Plot vs Elves

Hintzu’s Visions

“Are you quite sure my darling?” a deep, slow, feminine voice carries soothingly to Hintzu’s ear. The tongue is elf, albeit arcane, but Hintzu understands it readily enough. “Yes” a man’s voice issues a slightly wary reply. Hintzu is in a room lit only by a glowing orb placed in the centre and perched on top of a pedestal. Pacing the mosaic floor near the orb is a woman dressed in a long black satin gown, tied at the waist with a purple girdle. The dress is low cut, revealing much of her ample white breasts. Her neck is long and rises to a smooth, elegant jaw line. Around her neck is a black satin choker with an image of Hel at the front, fashioned from platinum and jet. Her hair is tied up in a French plait on top of which is a beautifully ornate platinum tiara studded with black sapphires. Her face is pale but stunningly beautiful – full lips, painted black, large round eyes as deep as wells, sculptured eyebrows and a straight, strong nose which compliments her high cheek bones. “How did you do it?” she presses with a little more urgency, not yet convinced. “Well…” the voice cracks a little with laughter, “she had decided to travel with just a few of her closest advisors,” excited now, “and, as she led her horse towards the trees I struck!” A pause as if they are both savouring the moment – undressing the subject and delighting in every detail. He breaks the silence, “She felt it though… Oh yes, she twisted and turned, and how she screamed!” “What of her guards?” The female voice enquires feigning disinterest. “My men dispatched them; they were of no consequence and put up little fight. No, it was Lucielle that suffered the most.” These words are spoken with obvious glee. “How did you make her suffer?” the female is more interested now. “The knife was serrated and dripping with a serpent’s poison – the sort that incapacitates but takes a long time to kill. I plunged it into her back, to the right of her heart so as to prolong her death. She struggled and I thought that I had almost lost control so I brought my hand to her neck and squeezed hard enough to choke the air out of her. That stopped her struggling. You would have loved the way she sobbed, begged for mercy…Ha! Sylvan elves are so easy to kill…” “Now, now, my son… Do not get over confident, some of them are quite deadly. Anyway, did you get it?” “Oh yes; carefully, as you said I drew it from her dying grasp with the claw you gave me.” “Good, bring it to me quickly, I need to examine it more closely. Do not forget, Eolire, do not touch it!”

Hintzu’s dreams are once more disturbed. He sees himself in a vast hall surrounded by immense opulence. Opposite him is an enormous stain glass window, over 60 feet tall and half as wide. It depicts a huge red dragon rearing on its hind legs looking down at a series of dwarves. Behind the Dragon, on the left is a harbour scene with boats set on fire and on the right is a valley with farms burning and bodies littering the ground. The monk looks to his right, towards one end of the room where a huge double door opens slowly of its own accord. Stood in the opening, mouth almost as wide, is a tall, wiry elf dressed in blues, greens, indigo and aquamarine. His long wavy blue-black hair flows from his head and crashes against his shoulders, trickling down his back. He has a hawk-like appearance and deep-sunk dark blue eyes. He smells of the sea and has skin a shade or two paler than a normal elf’s. He is armed with long and short swords, which are curved at the end. He wears Brigandine of deep blue and green, weaved in a fluid pattern and studded with emeralds, sapphires, tourmaline and diamonds. The only lamé (strip of metal) visible is his Gorget which extends to protect his sternum, his clavicle and the front and back of his neck. The Gorget is rolled and patterned to represent a wave just before it breaks. He carries a Bassinet under his left arm, open at the face and bedecked with long flight-feathers of rare sea birds.

Entering to the left is another man, shorter than the first, powerfully built and confident. He strides to the centre, with a ramrod-straight back, where the light pouring in from the stain glass window illuminates his sharp, angular, oriental features. He wears his hair in a cue, like a samurai, tied with purple ribbon. His silver kimono flashes when it captures the light from the window; on each side of his torso is embroidered a deep purple rose. On the back of the kimono is a picture of a beast that has the head of a bird, broad wings, long claws and blue skin. The beast rides on a chariot drawn by six boys; it wields a hammer against a big drum suspended on the front of the chariot. The oriental man wears a crown – a circle of platinum from which rises 6 tridents, each supported by a man’s muscular arm and tipped with indigo gem stones.

“I understand that Lei Kung has seen fit to give you the power to raise the dead.” Says the elf from the right, trying to sound more confident than his appearance suggests. “Not quite Magreb but do not let the intricacies get in the way, what is it that I can do for you?” “That bitch Milai has destroyed my Fleet.” He spits the words. “I know; elves can be such troublesome things.” A mocking smile spreads across the samurai’s face. “Troublesome! They are blight on the Prime – one which I will ensure no longer remains.” “What would you ask of me, Magreb?” His smile vanishes. “To banish the Prime of Sea Elves, I need to be able to put a fleet to sea, once again.” “Do you not need ships Magreb?” The samurai turns and walks slowly to a table directly under the window, on which are two goblets. He lifts them both and, walking across the room, hands one to the elf. “I have those – I need crew and…” he takes the goblet and drinks. “And?” “I need to be free of Milai.” The elf’s eyes are full of hate. “Ahhh. That may be difficult.” “I realise that; do you think I would ask if this was something that I could do?” His hate threatens to boil over. “No, nor would you ask if it was something that your mother could do…Ahh, she does not know that you are here.” The samurai keeps his tone level and conversational, diffusing the situation. “No, and that is the way I would like it to stay.” “This will be difficult – you want a Navy and the death of Milai all without Inwe knowing.” “If you are not up to it Tuar Chan, I will try something else. If this is about money, you know that I am good for it.” A comical thing to say in light of the opulence that surrounds them both. “It is much more than money, friend. If I remove Milai for you, I want her sword and I need your guarantee that you will support my land forces wherever I need to use them. You will also keep my sea lanes secure from any counterattack and my trade routes open. Lastly, I will get a 50% discount on the use of your trading vessels.” “Done!”