Prologue

nce upon a time is how stories begin. I pen these words in a quiet glade in Moonglow, far from where it began. It is the story particularly of a man. But it is also the story of a city, and of a town within a city, a town special and isolated, where none venture willingly. Britain is the city, beautiful Britain, bejeweled in golden, mustard, and terra cotta, and strawberry and pistachio stucco warmth. The town within this gem of a city had no name. It was a tangled warren of twisted streets and decaying structures; mud colored stucco slathered over crumbling brick..two and three story hovels shoehorned into small cramped courtyards. It was called, derisively "Poor Town". In this wretched place everyone lives cramped together and everyone knows each other's name.. It is a hot, tight place, noisy day and night, where the rag picker may also be a great scholar and the drayman a Bard who can sing till the birds faint or a lutist who can make your bones shiver. I tell this story because it should be told, because the world should know how circumstance, and ill fate can break or make a man.

Chapter the First

It was the fifth of April in the year of our Lord 1463, a year of peace and prosperity on the surface and a year of festering poverty and desperation beneath. Alanna was privilege born, the daughter of a landed Squire and a Sosarian Noblewoman. Her husband Richard was a man of great influence, knighted for his many victories and conquests in battle. On this clear spring day no one could predict that in a brief and violent cataclysm the familiar world would be turned upside down. Alanna was walking past Lord Blackthorn's castle. She paused for a moment to rest and savor the sweet perfume of the narcissus in the Royal Garden. She leaned over a flower bed, as much as her swelling belly, full with child would allow, to inhale the heady fragrance. As she filled her nostrils she choked, for beneath the fine sweet floral perfume lurked the fetid odor of death. She quickly stood and hastened off to finish her chores. The day had darkened somewhat, or so it seemed, and she was suddenly eager to return home. She approached the market, quickening her steps as she passed the wretched Poor Gate. It was at that moment that the trumpets sounded and the bells of Britain pealed out a warning. The city was under siege! Panic reigned and Alanna became swept up in a surging mob that whisked her, against her will, into the miserable Poor Town. Her belly began to cramp. She was overcome with fright. No! Not now. Her heart began to race out of control. Dizziness overcame her. She had barely enough strength to stagger into a nearby hovel before she collapsed. The fates were with her, however, and as the glittering city of Britain fell at the hands of the Orcish invaders, her child was delivered by the capable hands of the midwife Shira, in a lowly tenement, in a wretched ghetto that even the Orcs didn't want. When all was over. Alanna held her male child in her arms, oblivious to everything but the perfect ness of the babe. She named him Gorel, a name which meant Child of Darkness.

Lord Blackthorn's Gardens


There was no returning to Britain. In a matter of hours one quarter of it's inhabitants had been slaughtered: maimed and torn bodies flung about like bloody trash in the once glittering streets, fallen over cribs, impaled where they prayed futilely for mercy, slashed open in their beds. There was not one survivor who had not to bury a husband, a wife, a child, a mother, a beloved. Those left fled into the hostile countryside, trying in vain to leave the horrid memories behind. Alanna was no exception. Word came to her that her husband Richard perished in the attack, bravely defending their Villa. There was no place for her to go, no gold left to rebuild, she was destitute and alone but she found some small spark of strength within her and fanned it into a steady flame. Her son would survive! She would see to it!

She knew that the longer she waited, the tighter the bond would become between herself and her babe. She waited for the night when the new moon cast no light upon the earth, and bundled her beloved son into the last remnant of her former wealth, a yard of jet black silk, dark as Raven's wings. She needed no torch to guide her to the place she was going, and the inky night served her purpose well. She took the road south, finding hiding places in the trees whenever someone approached. Once, just beyond the Britain moongate, she spied the campfire of an Evil Orc camp. Rage filled her, but she swallowed it back and slipped into the shadows and hurried quietly past. She was cold and exhausted when she finally spied a darker outcropping against the almost black sky. The Trinsic Volcano loomed ominously to her right, but she knew it had not erupted in hundreds of years. She was close to her destination now and she rested on a fallen log and suckled her infant to her breast. Tears fell onto his silver hair as she wept, holding him as close as she dared. Gorel cooed and whimpered slightly in her arms. She stood and walked with a quicker pace following the small river west of Trinsic around, through the jungle. She had to find her destination before the sun rose. She was close now, she could tell by the muffled hissing of the waterfall and she used its sound to guide her to the pool where it splashed and tumbled over the mossy rocks. To its left was a path she knew well. It was artfully hidden and few knew of its existence. She followed the winding path as it turned and twisted its way through the dense forest. The sky was beginning to streak with lavender and rose as she at last saw the hundreds of tiny fairy lights..the magical Village of the Silvermoon Elvenkind stood just ahead.

