Fantasy & Sci-Fi
Albinor Chronicles Chapter 9
"The Battle of Drow"
By Marcus Pan
March 5, 003
Gathered before the gates of the city of Alfeim stood an
elite cavalry division of the high elven Army of Alfeim. All on riding horses,
they wear elfin chain covered by riding cloaks. Their shields flash the livery
of Alfeim on it's steel an oak tree on a white field with two wooden spears
crossed in front of it. Standing neatly in 6 mounted rows of 10 men, 60
soldiers in all, all carrying longswords on their right sides that shine
brightly in the morning light like 60 grounded stars. Long bows and quivers
filled with white-feathered arrows are slung on their backs. Before them, a
figure cloaked in fine garments stitched with elven symbols and wearing fine
elfin chain and a great steel helmet motions the army to present swords. Like a
single movement of a giant beast, longswords are drawn from their oaken
scabbards and raised swiftly, blazing brightly in the sun like flames. The
leads, Mayor Glamour Faeriewalker, shouts loudly for all his men and bystanding
citizens to hear. "On this day we ride on to the sinister Drow Castle. What
fate shall befall us none can tell. But remember. We ride as saviors of our
people. Saviours of Cannolbarth Forest and all of Alfeim. Now men, sheath thy
blades and may the next time they shine in glory of the high elves with a dark
one on the end of it's point!" Cries and trumpet blasts exploded in the morn as
the people of the city wished luck and blessings on the men.
They traveled northwest on the trail until they reached the
city of Celltum. At this time the army broke into bands of 10 or 20 men each as
they delved into the forest on a straight course for Drow Castle. Unbeknown to
them the unseen and silent wood elves wished luck on them as they passed.
After five days of rough travel since Alfeim City, they came
upon the same clearing that Corellon and Barrazzo came upon months before. The
men assembled their six ranks before the castle. "Drow master!" shouted
Glamour. "We've come to assure your death!" At this, the portcullis of the
castle rose and the door creaked open. Three black-robed figures rode slowly
out on warhorses. They are Orduin Grimoire the lama, Squire Jaques Hierla the
champion and Captain Champion Erric Vangroom. A hideous voice floated down upon
the high elves from above. Looking up, they saw a dark figure looking down upon
them from a high window.
"Nay, fool. But we will assure your death for blatantly
disturbing my rest so early in the morn." said he.
"Master Ragwulf Calds, King of the Drow, Faeriewalker." he
replied. "I leave you to become associated with my men, for my time is much too
precious to waste on a fool and his boys." With that said, the master turned
and walked from the window.
A shout rose on the field. Vangroom and Hierla charged,
screaming, into the fray swinging their longswords in circles above their
heads. Grimoire rose the wand he held. The top flared to life, glowing brightly
and sending arrows of apparitions flying to their marks without fail. There was
a loud rumble as dark elves of the castle stormed forth brandishing longswords
and shields with the drow livery a red 'D' over a black field upon them. A few
of the mayor's men let fly arrows into the front ranks of the drow and some
fell only to be trampled by their allies. The high elves surged forward and the
armies clashed, high elves on mounts and drow elves on foot. Many men fell this
day. Glamour Faeriewalker threw himself into the fray, striking from horseback
at the dark elves below, his great warhorse rising on it's back legs to kick
the life and dent the skulls of the unfortunate who were before it. The three
dark heroes rode swiftly, hacking high elven men off their horses and toppling
them to the awaiting drows below. Orduin's wand flared constantly, sending
unfailing, magical arrows to the breasts of his enemies. Steel struck steel and
cries of the dead and wounded rose.
About 20 yards ahead, Glamour saw Jaques Hierla, the evil
squire, laying low man after man. Raising his blood-soaked blade over his head,
blood flowing down over his gauntlet, and shouting an elven cry he swiftly
rushed forward into battle. Jaques turned to face him. Both horses drew upon
each other and rose on their hind legs. A loud clash of steel on steel
emanated, more hideous and audible than the others, ringing over the
battlefield. Swords crossed together and the heroes faced each other. The scene
broke as the horses came down on their front legs, the elves continuing the
blade swinging. Jaques reared up and swung his blade mightily. The block
attempted by Glamour failed and a mighty blow scored his chest. The links of
his armor snapped and wrenched apart, the blade cutting deeply into his chest.
He dropped the blade from his left hand and fell back, landing heavily on his
back. Jaques pulled the reigns of his horse and it reared above the mayor. It's
nostrils flared as it's front legs came down upon him. Glamour covered his face
in his hands, but his mount reared up on it's own, striking Jaques' beast on
the left side of it's skull. It lurched to the side, missing the elf with it's
trample, a great gash pouring blood from it's head. Glamour quickly rose and
mounted his steed.
Looking out over the battlefield, he saw a sea of drow
elves. Less than a single rank of Glamour's men still stood. It hurt his chest
to breathe. With a cry, Jaques Hierla came galloping towards him. Glamour
ducked in his saddle and swing at the squire's head as he passed. His sword
clashed against a steel helmet. With the force of Glamour's swing, the helmet
split asunder. Jaques let out a muffled cry and fell off his steed, what's left
of his helmet falling beside him. Glamour galloped off, yelling, "Come! We are
lost high ones. Flee!" Behind him rode the remaining men of his division, only
nine. Together they burst through the treeline and bolted into the forest of
Cannolbarth riding swiftly from the lost battle.
Back on the battlefield, 34 men of Glamour's force who had
fallen but somehow retained their lives were taken to the dungeon cells far
below Drow Castle. Pools of blood could be seen, carrion birds feasting upon
them. A mound of soil was risen and in it was buried the dark ones who fell
lifeless on the field of battle. The high ones found dead on the field were
beheaded, their bleeding skulls placed atop 6' spears stuck in the ground and
the bodies thrown into the forest for the forest's creatures to feast upon.
Jaques Hierla, his face streaked with sweat, dirt and blood, gave a mighty kick
to his split helm. Flying into the woods, it lands with a thump against a
The above item may have been edited by the author
since its first appearance in Legends No. 18.