The Sorcerers Quest (standard:fairy tales, 1737 words)
Author: writer-in-a-rut	Added: Apr 21 2005	Views/Reads: 3543/2324	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is a fictional story of a evil, greedy sorcerer named Artevious who manages to sneak into a leprechaun village. then he is told that he only way he can get the magical leprechaun gold is by completeing a certain quest. in the end his feisty actions l

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

The words echoed forcefully though the woods, knocking the leprechauns
out of their staff held trances. A tall figure stepped off of the 
shimmering orb. He was draped in billowing pallid robes. His words were 
pure. He too had a staff in his hand; it was smooth long and made of a 
soft white wood. This man too was well known by all fairy and elf folk. 
“Kaecilius the great...” 

Kaecilius is the protector of the fairies, the most powerful wizard in
all of Nyirth. Never has anyone seen him except from the Old Books, and 
the carvings in the stone. Many centuries ago, in the age of the 
Ancient One, a war broke out between the fairies and the trolls. The 
battle lasted many years, so much magic was used, many died, the battle 
ended leaving a bare scorched field of corpses, both fairy and troll 
alike. The dove, Elethnor took back the magic of the trolls and the 
fairies, she left them with only simple powers, unable to harm. But 
still creatures were able to regain the ancient arts by seeking out the 
stores of leprechaun gold. Elethnor was captured by a powerful sorcerer 
named Valtor. She left one feather on earth, the feather floated around 
the land gathering powers from all sorcerers and wizards. It came to 
rest on a giant stone. And there the lightning struck to leave a 
scorched mound of ashes from which rose Kaecilius. 

“I foresaw this evil day, the Old Book showed me the arrival of this
lord” his ancient voice rolled over the heads of the leprechauns. “One 
of black magic would enter Nyirth, disguised. Artevious. He cannot be 
defeated by any powers wielded by wizard or man, nor can he ever gain 
the gold he seeks. The magic locked up in the treasure can only be 
surrendered, not found or stolen.” “True, you read your manuscript 
well, but I but I too have read the ponds of prophecy,” The dark lord 
boomed. The root-like veins bulged as he spoke and the crowd flinched. 
“The waters show a challenge, set forth by he who brandishes the mark 
of the dove.” He went on. “I challenge you, lord Artavious. You must 
journey through the caves of Valtor and through the swamps of Nencamoth 
until you reach Elfrost, the ancient city of the elves. There you must 
retrieve the Bow of Lacedaemon.” Kaecilius' voice clamed the gathered 
leprechauns, and went on to describe the fearsome challenge to be faced 
by the dark lord. “You must with that arrow, go to the Falls of Mihr 
and shoot the Swan, by the light of the thirty sixth full moon.” 

All the dwarfs gasped. The Swan is the divine essence of mankind.
Everything good in the entire earth; a babies first laugh, the power of 
peace, the magic of all fairies and elves, the smell of fresh warm 
honey, and even the light of day. 

Artevious let out a thundering laugh, turned and vanished into the
distance. Everyone knew the obstacles that lay before him, and they 
knew that it was only a matter of time before the earth would lie in 
his sullen palms. The old wizards gaze followed the slithers of black 
mist as they disappeared into the wind. “Too feisty is the heart that 
drives That soul, whose soon piercing cries, Shall be heard through all 
the land, And will linger in a grain of sand” 

2 years and 364 days later (one day from 3 years) 

Artevious had traveled for two, almost three years. He stood at the edge
of the lake Mihr, pulling in a small rowing boat. Over one shoulder he 
carried the Bow of Lacedaemon, its curly Elvin engravings glowed a 
fluorescent purple, in the mist of the dark night. The full moon would 
be overhead soon. He paddled himself out into the middle of the lake 
utterly, there were huge clouds in the sky and fog was approaching. 
Artevious stopped paddling and waited for the Swan to appear. 

Suddenly he saw it, out of the corner of his eye he saw the shadow. He
raised the bow and strained the string. “Be this arrow swift and 
straight Let it not its target hate” He whispered the short incantation 
stood for a moment. The target quivered. Artevious pulled back the 
string even more. The arrow whizzed out of his grasp and penetrated the 
dark shadow. 

SPLASH 

The arrow plunged with great force into the shimmering lake. A cool
breeze swept the curtain of fog aside to reveal the false target. His 
own reflection gaped back at him. A short zephyr carried a hum; its 
audibility was obscure. It grew to a clear song, then to a dull roar.  
The tune became louder and louder until the placid visage of the lake 
was rippled with waves of tremor. The sorcerer began to scream, tears 
streaked down his face. So intense was the sound, his legs gave way and 
he lay twitching in his paddleboat. A few moments later Artevious stood 
up in the shaking boat barely tolerating the pounding of the melody. He 
threw himself into the lake and everything turned still. 

The music had gone. The lake was yet again a mirror of stillness. The
only things left on the lake were a rowboat and a beautiful black swan. 
The mist disappeared and an ordinary January night was left. The Falls 
of Mihr quietly roared in the distance and at the top of the fall stood 
a tall figure in white. The figure was slightly bent in old age. 


Tweet