This text is not written by myself though, as I currently do another series on my White Lions live befor the age of reckoning, which may come later, it is written by the great Mistres of the Bow, the keen Shadow Warrior of the Eternal Host, Senthoi. Ok enough said here are the first two chapters, which I will keep updated here:
The Eternal Host - A Call to Arms
Chapter One – Riding Out
A crisp breeze from the sea tugged at the banners of Moonrise Tower. It was early morning, although the quiet had been shattered by the sights and sounds of a warband gathering, all summoned by the call of Felen Shadowbane.
Recently elevated in status to Prince General, the occasion had not been cause for celebration. Felen’s father had been slaughtered and his army broken, by Dark Elves invading Calumel. It had fallen to his son to take the title of the House, restore its strength and honour, and avenge this tragedy by creating a host unlike any other seen before in Ulthuan.
The young prince was nowhere to be seen. Assuming that he was making final preparations from the relative calm of the tower’s interior, Silvamar Laureath of Ellyrion rode his horse in at a walk to the courtyard. Already there waiting was Hedonys Skyclad, a fine looking elf in expensive armour. Holding himself with perfect poise, he was majestic yet aloof. Soon after they were joined by a Chracian; none other than Alphyrion Silvertalon and his mighty white lion. Rugged and confident, the warrior carried his axe with ease. Broad-shouldered and tall, it was he that would guide the band across the Annuli mountains to their destination. Next came Elbhereth Anar, emerging from the forest like a shadow. And that is precisely what she was. One of the children of Nagarythe, her deadly bow and zeal of slaying their foes would be of great value to the travellers.
The elves prepared themselves and made brief introductions before Felen himself arrived. Clad in mourning colours of white, he greeted them but said little else. It was apparent that he wanted them to feel welcome, and encourage their morale, yet a sorrow hung over the young noble thrown into war in the most bitter of ways. His father had been cut down by invading Druchii forces that had swept into Ulthuan from their Black Ark. A brave defence had been mustered, yet they were too few against the forces of the Witch King, and were slaughtered to the last. The rest of Felen’s family had since disappeared; taken perhaps by the enemy? Or gone into hiding? It was up to the young prince to find out the truth, but he could not do this alone. All eyes looked to him to lead them against the invaders, and he had summoned allies from across Ulthuan to reform his father’s warband and strike back against the enemy.
Before long, the elves were on their way. Choosing to lead their horses as they travelled down through the Blighted Isles and Chrace, spirits were bright until they reached the gloom of the Shadowlands. Where before the enemy were numerous, here they were many. Every crag and gully seemed to hide an ambushing force or scene of cruelty, but not just from the enemy. Elbereth smiled with grim pride as she spoke of the vigil of her kin. A native of old Nagarythe, she hinted at ties to the Aesanar; fabled band of Alith Anar, who had not been seen for two thousand years.
When they came to the Dragon Gate, Silvamar was startled to see it besieged by the Dark Elves, growing ever nearer to his beloved Ellyrion. The warband fought their way through, and soon the sweeping plains of the horse lords were before them. The elves mounted up and let their steeds carry them across Ellyrion, turning to the wilds when they reached a heavily occupied area. Alphyrion guided them through the hills and forests, stopping only to replenish their food supplies. It seemed raw mountain lion was to be on the menu.
Days on the road were beginning to take their toll on both elf and horse when they finally reached the ardent green of Avelorn. Here ancient trees towered above, their trunks forming an avenue of cathedral-like pillars and covering the sacred realm of the Everqueen in a canopy of deepest emerald. The replenishing energy of Isha invigorated the elves, yet even here the taint of the enemy was present. Pressing into this realm with all of their might, the Everqueen had been taken into hiding whilst her troops and maidens fought valiantly to push them out and destroy their blight utterly.
Finally the host reached the Avelorn warcamp. Thankful of some rest, they recovered their strength whilst they waited for a patrol of White Lions that had pledged aid to Alphyrion. Here they were joined by Maryulan, swordmistress of Hoeth, and before they even had a chance to discuss much they were back on road.
Thankfully this last part of their journey was a short one, and took them south into Saphery to Thornvale Manor. At least they were free to unsaddle the horses and rest. Some of the host took to this business immediately, whilst others took the time to get to know each other. Hedonys Skyclad singled out Alphyrion to press his terms to Felen, for which his house would pledge aid to the Shadowbane’s cause. Felen was a prince, and the wealthy warrior saw it fair that a title would be bestowed to him in exchange for his allegiance. Alphyrion promised to relay the message to the warband’s leader before bidding them all rest before the next stage of their journey. They had been on the road for days, and an exhausted host was useless. They would need to be at their best for the pending visit to the Tower of Hoeth.