The Trinsic Waterfall


Alanna breathed a sigh of relief. She looked around at the quaint little cottages made of the stuff of the earth..mud and daub with thatched roofs. Flowers abounded at every doorstep. The only sound in the sleepy village was the scrabbling of her boots on the brick path that meandered from cottage to cottage. Gorel slept peaceful in her arms. She lovingly studied his tiny face. Would he hate her for what she was about to do? She had no choice. Choices had died for her the day Britain had fallen. She gathered her resolve. She had to do what was right for her son. She found the largest of the cottages, nestled in a grove of Yew trees. It was the dwelling of Baran, the Elvenkind Chieftain and his wife, the beautiful, kindly Auraline. She laid her babe at the doorstep, swallowed hard and fled back the way she came.

Hour blended into hour and day into day and season into season. The clock in Moonglow, miles away, showed that twelve long years had passed. Gorel had grown into a sturdy, handsome youth. From the beginning he had been stronger and more quick witted than his peers. Intelligence shone in his comely face and his eyes gleamed with cunningness tempered by good humor. He was loved and cherished, verily he was Baran's pride and joy. When Gorel turned eight, Baran presented his adopted son with his first sword and it fit Gorel's hand as if he had been born to hold it. It was crafted of the finest silver and on it's hilt was the same silver moon that marked Gorel's arm. Wanting to please his father, Gorel devoted all his waking hours to perfecting his skill with the sword. He was blessed with a natural grace and a fleetness in his step that made him not simply a swordsman, but a fencer of profound skill. Legolas was his best friend, an extraordinary archer. They trained together and even had played together as children do. As he got a little older, they started hunting together, with the rest of the elves. He admired Legolas' ease with the bow, but he himself fed off the thrill of meeting his prey face to face, swiftly sidestepping the lethal horns of a bull or a ram or the talons of a raptorous bird as he plunged his sword in to the hilt. A rage would fill him in those moments, a rage that coursed through his veins, a rage that both frightened and exhilarated him. Often, after a successful hunt, while the rest of the Elvenkind were feasting on the bounty, he would steal off to the private place he had found, a small clearing deep within the forest. He would sit on a fallen log at the edge of a rill and lower his blueberry haired head to his hands and sob miserably. He did not know from whence this sadness came. He was loved and cherished, yet he felt profoundly lonely.


The city of Britain had never been rebuilt.. Little by little some former residents returned, but not the tradesmen and shopkeepers. The once glorious city was now marred with livestock littering the streets, chickens scrabbling among the cobblestones and parched vegetable patches where thriving flower gardens once thrived. Alanna had returned, once, to the burned out villa. She stood at the gate and wept at the horrible loss. Nothing had survived. As she turned to leave, her eyes caught an object glittering in the sunlight. She stooped to retrieve it and gasped at what she had found. It was the Silvermoon Medallion; the same half moon that marked her arm and her son's embossed on a coin of solid silver. She clutched it to her breast and sobbed anew. It was all that remained of her child's heritage. She turned on her heels and never returned. She placed the medallion into a small earthenware ewer and buried it behind their cottage.

