Story Beginnings
Every muscle in his body moves harmoniously and perfectly in tune with the next making him move through the dense wooded forest with not even a sound. The training he has endured over the years has made hunting and stalking his prey in the forest in which he calls his home easy. His name? Valin Ortiz, last surviving member of a house of noble warriors and respected guardians of mankind’s deepest, and in some cases darkest, secrets. His sleek dexterous body moves in perfection with nature. Disturbing nothing as he moves through the trees with the speed of a leopard. Rumors have reached his ears of an old, arrogant, Elven warrior who’s skill with the blade is yet unmatched. Valin has been following these rumors for two months now hoping that he was not the only one to survive the slaughter of his village those twenty years ago. Somehow, his weapons instructor survived the onslaught. Valin knew in his heart that his dear friend Tareth was still alive. Suddenly, as his mind begins to drift back to the horrible day when his entire family was killed before his eyes, a familiar and exciting sound hits Valin’s ears. The sound of metal against metal, the sounds of a battle ensuing just ahead in the clearing.
The blade comes quickly towards the elf’s torso, but its placement is sloppy and weak, Tareth quickly slaps the blade to the side and with a flash a small dagger appears in his left hand. With a flash that was just as quick as the first the dagger was placed into it’s new sheathe, the neck of his attacker. A smile of accomplishment crosses his face but is quickly replaced by a look of distraught. Tareth turns to face the rest of his attackers knowing they are too numerous and this is a battle that even a veteran as himself cannot hope to win. The leader of the band of thieves steps up knowing they have their victim outnumbered.
“Give us what we want and you will die a quick and painless death you pointy eared freak.” The oversized brute says with a smirk. “You know you cannot win, we are too numerous. Just give up and tell us where the boy is!” Tareth spits at his feet.
“I will tell you nothing, and it will take many more of you to take me down” Tareth says as he straightens his posture readying for his enemy to charge. One of the most admirable things about the elven race is their ability to hear even the diminutive sounds, like the sound of an arrow being knocked and a bowstring being drawn taught.
Two of the remaining attackers come forward and engage Tareth. These must have been some of the more seasoned thieves because their bodies showed many more scars than the rest of them and they were perfectly in sync with each other. Obviously, the easiest way to beat them would be isolating one from the other, and that is exactly what Tareth did. Going with his gut instinct, if the archer in the trees was going to shoot at him he already would have done so. His first strike was a feint and he tripped one of the thieves to the ground and kicked the other back a few feet. Just as he had counted on, as the elf’s foot left the second attacker a small swish was heard and an arrow came from one of the surrounding trees and struck the second thief right between his neck and collarbone killing him almost instantly. The elf smirks as he hears the loud thud knowing is assumption was correct.
The Rogue leader looks on in horror as he watches his two best men get slaughtered in only a few seconds. A second fighter comes out of the dense forest, bow in hand and a wide smile on his face. His sparkling blue eyes set on the leader of the bandits as he stows his bow on his back and rests his hand upon the glistening-golden hilted rapier hanging from his belt.
The blade comes quickly towards the elf’s torso, but its placement is sloppy and weak, Tareth quickly slaps the blade to the side and with a flash a small dagger appears in his left hand. With a flash that was just as quick as the first the dagger was placed into it’s new sheathe, the neck of his attacker. A smile of accomplishment crosses his face but is quickly replaced by a look of distraught. Tareth turns to face the rest of his attackers knowing they are too numerous and this is a battle that even a veteran as himself cannot hope to win. The leader of the band of thieves steps up knowing they have their victim outnumbered.
“Give us what we want and you will die a quick and painless death you pointy eared freak.” The oversized brute says with a smirk. “You know you cannot win, we are too numerous. Just give up and tell us where the boy is!” Tareth spits at his feet.
“I will tell you nothing, and it will take many more of you to take me down” Tareth says as he straightens his posture readying for his enemy to charge. One of the most admirable things about the elven race is their ability to hear even the diminutive sounds, like the sound of an arrow being knocked and a bowstring being drawn taught.
Two of the remaining attackers come forward and engage Tareth. These must have been some of the more seasoned thieves because their bodies showed many more scars than the rest of them and they were perfectly in sync with each other. Obviously, the easiest way to beat them would be isolating one from the other, and that is exactly what Tareth did. Going with his gut instinct, if the archer in the trees was going to shoot at him he already would have done so. His first strike was a feint and he tripped one of the thieves to the ground and kicked the other back a few feet. Just as he had counted on, as the elf’s foot left the second attacker a small swish was heard and an arrow came from one of the surrounding trees and struck the second thief right between his neck and collarbone killing him almost instantly. The elf smirks as he hears the loud thud knowing is assumption was correct.
The Rogue leader looks on in horror as he watches his two best men get slaughtered in only a few seconds. A second fighter comes out of the dense forest, bow in hand and a wide smile on his face. His sparkling blue eyes set on the leader of the bandits as he stows his bow on his back and rests his hand upon the glistening-golden hilted rapier hanging from his belt.