Chapter Two – An Appeal to the Tower
A night’s rest was all that was allowed. There was no delay to be had with matters of such urgency. Resources were being spread thinly around the magical continent of Ulthuan, and it was of great importance that the favour of the Tower of Hoeth was won before they too had no aid to spare.
As the sky greyed with the pending dawn, the warband was already mounted and leaving Thornvale Manor. Riding south through the land of Saphery, the elves fought their way over Stonelea and Cairnmoor. The winds of magic, known as the aethyr flowed with great concentration through this realm; siphoned through waystones to be harvested and controlled by the powerful mages that dwelt within and studied at the tower. These winds rippled with visible power through the skies above, a tangible presence that both heightened the senses and confused with its glamoury. Only those who had trained in the art of high magic could weave them and remain sane; for the rest of the Asur, whilst naturally sensitive to these magics, would only ever be able to utilise a thin sliver of the weave around them without being driven insane.
Beasts that wandered the high grounds had been transformed. Some friends, others eager to hunt on the flesh of anything that entered their territories. Worse still, human worshippers of Chaos, power hungry Dark Elves, and brutish Greenskins had all striven to enter these lands to either destroy or steal rare and powerful artefacts.
As the Eternal Host made their way closer to their goal, these enemies seemed less numerous. Perhaps it was the strength of the wards closer to the tower, or perhaps it was the power of the mages and their valiant Swordmasters that kept these lands clear?
The legendary White Tower of Hoeth loomed above, a kilometre in height. Built by Bel-Korhadris, the Scholar King, over two thousand years ago, it was the home of the greatest collection of arcane texts and magical items in the whole world. A testament to Elven superiority in the arts of magic, it gleamed like an ivory needle under the shimmering sky. Tantalisingly close, wards blocked a direct route, as did weaves of magic that transformed lesser beasts into sun dragons and other terrifying guardians.
With trepidation, excitement, and some fear, the Eternal Host made their final approach up wide sweeping stairs to seek an audience.
Challenged by Belannaer’s Protectors, it soon became apparent that a grave error had been made. No missive to request an audience had been submitted. It was possible that they would have to wait for weeks to be seen, if at all. Thankfully with the negotiation skills of Felen, Hedonys, and Alphyrion, access was permitted, although only to speak with the ambassadors of the Tower’s keeper.
Prince Felen humbly implored them for aid, explaining the cause. Met with some questions that left the warband feeling as insignificant in the scheme of events as a hair in a Chracian lion’s mane, it was not looking good. That is until a compromise was reached. The ambassador agreed that aid would be offered, but something was needed in return.
The Eternal Host was tasked with recovering three items of power that were lost throughout Saphery. In danger of being discovered by the enemy and used to their advantage, it was of utmost importance that these items were recovered quickly and returned to the mages of Hoeth. Do this, and a bargain would be reached.
But what was this to be? Only time would tell. First, the task had to be done, and trust gained. The time for talking was done.
Chapter Three – Shards of Saphery
The Eternal Host were allowed to rest within the estate surrounding the Tower of Hoeth for the night. As they refreshed themselves and made ready for the night, Felen alone was summoned by one of the mages to discuss the needs of the mages, and a quest that would aid both Felen’s host and Ulthuan as a whole.
A female mage introduced herself as Galinel, and told the Prince of the lost shards of the Star Crown of Lileath. This legendary artefact, gifted to the elves by the Maiden herself, would allow the wearer to see all times and places known to the gods. Destroyed during Malekith’s first invasion of Saphery, shards of this precious crown were said to be scattered across the magical land. What was once rumour was now a race for time, as the sorceresses of the enemy were scouring Saphery for fragments to use for their own wicked intentions. Galinel explained that Prince Felen and his host must find the pieces before they fell into the enemy’s hands, or a dire blow would be struck against all of Ulthuan. Should they succeed, they would receive the blessings of the Tower. To help them seek out the magical shards, Felen was loaned an orb which would glow more brightly when in the proximity of a piece of the Star Crown.
With the orb to guide the way and no time to waste, the Eternal Host set forth as soon as dawn broke. It would be a push to find the shards within the allotted time, if even at all.
Under a shimmering sky, hooves thundered across the hills and through the valleys of Saphery. Guided eastwards, the host soon found themselves faced with a scene of peril. Near the foot of a cliff were gathered a large flock of deadly cockatrices. A recent victim of their deadly gaze was crouched in a terrified pose near a cluster of rocks. He had clearly tried to hide but had met a terrible end. Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be a Dark Elf. Petrified by the fell powers of these wicked creatures, his face was a mask of horror; his arms wrapped around him in an attempt to save himself. The Host too would meet his fate unless they reacted quickly, for soon the flock was upon them! In a swirl of claws and beaks, they attacked.