Alanna's days were plagued by back breaking labor, her nights by vivid nightmares. She had returned to Shira's tenement, simply because there was no where else to go. Shira tried to teach her the trade of midwifery, but her haunted eyes frightened the young mothers. One cold autumn day she picked up her axe and slipped into the nearby forest to gather firewood for their hearth. It was a chore she strangely enjoyed. She was very strong, with a power in her arms that belied her slender form. She busied herself in the task at hand, letting her tortured thoughts grow quiet as she sank her wood axe into the wood. So occupied was she, that she failed to give notice to the man on horseback that had approached her. She saw his shadow first, and whirled around, axe before her, ready to kill if need be. The man was startled, but as he regarded the tiny woman who stood before him, eyes wild, hair tousled, her camise streaked with dirt, he chuckled softly. "Fear not, Mistress" he said. "I bring you no harm!" His name was Malkah, he explained, an archer in need of a steady supply of arrows. Good fletchers and bowmen were hard to find these days. Alanna knew she had a natural skill as an arrowsmith, she knew not why. She had never been trained in the craft. Malkah went on to explain that if she could provide him with a quiver full of arrows each day, he would pay her handsomely. She accepted the offer, and so fine was her work, that soon she was in great demand.

Chapter the Second

Forgive me, Dear Reader, if I take but a moment to collect my thoughts and gather my emotions, for I be not an impartial scribe, or a hired chronicler of the events of Gorel's life. Gorel is the Love of my heart, and as anyone truly in love doth know, two lovers become as one, and his pain is as real to me as if a dagger has been thrust into my heart. These pages may be difficult to read for the stains of my tears have spoilt the fine vellum and for this I apologize, but the tears fall unbidden. For, in the telling of this history, my love will find himself.......but I may lose him. I write this part by lantern light, aided by the gleam of the full moon. Moonglow was named for this moon, and no where else in this large world can a moon such as this be seen. For you see, this moon is not forged of gold, or even silver..verily 'tis the hue of my Love Gorel's hair, a soft, translucent blue which gleams with an silvery light. 'Twas not always this color. Before Gorel's life was changed for ever it was an ordinary moon following the cycles of the tides, waxing and waning and neatly marking the passage of time. Now it looms ominously in the sky marking nothing, serving as a grim reminder that a life can change in an instant. The clock near where I write was fueled by the old moon, and on the day everything changed, it stopped forever. It now reads: April the fifth, 1479; 4 hours 23 minutes, after the noon. The date of Gorel's 16th anniversary of his birth.
Beloved reader, I need more strength before I can retell the gruesome events surrounding that day. Allow me my fond recollections, if you will, of a happier time. I think back to the day I first noticed my sweet Gorel. I was a little lass of 7 years of age. I was named Peregrine, after the hawks my father admired. The elvenkind may be magical creatures, but they are no different than humankind in the ways of love. My mother had sent me on an errand that beautiful sun filled summer day. I was to deliver the bows she had crafted to the proprietor of the trading post near Trinsic. I skipped along the winding trail that connected our vilage with the outside world. I was carefree and happy, humming a little tune when, from a nearby clearing, the muffled sounds of grunts and gasps came to my ears. My heart thundered in my chest, but I crept closer to the source of the sounds. There, in the clearing, I espied Gorel and his friend Legolas practicing their fencing. Of course I knew them both, but something stirred my heart that day. I hid behind a clump of tall grass and watched them for a long time. Gorel's swift grace and strength made me swell, for some odd reason, with admiration and pride. From that day forward, I became Gorel's shadow. A smile comes to my face as I imagine how I must have tortured him...how he was forced to endure the good natured ribbing from his friends because of my adoration. However, he was kind and sweet to me, all ways! Any other youth faced with the same predicament, would surely have dispatched me with a few, well chosen words! But not Gorel! Such is the testimony to the largeness of his heart. He did not merely endure my constant mooning glances. He always had a kind and loving word for me, or a tender pat on my head, or a gentle squeeze of my hand.

