un-named fantasy story's begining

Prologue  --

So quickly the times have changed.

Years and centuries have passed with little thought to what became just a distant tale. But more importantly the world has changed; moved away from the times when man and nature were as one in the face of the looming darkness. In those wonders times magic was in the life of the land; mortals would walk peacefully through the forests and mountains safe in the knowledge that their footsteps were protected by forces which were within their grasp. However, even in those times of wondrous sights and harmony; many used magic yet mastered by few. Sorcerers, druids, wizards; These champions of the craft came and went; chosen by the magic itself to become its vessels, for the magic you see has a mind of its own; forged in the beginning of every thing and released unto existence by entities unknowable to anything. These champions were protectors of the magic, protectors of the people - from evil, the chosen who held back the times of chaos. Feats of might and magic were burned into history by swings of the sword and the will of the learned. But those times would not last…

One champion; the greatest champion, whose name was legend fell to the very powers he fought to destroy. His corruption was a supreme victory over the forces of the light, and the darkness used the power he wielded to usher in a new dark age. Many masters of the magic fell under his will and those who remained - lost in the face of such tragedy within their ranks, fled from their responsibilities and the world seemed lost.
But nature was still a force to be reckoned with. The gods of darkness wallowing in their victories gave little thought to the brethren of the groves and the powers at their disposal. So it came to them to pull humanity from the brink of extinction. The Great War fought by the light was long and brutal yet passed in an instant on these mortal plains. The insurmountable toll of death on both sides went unmatched anywhere in existence before or since. Eventually the darkness was beaten, but not destroyed. It fled to the edges of the unknown to lick its wounds and once again plot against the light.

Nature suffered terribly for the mortals with which we once harmonised yet we were forgotten along with our sacrifices. Without champions to herald it; the magic died away till it was little that a spark in the fabric of reality and the world turned its back on us. We retreated to our groves to guard what little magic was left, leaving the race of man to its own devices. And so… The ages passed.

Now, mortals once again ally them self’s with forces, which could destroy them, without the old ways to guide them they seemed, destined to repeat the mistakes of the past, which they purposely forgot. But now; whispers have reached us amongst the trees; magic stirs once more within the mortal spirit, searching, preparing of the things ahead. Yet men are easily tainted; we will no longer allow suffering and greed to pave way for the darkness and its destructive ways. Evil stirs once more. Nature readies to defend its self…
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Chapter 1  --

Early Morning, Late arrival


It seemed to take a lifetime but the dark of the night was slowly giving way to the first crimson clouds of the new day. It was not an oppressive dark, like many nights which covered the moors in recent weeks, but more one alive with a constant frisson as if the gloom of eve was constantly aware that the day break was at its heels ready to usher in a new life to the land which they both looked over. Birds began a sweet chorus in the trees punctuated by the rustle of leaves as the warming summer air bristled through them. Many of the trees had surveyed the land for centuries, some longer, looking out over Falrelom Moors to keep constant vigilance on the landscape which had changed little with the turning of time. Whilst there were many towns and villages to speak of in the surrounding area, they tended to form near trade routes or closer to the mountains on the northern boarders for obvious reasons; but this far into the moors there were few to speak of.
The calm was broken slowly by the beat of hoofs plodding through the long grass. Any one out on the moors within a view of the horse would have not given it much notice after a first glance; with a scruffy main and undefined breed it seemed to amble along with little intent for any thing. The rider on the other hand was a much rarer sight; for that time of day at least. He wore little more than a loose shirt with many rips that gave the impression it was holding on only barely to his form, dirt encrusted his trousers and no shoes covered his feet. He hunched over the horse in a way that made him appear dead in the saddle but upon looking closely it could be seen he was dosing in a light sleep, occasionally waking when the horse stumbled on the uneven ground.

Over the last few weeks this type of morning had become the norm for Dharrel, he would usually find himself wandering through the plains in the early hours on a horse borrowed from his uncle’s stables. Sleep was the problem as of late, the disrupted nights had started three weeks earlier with the dreams; more and more he would wake many times a night in the throws of some world which would begin to fade from the moment he was pulled from it like mist rolling from the hills leaving strong emotions he could not place. He began to sleep less so it was only natural, in his mind at least; to think that keeping himself occupied while the rest of the house slept was a clever thing to do. On one of his many strolls through the barn and joining buildings when he would fix things he found broken and clean up things which his aunt had forgotten or not seen during her day he found himself in the stables.
‘You need to ride more my boy’ his uncle would say.
‘A good knowledge of the plains is vital. Looking after the horses is all well and good but by Brahmu, that wont help you if you cant ride’

Dharrel’s uncle Frowan was a very devout man, he took pride in his appearance and what he had accomplished in his time; his home, loving family, a fine and well paying job; compared to most in the area at that time, as a trader in the northern town of Dremin Vale , But most of all he took pride in his religion.
‘The one true Religion’
He would often muse when talking about people he had met in the town that obviously came from afar and brought their beliefs with them as well as their money much to his dismay.

Many religions exist within the world some small some large but of all of them the most dominant was Brahamisim. An old religion formed in the days after “The Dark” had fled from the land supposedly defeated by the god Brahmu “The Creator” who had returned from the home of the gods, which he subsequently ruled, to deliver all life from the clutches of evil. In those days it spread like a wild fire; encouraged by powerful men who saw an opportunity to bend belief to their will and adopted by those who sought guidance in those days that were lacking any form of order. Now it integrated its self into every facet of life: politics, law, and education. It had become more powerful than any one man yet as with all religions that is all it came down to; one man – the Amissery. One man, “chose” by the creator. He is leader of the religion and its followers till they were taken to the Promised Land; Azerhiem. Home of the gods.

His uncle’s religion had been a part of Dharrel’s life from a very early age. He had been sent to a school in one of the larger towns (at great cost to his uncle) for some months, where he had been taught a reasonably one sided and flawed education lending its self heavily to Brahamist roots. Although he had left with good marks in most of his classes he had not fully taken on religious studies to the extent of his other class mates or uncle yet he did understand the message and adopted it to his life none the less. Now eighteen his uncle had a future mapped out for him in the way that parents always have a path in mind for their children. Dharrel however was adopted, taken in by a couple when he was abandoned in the orphanage of the northern border town where Frowan worked. Although Dharrel knew this he still called Frowan uncle and his wife auntie.

And so it was that on that night he saddled up a horse and set out across the moors in no particular direction. It had seemed perfect: no one around to see his many technical problems with riding and no feeling of purpose except to amuse himself. He soon found however that riding in the dark was more trouble than it was worth.