Careful not to look into their eyes, the warriors of Felen Fellbane’s warband fought with axe, sword, and bow. Though the monsters were large, they soon fell to the speed and skill of the elves; blood and feathers littering the ground. One beast was larger than the others, and more cunning. Dodging every blow, it kept lowering its head, intent on one of the elves meeting its gaze to become turned to stone. It was a challenge to target the monster whilst not looking directly at it, but finally together, the Host was able to slay the cockatrice.
The orb glowed brightly but the shard could not be seen. It then occurred to the Prince what may have happened. The Druchii was alone, most likely seeking somewhere to hide a rare thing in a remote location. Could he have been set upon by these monsters? The largest cockatrice was unusually big, perhaps magic had been involved?
Lifting the orb aloft, Felen walked slowly towards the dead beast, and found that it shone like the sun when held near the crop of the cockatrice. Unsheathing his sword, Felen sliced open the gizzard, flesh and half digested food spilling out. Amongst the gore was a single brilliant shard that pulsed with an ethereal light. The first of the shards of the Star Crown had been found!
Angry shrieks started to gather from the mountains nearby, as more of the foul birds began to approach. Weather attracted by the sounds of battle or the smell of fresh meat, soon there would be more on the scene, and there was no time for more fighting. The Prince ordered the host back to the path, where the orb was consulted for their next direction. Riding slowly in each direction, it was discovered that it glowed more brightly when they headed north, so that way they continued.
After an hour or so, they came to a lake. The tranquil scene was disturbed by a pack of cold ones who had claimed the spot as their hunting ground. Normally subterranean and native to Naggaroth, these beasts had been allowed to run wild by the Dark Elf invaders, to harry and attack Saphery’s residents and wildlife. Thankfully they were slow witted and were unaware of the danger until the Eternal Host charged in with weapons singing.
Jaws snapped and tails whipped around at the elves who sliced and struck at the thick hides of the reptiles. Felen was aware that the orb glowed brightly near the largest of the nauglir; it would seem that this one too had consumed a shard, or someone that was once carrying one. With determined force, the beast was slain, stabbed in the underbelly by multiple blades. It fell with a roar, arrows sticking out of its throat, and cut in a dozen places. The rest of the pack fled, and watched angrily from afar as they sought courage to regroup and attack. Felen knelt down and cut open the slain nauglir, shoving his arm into its stinking belly. Guts spilled out, and sticky ichor covered his arm. The Host struggled to hide their disgust as their Prince rooted about for his prize, but soon enough he found it. Wiping putrefied meat from the artefact, his victorious smile nearly made up for the stink. The elves were grateful that there was a lake nearby to clean the muck from the noble.
They were quick about it, as soon the rest of the cold one pack began to advance. Mounting up, they rode up into the hills as the orb guided them to their final goal.
It was apparent how close the Dark Elves had been to success. Only bad luck seemed to have foiled their efforts. Led to a camp, the Host watched from a safe distance as their traitor kin took care of their business. One of them held a shard and shared some sort of joke with his companions as he toyed with his prize. The Eternal Host had found the remains of a Druchii with the first shard, and it occurred then that another Dark Elf had succumbed to the appetite of a monster on his way back to the camp. Had all gone to plan, these fiends would already have three shards in their possession.
Elbhereth could barely conceal her rage, faced with her mortal enemies. Of the Shadowlands, she was sworn to slay any Dark Elf, and was already nocking an arrow before the order was given to attack. The Host quickly fell about ambushing the Dark Elves, and a protective circle was formed around Felen to protect him from the numerous Shades and crossbowmen that were about. They were vastly outnumbered.
The fighting was bloody and vicious, but with the grace of Isha, victory was finally won. An exhausted Prince pried the final shard from the dead hands of his enemy, and packed it in his travel bag with the other two pieces. Swords were sheathed, and taking only a minute to catch their breath from the battle, the elves were again on the move, heading back to the White Tower. It would be a long ride, and their task was to be completed in a day only if they were to win the aid of the mages.
Shadows were long and the sun was low in the sky as they finally reached their goal. The Belannaer’s Protectors regarded the grimy elves with mild disgust but let them pass, as they climbed the steps to the tower. The glowing orb had taken on a life of its own, and under close guard and supervision of the Swordmasters, Felen and his warriors were led inside the tower itself and taken to the lofty heights above Saphery, where they met Galinel once more.