On April the fifth of that year, my love turned twelve. His rite of passage would take place that eve. The females of the clan were not permitted to attend, this being the domain of the males. We, instead, made ready for the celebration that would follow his coming to manhood. The entire day, I fought the urge to steal away and see him, and at last I could resist no longer. I crept to the clearing, skirting the croud that had gathered to observe and, safely, from a distance, lost myself in the pure joy of watching Gorel best every man that challenged him with his sword. So infatuated was I, that I failed to notice that I was not alone. At my side stood a tall, slender woman, at first glance an outsider, but on her arm was the mark of the Silvermoon. I knew her not and I jumped to my feet prepared to flee. She bid me not be fearful. I looked at her beautiful face and gasped...for Gorel's features were reflected there...the same dark eyes, the same high cheekbones, the very same wide mouth and gleaming white teeth. "I am Alanna", she told me. "Simply a passerby stopping to observe. I will not harm you." Her words offered me no assurances for something in the deepness of my mind knew better. I turned away from her and fled. When I was a safe distance away, I turned back to see her still standing there, her dark eyes fixed on Gorel, her cheeks stained with falling tears. I never saw her again until years later when the final piece of the puzzle was put into it's place.

For Gorel, those four years were filled with happiness, with camaraderie and with all the good fine things that life can provide. He was the finest hunter the elvenkind had ever seen. He and Legolas formed a bond of friendship that made them more like brothers than simply friends. His prowess with the sword grew to enormous levels. His silver, magical blade could cast the most ferocious spells: telekinesis, and massively damaging energy blasts and he possessed an extraordinary amount of mana to be able to recharge his blade in an instant. He would have been a formidable warrior on any battlefield, but the Silvermoon elvenkind were a peaceful, isolated clan. That is, until the day that changed Gorel's life forever.

Anyone adept at reading signs and portents would have known that this day was destined to be different. Far to the east Moonglow's moon still hung high in the sky as the newborn sun painted the heavens with a breathtaking display of color. Nor did it budge as the sun crept higher burning off the mists of the fields and fens. The young Mage, Techno Destructo, gazed at the sky with mounting concern. Never in all his sixteen years, had he seen anything like this. He made haste to the Guild of mages to see if anyone could explain this disturbing phenomenon.

The sun rose full in the sky and still the moon did not budge. Far away from Moonglow, the Silvermoon Elvenkind were busily preparing for a celebration. Gorel would turn sixteen this day. The village was in a festive mood and most of the usual daily chores had been set aside. One task needed to be addressed however. The arrows and bows had to be delivered to the Trinsic vendor. Peregrine jumped at the chance to bring them, for the trip would take her past the practice field, and she could feast her eyes on her beloved Gorel, even if for a moment. She arrived in safety and dallied for a while admiring the wares offered for sale. Furs from the Isle of Ice, carved wood chests from Yew, glittering jewels from Magincia. She left the shop in a happy mood, her thoughts, as always on her sweet love. As she followed the small river home, the day began to darken. She looked up at the sky, amazed to find it cloudless and clear. By the time she arrived at the hidden entrance it was nearly as dark as midnight. She hurried past the practice field and her heart stopped at what she saw there. Blackmoor Trolls had set up camp! There were hundreds of them, fully armed. Along the narrow road, a regiment stood in formation, ready to march. They faced west: toward the Village of the Silvermoon. She had to alert her people! She scurried through the forest, aware of the racket she was making, but intent on her purpose. She had to find Gorel and warn him and the others. Sadly, she had not gone unnoticed. A Troll scout had been sent ahead and as she rushed into the scrub brush that led to the last stretch of road, she was captured.



When nature decides to defy our puny intervention, and does as it wills, we can only stand by, helpless, as forces we thought we understood, swirl out of control. In a split second, all of our reasons, all our explanations, all the order we had taken for granted, become but mere illusion. Techno sped through the now pitch black woods of Moonglow, his heart pounding louder than the hooves of his terrified mount. He knew not which was more frightening, the sudden oppressive blackness or the complete silence. It was as if he had been transported to hell itself. He arrived at the Council of Mages to find his confreres milling about in panic and confusion. Lantern light barely pierced the total blackness. At the long council table, Nordwell, the guild master poured over the arcane manuscripts, searching for a clue, a hint, any information at all that would make sense of what was happening. He found nothing. Techno drew a deep breath trying to quiet his racing heart when he saw it...coming from the far corner of the hall, he spied a faint glow. He blinked and crept closer, thinking it a phantasm, but, no! It was there. The glow came from a single runestone, so weak a glow he had to get really close to be sure. He held up a candle and read the etching on the rune. It read: The Village of the Silvermoon Elvenkind. Not stopping to think, he cast recall upon the rune, and in the blink of an eye, he was transported to the edge of the clearing, deep in the forest near the city of Trinsic. The total silence he had left behind, was replaced by the screams and shouts of battle, by the clash of steel on steel. The darkness was cut in half by the burning of the once perfectly peaceful village at the end of the road. With no thought for his safety, he spurred his horse and sped toward the village. As he rounded the last turn, his eyes were assailed by a horror greater than any he had ever seen. An army of Blackmoor Trolls had decimated the tiny village. Bodies lay strewn along the narrow path, Trolls and Elves alike. Houses had been torched, and in the grim light he saw that the battle had not ended.

