exploded in his chest. Darin reeled from the backlash of that manoeuvre, death spells and any offensive spells affected the body but they did not snuff out the life directly, a death spell could cause the opponent to age rapidly into dust that blew away at your feet and in that sense it was somewhat natural. What he had just done though, was full of fear; fuelled by his need to live he had killed with blunt force, directly, and now he was paying the price.
Even as the first body fell he cursed himself for a fool because his eyes began to close against the sudden agony in his mind and his limbs began to shake, he fell to his knees, knowing that his death was close. He sensed, rather than saw, the arrow that took the closest living Elf in the throat. It bough him time that he sorely needed.
He forced his eyes open against the agony and saw the last two turn oblivious of him in his current state to turn and look at the archer that had saved his life. Though looking at anything made him queasy he managed to get his right hand over his closest enemy’s mouth even as his left used his Elfish sword to take the vile things heart. He silently laid it to the ground even as he looked up at the back of his last enemy. The bastard was spell casting.
Inside the walls, the people heard the measured tones and flinched, swords they could overpower but not magic. Darin smiled softly even as he closed his eyes and brought his ring to bear. He recognised the spell; it was a simple adaptation on the magic missile needing much more power called the meteor. The idea was to send the spell at an angle then the effect would rain down on the intended target causing devastation over a wide area. Darin went to work. The Elf confusion was complete when his spell only got a third of the way up and then exploded against an invisible wall making a sound like a great church bell. The Elf turned in shock to its companion only to be met by his beautiful Elfish blade. He enjoyed the look of horror in its evil face as it went to burn in whatever hell made.
After cleaning the blade and sheathing it he turned to the dead bodies, they had some coins, which he pocketed for himself and there sacks were bulging with food. He approached the gate again with his pack on his left shoulder and his hands full of the stolen food. He silently gave them the food and the leader stepped forward.
“I’m guessin’ that we owe ye our lives” he said with a look at the dead Elves and a pointed one at the food.
“I owe you mine” he quietly replied with a nod to the human archer his face covered by his leather helm. Darin had never met a dwarf before but had heard much of their strange characters and so was only mildly surprised when the dwarf looked at him and said gruffly “Well get ye inside the foods getting’ cold. I’m Stefan Broadshoulders and this here’s me camp.” With that the dwarf walked away leaving the smiling man to follow in his muttering wake.
I like it. Do we get to find out later why he is, or at least thinks, he's immortal?
This story reminds me of Kate Jacoby's series (which is a good thing :D)