The Fallen Star

When I was a child, the stargazers of Tal Kildera spoke of the ancient legends of Ebeldeth. Although the histories were uncertain, the legends were not. They claimed that the ancient King of Ebeldeth–Supreme Sadris Vakom–was part of an ancient race called the Aldrei. Supposedly, the Aldrei were normal humans, who could wield a mystical power. Something called necromancy, or magic. The legends state that Supreme Sadris was of the stargazer race who united the peoples of Ebeldeth. To the Western Shores, there were the stargazers, masters of astronomy and philosophical reasoning. In the midwest, in the kingdom of Qaerlin, they were master smiths and knights. In the middle east, there were the Talora Kalians, graceful in etiquette and pleasantries. And finally, the Heshibald Crunains, the least educated of the peoples of Ebeldeth, but the best huntsmen and trackers. The Heshibald Crunains were content in their humble homes and small villages, living off the land. However, i

The girl smiled as the naive Githhaven citizen tried to guess where the dice was, to no avail. The girl–a street urchin–had been scamming people with the trick ever since an old “cripple” had taught her the year before. It was simple. The trick worked by a sleight-of-hand technique. One had simply to flip the dice out of the seashell it was in, into their hand, and back into a different shell. Many failed, but some figured out they weren’t going to guess the right shell and took a fifty-fifty chance on the other two. Currently, the girl was demonstrating the “trick” to a foolish man. “So watch as I slowly move the shells around, and you can see that the first shell is the one with the dice.” She then moved the shells around and instilled a false sense of confidence in the spectator by showing them that the dice was still in the original one. The man smiled, thinking he would make an easy fifty silver domfel (the currency of Talora Kal). So the girl shuffled

A cool breeze wafted between the bars of the cart, eliciting a tremble from Ilben. A week ago, a group of ten boys had been thrown in the cart after the battle–taken who-knows-where. Ilben was inconsolable. Even the presence of Owain did little to lift his spirits, as all he could think about was that fateful moment. Shunk! He could still hear the squelch as the blade was driven into his father’s heart. He could see the blood pooling from his body, and feel the rage boiling inside him. Then he could remember as the pommel of the sword hit him, and everything went dark. He had awoken inside the cart, rattling along the countryside, cold and hungry. Owain wasn’t fairing much better. His will was broken and his heart ached to see his best friend in the state he was. On top of it all, Heshibald Crune was lost. King Harnkelt had taken occupation of the country after the final battle that left the Heshibald Crunains outnumbered five to one. Chief Yerg had been executed

Ilben, Owain, and Elisa crept silently through the nearby village, around a ten minute walk from the children's home. It had been around a year and a half that they had been there, and they needed adventure sometimes. At that moment, they were going to a tavern, at the dead of night. Supposedly, nobody knew they were gone, and they would be in massive trouble if the housekeeper figured out. The home had a sundown policy–meaning they couldn’t go outside past that time. It was around eleven at night. The night was a chilly one, with pouring rain and an icy wind. It didn’t help matters that children at the homes were given no extra clothes. So Ilben still wore his white tunic, trousers, and worn boots. Owain still wore a brown leather vest over a brown tunic, and black boots. While Elisa just wore a tattered dress. Shivering, they slunk between alleyways, and darted up to the Gutted Boar Tavern. From outside, they could hear raucous laughter and drunken singing from inside, a

The woman dumped a glop of gruel onto the soldier’s plate. He was probably thirty, ten years younger than her. That didn’t stop him, however. It never stopped any of them. “Hey baby, lookin’ fine. Where are you from?” he said as he bit his lip. The woman ignored his comment. “Is that all sir?” “My, aren’t we a bit passive today?” “I asked if that was all sir.” “I guess. See you around, honey.” She grimaced. She got this treatment every day. There weren’t many women in the camp, and they sought her like hounds. She was still youthful and beautiful at the age of seventeen, and that was all they needed. It was miserable, as she was stationed in Heshibald Crune. It had been conquered around a year and a half earlier by Emperor Harnkelt. She had lived there the last eighteen years of her life, before being taken to be an army cook for the Emperor’s armies. Now she just put up with women-hungry men and cooking. Every day, she thought of escaping, but the camp