Chapter the Tenth

Ryu looked around him, glancing at the unfamiliar faces, strangers, every one. He felt like an exile. Even after the many months in this parallel world, he still could not get accustomed to a constant dependence on others. He wondered if he would ever come to accept that he no longer had a home to call his own, or that he would never see his family or friends again. He swallowed back tears and headed resolutely toward Empath Abbey where he and Sister Cecelia had sought sanctuary since the Battle of the Blackmoor Trolls. Cecelia had retreated into herself, becoming almost unreachable. She spent her days in deep meditation, communing with a spirit only she could see and hear...the young elfin warrior whose body she had anointed that dark day, so long ago, Legolas. In her heart she know she had to keep his soul connected to this world, but she did not understand why.

As Ryu crossed the circle of stones surrounding the Yew Moongate, he noticed a flash in the sky. It looked vaguely like a bolt of lightning, but no rumble of thunder accompanied the flash. Peering into the evening sky he saw the flash was not lightning after all, but a comet of some fashion. He watched, intrigued, as it loomed closer and finally touched the earth, not with the fiery explosion he expected, but gently, as if it were a golden bird softly landing. He noted where it alit and hastened to the Abbey stables, quickly saddled his mount, and sped off to see what he would find. Ryu possessed an almost reckless courage and insatiable curiosity. He always rushed headlong into situations which would give another man pause, and this night was no exception. He galloped across the open plain and through the gloaming woods with no thought for his safety. He arrived at the spot he had marked in his mind. Oddly, there was no crater to be found. Simply a slight bending of the tall grass that indicated that something had landed there. The silver light of the moon illuminated what appeared to be footprints, leading from the clearing into the bush. Ryu lit his lantern and followed the trail, marveling at the size of the prints. "What manner of beast could have produced these?", he mused. A short distance inside the glade he saw signs of a struggle; broken twigs, a bloodied rock, the underbrush torn and scattered, a remnant of rent cloth. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck, but didn't halt his pace. The wood was deathly quiet. Nothing stirred in the canopy above or on the ground below. The trail of footprints had vanished, but he plunged deeper, driven by a need to know, to understand what he had seen in the sky earlier that night. Had it not been so quiet, he would never have heard the sound, so faint it was, a soft, plaintive whimpering, coming from his right. Sprawled on the ground lay a young woman and she was obviously hurt. Ryu jumped off his mount and ran to her side. He knelt alongside her to take stock of her injuries. He scratched his head, confused. There were no bruises, no cuts, no sword or dagger wounds that he could see. He gently turned her onto her back and recoiled in shock at what he saw. On her long neck, just under her right ear was a vicious bite mark. He brought the lantern in closer and saw beads of crimson blood in a perfect circle around her neck. They looked oddly like jewels. Like some sort of macabre necklace. He reached out with a finger and gently stroked the mark and she sat up abruptly, eyes wild, clawing at his hand, a pained gasp tearing from her throat. Ryu clasped her wrists and held her still, soothing her with whispers. Her violet hair streamed around her shoulders like a silken veil. Ryu smoothed her hair tenderly until at last her fear and rage subsided. He looked into her eyes and asked "who are you?" She inhaled deeply to steady herself, and in a velvet voice replied "My name is Kakurine".