Transported by magic, the astonished host gazed about themselves at the inner sanctum of the Tower of Horth. The land of Saphery was far below, even the great Sun Dragons seemed like insects, and soaring eagles circled the tower beneath them from this dizzying height.
Ignoring the stench of battle bloodied elves, Galinel calmly finished her writing, and stood from her desk to regard them. Pleased with their success, she took the shards and passed them to one of the senior Archmages, before congratulating the Prince and his host. The Tower would offer its support; lending Galinel herself to the Eternal Host, and any other mages that may be needed. Passing Felen a scroll, she explained that it was a map showing the location of a lost citadel, deep beneath Eataine. It would be a safe place for the host to use as a headquarters.
Recommending that they cleaned themselves up, Galinel dismissed them once more, and Felen and his band was magically transported back to the courtyard at the base of the tower. Once recovered from their quest they would be on their way, to Eataine, with the blessings of Hoeth supporting them.
Chapter Four – The Hidden Citadel
Having replenished their supplies, The Eternal Host began the last part of their grand journey. Relieved to have the patronage of the Tower, Felen gripped the map as he carefully studied the markings upon it. It seemed to be a map of Eataine, although it was ancient even by Elven standards. Many of the landmarks were lost or hidden; settlements and vineyards had sprung up since, yet the long used roads that traversed this Inner Kingdom of Ulthaun were still recognisable.
Most of the morning was spent riding south-east through Saphery until they found themselves in the wealthy kingdom of Eataine. Home to Lothern, the seat of the Phoenix King, many of Ulthuan’s wealthier families held estates in this land. The rolling hills were abundant with trees bearing fruit trees and generation-old vineyards where the finest wines of the Asur had been perfected over thousands of years to be served at the most privileged tables of Ulthuan.
As Felen led his travel-worn host through the lands, curious glances were thrown to them by the native kin. Even those in service to their estates seemed to be clad in the finest cloth, their patrons not wishing to give their neighbour any excuse to suspect the boundaries of their influence and wealth.
Having crossed through a disputed region without challenge, Felen frowned at the map. At this point any sense of direction had been lost; all that could be seen was a shrine to Lileath, the Maiden. Perhaps someone there would be able to guide them?
Urging the host northward, Felen came to the place which the map had shown as a place of peace and reflection. In reality, it was barely more than a pile of rubble; a ruin filled with the buzzing of flies that swarmed lazily over the dead. The scene of a massacre, the Host could barely contain their shock at the sight before them. The grace of Lileath had prevailed, her small mercy was that the fight had been won by the Asur.
Quietly making their way through the Elves tending to the injured, or taking the slain away to be prepared for their pyres, Felen found a cluster of mages near the central feature of the temple; a tall statue of Lileath herself watching down upon them. They seemed to know of the Host and its cause, and after a short conversation, Felen came back with directions to their destination. Puzzled by how these strangers would know so much about them, Zandis explained how such things were not uncommon to those that had trained for centuries with the Tower of Hoeth.
Leaving them to their grief, Felen led the Host to the west through the Vale of Night, then on to the glittering spires of Shimmersward. Onwards, into the mountains they went, almost to give up hope in their directions, until hidden in a valley stood a single tower. The map showed an enormous citadel in this very position. Surely this was not it?
The Host dismounted and tethered their steeds, as they readied their weapons and cautiously approached the tower. Strangely it was protected by Asur, wearing armour of a style long past in centuries gone. The tower was pristine, gleaming white marble decorated with mosaic and gilt detailing on its walls. It felt welcoming and safe, yet all had a sense of being watched by something greater than them as they approached.
Stepping cautiously into the entry hall, Felen found a pool within, crafted by Elven hands. The crystalline waters reflected the vaulted ceiling above, but as the rest of the host entered, the calm liquid began to ripple and splash as if a storm was upon it. With a gripping hold, the tower’s defensive wards came into play as each of the Host was questioned by a voice; silent to all externally, yet as loud as thunder within each skull. There was no doubt as to what the fate would be of an enemy to this place.
The young Prince explained the Host’s purpose, and their direction here by the Tower of Hoeth, which seemed to satisfy the guardian powers. As soon as the wards had come into play, they diminished, and the waters of the pool became calm and still once more.
Cautiously, the Host threw each other glances before they followed Felen down a steel spiralling ramp which seemed to go deep beneath the mountains. As they descended, they found the tower was lit with arcane lanterns and decorated with rich tapestries of legends of times long gone. It soon became apparent that this small solitary tower really was the great citadel that was lost to the past. They could only imagine that the same wards placed to prevent unwanted guests had served to hide the place from those not meant to find it.
The Eternal Host had reached its new base of operation. Felen smiled with delight to himself, it was perfect!
