Monday, June 7, 2004

THE ADVENTURES OF WEAVER: Chpter Two. Brethren.
(for pictures of the charicters, check out my art)

The villagers looked on as Weaver knelt there, stroking the head of the beutiful, tearful girl he was suppose to be in love with. and yet, everything in his memory was gone. as far as Weaver was awere, he had no home, no family and no friends. nor any love of any kind to speak of. and then a quick flashback rattled through his brains.

he saw a sunset, streched over a vally. from where he was standing, he was on a cliff that overlooked the vally. he turned to his right and saw the sunlight shining on the most beutiful face. the face turnt to look at Weaver. it was clear that this face was Essence.

and the, as quickly as the memory came...

it left.

the sudden memory flashback caused an excrusiating pain to shot through Weaver's head.

"AAAARRRGGGHHHH!!"

this sudden pain caused Weaver to lurch forward. he held himself up from the ground with his hands. sweat was dripping from his face. he felt like he had run 3 miles with no rest.

"Weaver!? Weaver! are you okay?!"

Essence had stoped crying and was now helping Weaver up.

"uuhhhh..." Weaver grunted, as he was helped up.

"Hold on, Weaver. me and the villagers will go get gelp."

Said Essence with a strong, caring vioce. she rested Weaver against a tree, then she turned her back to head into town.

"NO! Don't go..."

"huh?"

"...Essence..."

she stood for a moment, then knelt down to Weaver, and held him in her arms.

"i won't go..."

just then, Weaver herd footsteps approching. Weaver instinctivly rose to his feet and stood in front of Essence, drew his sword, and prepared himself for battle.

"WHO ARE YOU!" he demanded

the man who was aproching was old, and dressed in a long torn robe. he had a grey beard that was long enough to touch his knees, and his hair was equaly as long. he bore a staff that had small but attractive glowing orb on top of the staff.

Weaver's hands griped his sword tighter. just then, Weaver felt Essence's hand on his shoulder.

"Weaver, thats your grandfather"

she spoke in his ear. he looked at the old man. the old man just simply nodded. Weaver just stared at him for a moment, then shethed his sword. the old man walked towards him and spoke.

"just as i saw on the battlefield. your memory has been lost. 'tis a rae spell for the enemy to use."

"...Whats going on, grandfather? am i a villager hear? why are there othere elves attacing us? why can't i remember anything?"

"...come with me. i will tell you all about it."

Weaver and Essence walked hand in hand to the old man's house. when they got there the old man stopped.

"Essence, will you please wait outside?"

she simply nodded, relesed her grip of Weaver's hand, and stood.

"Essence..." Weaver spoke.

"i...remembered who you were."

he smiled and went into the house.



the house was quite small. all that was there was a stove, a bed, a large pile of books, and a mirror. for the first time, Weaver saw what he looked like. he was exactly as he thought he looked when he was in the dark abyiss. he looked at his hair, and saw it was adark hazel brown. he then looked at his eyes. they were an attractive emerald green colour. with a hint of brown around the iris. he then tunr his atention to the wound on his cheek. the cut was so deep, it went through his cheek and into his mouth.

"here"

the old man stood next to Weaver, and placed his hand over his wound. Weaver felt a cool glow off his grandfathers hand, and felt his face rebuild together. he looked in the mirror, and saw his skin reattach itself. all the blood that had been running down his face poured itslef back into his wound before it closed up. he saw a scar where the wound once was, turned to his grandfather, and thanked him.

"now. why your hear."

said his grandfather

"your going to restore my memory, right?"

"...no. there is no spell on earth to recover a lost memory. that is up to you. your hear because you need to know whats happening."

Weaver sat down on the floor.

"i'm listening."

"there has been an attack on our village. by the dark elves."

"dark elves?"

"yes. they came here over 300 years ago, and for that time, they have not bothered us, the wood elves. now, they want the forest destroyed in order to expand their city. You are one of our best swordsmen, and so you lead onee ot the fronteres into battle. the battle was going well in our favor, but then...you were attacked by..."

"...who?"

"...hmm...your mother told me never to tell you."

"and so you won't tell me who it was?"

"i didn't asy i wouldn't tell you...i just hope my daughter will forgive me, rest her soul..."

"rest her soul? you mean she's...dead?"

"she's been dead for many years."

"well, then, WHO ATTACKED ME!?"

"...Your brother"

again, his memory rattled. he recalled fighting a young elven man in black lerher armour on his chest, and metal Shoulder guards. he wore black lether trousers, and heavy lether boots. He wore a long black flowing cloak and had nothing to protect his arms except his own flesh, which was riddled with scars.

Weaver's mind burned. he drew his sword, and swung in random directions inside the small house.

he kept the memory running in his head. he remembers overstrching his blow, and felt a sering pain pierce his left cheek.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Weaver was lying on the floor in a defeted mess. he looks up to see his brother standing over him with his sword pointing down at Weavers chest. Weaver picked up his sword and thrusted it through his brother's shoulder. his brother drops his sword beside Weaver and held his hand to Weaver's face. he then shouted the words...

"ERACE!"

and then...Darkness...and thats all...no sound...no light...no touch...no taste...

and as soon as the memory came, it left, and Weaver was back in the small house again. with his breth short, he shouted.

"IS MY BROTHER REALLY A DARK ELF!?!"

"not just any ordanary dark elf..."

"...what is his name"

"your brother...is Commander Jaylew Darkblade!"

Weaver stood silent...then his sword fell from his hands to the floor...




This story is copyright © 2004 Weaver. All rights reserved.




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