Ryu paced the halls of Empath Abbey restlessly, trying in vain to make some sense of what had occurred the night before. After he had learned Kakurine's name he reached out to lift her to her feet, but when he touched her hand with his a powerful energy exploded through him and knocked him to the ground. Kakurine laughed mirthlessly and held out her hands, palms facing toward the sky. She closed her eyes and focused her concentration and two perfect spheres of blue light materialized on her open palms. She flung each sphere to the ground where Ryu lay, paralyzed by terror. They missed him by mere inches. He scrambled backwards and staggered to his feet prepared to flee, but he could not. With leaden legs he approached her cautiously stepping carefully around the globes of light which still burned brightly on the ground. In the eerie blue light she appeared wild and feral, like a wolfkin, her head thrown back as she wailed in fury. Then it was suddenly over. The spheres winked out and Kakurine lowered her head and smiled sweetly at Ryu. She stood and reached out and stroked his face and there was no jolt of energy this time, simply a gentle caress. Ryu's pounding heart stilled and he was filled with a deep calmness unlike anything he had ever felt. "Take me home" Kakurine gasped.

Kakurine

Coming together

Travelers often passed the little stone keep at the river's edge on their way to Trinsic or the city of Britain. Mayhap they stopped to purchase supplies for their journey from Cerydwyn's vendors and wondered about the unusual standard on the house sign: A silver moon. To the casual eye it was merely an ordinary house. No one could have guessed that the destiny of Sosaria was in the hands of those who dwelled within this humble abode. Little by little Cerydwyn had opened her hearth and home to those whom the fates had flung in her path: Gorel and his love Peregrine, Gorel's mother Alanna, Ryu and Kakurine, Guntrid the warrior and her lover Feena, the shy but brave Gabhan, the valiant Asle, The honorable Knight, Valic and Cery's betrothed, Techno Destructo and his apprentice Thor. A guild was formed under Gorel's leadership and was named The Silvermoon Elvenkind. The only requirement for inscription in the guild was a pure and honorable heart. They lived, worked and trained together, intent on honing their skills, preparing for the battles they knew were inevitable, and a deep friendship grew between them.

Gorel stood at the head of the council table and surveyed his small, but competent army. His heart swelled with pride as his gaze went from face to trusting face. He could scarcely believe that, just a few scant weeks before, he had been so alone and miserable. Now he was surrounded by friends and had found deep and lasting love. His eyes brimmed with tears and he shook his head roughly to dispel them, lest anyone notice his emotion. Peregrine noticed, however, and she smiled tenderly to let him know she understood. He cleared his throat and addressed the assembly. "Dear friends, This day Ryu has learned of a disturbing situation which calls for immediate action" he reported. His face contorted with rage and revulsion as he described the Orc invasion of the peaceful cities of Minoc and Skara Brae. "Orc Camps have sprung up near the moongates and the vile creatures have waylaid innocent travelers, killing them and looting their corpses." He slammed a clenched fist onto the table. "For too long we have allowed evil to fester in our fair land. We have deluded ourselves into believing that peace was in our grasp. The time for sitting idly by is over! We are ready. It is time for us to take Sosaria back from the vile constructs who dare to threaten us. We will fight for what is ours, for our birthright, for our beloved nation. Are you with me?" In unison, his small fighting force leaped to their feet, saluting him with a resounding "Aye".

Part Two: Prologue
High on a rugged plain in the center of a forest deep with mystery lies a fortress. No man has ever willingly set foot within its gates. Verily, few men have even laid eyes on it, for seldom does even the bravest warrior journey so deeply into this forsaken world. The fortress is built of rough hewn stone, dark as midnight. No birds sing in the forest nearby, nor does any creature venture near its oily, ebon walls. There is but one pathway leading up to the massive portcullis, and it is patrolled by one thousand fearsome white Wyvern, as well as hundreds of Gargoyles and Golem. A carved plaque hangs above the entrance: "Terribiles locus iste" it reads...this place is Terrible. Herein lies the Realm of the Prince of Evil, The Vile Viero.

Viero sits upon a gilded throne, clad in a cloak of Raven's feathers. He is tall and exceedingly strong. He drums his fingers impatiently upon an ancient leather bound book on the marble table in front of him. Eerie blue light, from the crystals set in mirrored niches around the large chamber, is reflected in the gems on the fingers of his hands. Both the crystals and the gems are not of this world, but their origins are unknown, except of course to Viero, and he guards this secret well. Around the council table are seated his knights, thirteen in number. They are sworn to their master, not out of fealty, but out of fear. Viero's glance slithers from one knight to the other until it comes to rest on Ragmar, his second in command. With satisfaction he notices the brief flicker of terror flash in Ragmar's eyes. He abruptly stands, slamming the blood red leather tome on the surface of the table, causing his minions to gasp in unison. "Ragmar", he thundered, "time and time again we have unleashed evil upon this land, and each time we have been defeated by this band that calls themselves the Silvermoon Elvenkind!! I want them destroyed and their heads mounted on pickets as a warning to anyone who dares to stand in my way!! Bring me their leader Gorel, and that traitoress,  Kakurine, whom I have already marked as my own."

Viero

Gorel sputtered, noticing a surprising amount of blood splash out of his mouth. He could actually feel himself bleeding inside from his opponent's last attack. His blood scorched his insides, a pain he hadn't become very familiar with lately, depleting his energy little by little, seemingly tearing his soul right out of his grip. He struggled to brace himself on one knee and regain his balance. Finally staggering to his feet, shaking away the dizziness in his head. His body was on the verge of collapse, he looked around and saw his friends: Ryu, Alanna, Cerydwyn, Tech, Kakurine, Feena, Legolas, Guntrid, Asle, Valic, Cecelia, Gabhan and Peregrine...all either unconscious or... or dead. Gorel tried to look into the face of his attacker, but could only see a dangerous flash of crystal-blue eyes amongst a dark shadow. His opponent stood no more than 5 feet, 6 inches tall, and couldn't have have weighed more than 55 kilos. Put those numbers up against Gorel's 6 feet, and 75 kilos, and it's hard to understand why he was losing so horribly. Gorel's attacker hadn't used any magic, weapons, or energy based attacks, but Gorel fell to this child's, this mere child's, bare fists. Not to mention he had dispatched Gorel's entire party before they could even think about fighting back.

His vision slightly balancing, he braced himself, lunged at his attacker with all his force. "Hah, you're mine!" Gorel called out, backing it up with a deadly, white-knuckled fist, the force approximately equal to a shear of dragons, teeth bared, fire lungs bellowing their searing flame. His fist, soaring harmlessly through his opponent's after-image, went straight into the wall of the castle, which technically, just ceased to exist after his punch had rocked into it. The bewildered Gorel didn't even have time to reel around. His attacker buried a kick into Gorel's shoulders from behind, slamming him into a chunk of stone debris, waiting that few microseconds to hear Gorel's ribcage collapse, then doing a graceful back flip, landing a few feet behind him.

"Gaahh, ugh.." Gorel groaned coarsely, coughing up more blood, using all the energy left in his body to roll over. His opponent stood there, arms crossed, crystal-blue eyes flashing in an almost serene way.

"Gorel, I know that you can hear me. Even in that form, you are not so weak as to succumb to such a basic attack. You need to listen to me now." Gorel looked hard into the face of this incredible child, the piercing blue eyes reminded him of someone he once knew, yet he couldn't place them anywhere.

"Gorel of the Silvermoon, I apologize for attacking you and your group, however, it was necessary if you have any hope to destroy Viero and the being who commands him. I know you've sensed it. A being far stronger than you, your friends, or even Viero or myself. It is called Breijia, and it is slowly destroying our world. Viero was the one who summoned it to this planet, in hopes of gaining all the power this mortal plane contains. Gorel, by now you have guessed who I am, have you not?"
"Y-yes. You, you are... unngh..."
"I am you, Gorel. I am the life you lost many eons ago. The powers you once possessed as a Dragon Knight were lost to you when you were born into this mortal coil. Gorel, you are a hybrid. A cross between a Lunar Dragon and an Elf Goddess. Do you understand what I'm saying, Gorel?"
"Yes..." Gorel replied, his vision diminishing quickly.
"Now, to get you to join with me, I had to give you no choice. To regain your powers, you must join with me. This will return you to the age of your youth. In human comprehension, you'll be about 16 years of age. I had to give you a small taste of your true power to get you to believe, to remember. If you joined with me harboring any doubts or disbelief, your power would never have been enough to even attack Viero, not to mention Beijia. And if you refused to join with me, you would have had no chance whatsoever of saving this planet. Now Gorel, before you succumb to my attack, you must join with me. Take my hand Gorel, receive the powers stripped from you upon entering the mortal world, and use them to crush the enemies of this planet. I entrust you Gorel, with the eternal powers of the Elven Gods and Lunar Dragon Race!"

Gorel stood, and fanned his leathery, feather-adorned wings out, stretching them to their maximum span. He looked down at his hands, smaller than before and unscarred, and clenched them into fists. His crystal-blue eyes flashed dangerously with an unworldly power. He glanced across the room to his friends, Ryu was having trouble standing up, but the rest of his party was stirring. He closed his eyes and held his hands out to his sides, palms up. A warm yellow glow filled the room, restoring his friends to full health. They slowly staggered to their feet, looked with wide eyes at Gorel with his newfound power, as he told his story.

Leaping out of the hole he previously made in the castle wall, Gorel took to the sky. He realized that this hybrid dragon form was only temporary. He could change into this dragon and back into a normal human at will. The only catch was that the dragon form, known as Haiyurinkan, took large amounts of energy, and couldn't be used for too long, or Gorel's body will destroy itself looking for more energy to feed the transformation.

'Breijia...' Gorel thought. 'Wasn't that the name of Legolas'.... no, couldn't be.'

Dreams of a Time Long Ago
Soaring through the night sky, Gorel gazed at the land passing quickly beneath him. His shaggy, unkempt blue hair danced across his face. All this information had just hit him like a hefty broadside axe blow to the head. He had awakened from a deep, dark amnesia, with everything he knew changed. As far as he could tell, he had two lives: his human one, and his newfound life as a Dragon Knight. But he concluded more thoroughly, that he had really only one life. His life as a Dragon Knight had never ended, he had simply been reborn into this mortal coil, to further develop his emotions, experience pain and fate firsthand, and to build a love for the planet, and life on it, that would eventually drive Gorel to save it.

History of the Winglies


"You see dear reader, Lunar refers to anything that has to do with the moon that revolves around our mother Earth. Unbeknownst to even the greatest scholars, most talented astronomers, and the most brilliant intellectuals of the medieval ages, all the life on Earth started as a colony of Winglies, the commoners (merchants, craftsmen, laborers, and artists) of the Lunar Dragon people's society."
"Winglies were a perfect likeness of the fairest human you can imagine, if you look beyond the wings sprouting elegantly from their back. These features come from their legend that the Lunar Dragon race was born of the Elvin Goddess Mayhiria, and the Ebon Dragon, Drakneius. "

"The colony prospered, and life spread across the planet. The environment was much less harsh than that of the moon, and the monsters that inhabited this planet were clumsily formed reptilians and primal beasts, contrary to the intelligent, large, and deadly monsters that inhabited the moon. Eventually, with fewer monsters to fight and a calm environment, the Winglies slowly became weaker, as they evolved into peaceful beings, almost carefree. Their wings had become unnecessary, and their enormous magic and power was vastly superior to any threat this planet could incur. The heritage of the Winglies faded into time, over the hundreds of thousands of years they inhabited this Earth. There are a few who still carry the Winglies' lost bloodline, it is slumbering in their veins, a long lost, and vastly powerful force, pulsing through each one of them, waiting for the time it is to awaken. " "Yes, reader, that time is now. Breijia is on the verge of waking up, and Viero has command of all the evil forces on Earth. Call it magic, if you will, or call it fate. Either way, the events you are about to witness are filled with peril, despair, death, destruction, and evil, but they are also filled with hopes, dreams, love, and faith.