||[Jun. 2nd, 2006|09:41 am]
((Ok, same deal as before... rip this up. Critique mah... or I stop working on this one, lol. Or maybe not, I dunno. I want to get it as good as I can /nod. Little grammar stuffs (spelling & punctuation) doesn't count as critique, btw... I pick all that crap up myself eventually =D))
There was no sign preceding it, the banging simply began. The frail child's white-knuckled grip on the windowsill slackened and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. For a moment, he stood frozen, certain that Karana, the great god of storms, had come to teach him a lesson. What lesson, he was not quite sure, but he was certain that it was coming through that door any minute now. Breathlessly, he waited. Agonizing heartbeats passed but the strong wood held fast. Dazed now, his tiny slippered feet made their way softly and almost of their own accord, towards the front room of the little house. But they then held him, rooted in place, as he saw the heavy, barred oak shiver in its frame, much like it's living counterparts shook by raging winds and rain that still gripped the forest beyond.
Curiosity soon won out over fear, though, and he took two more cautious steps towards it. And through the cacaphony that continued to assaulted him, something new sounded. Beneath the crash and roar around him, his sharp elven ears picked up faint cries. To even be heard, it must have been shouting from whoever was out there. And while the words were impossible to make out, there was a desperate, pleading quality to the tone.
He shook his head emphatically, as if the strangers on the other side could see him. "No," he pleaded back softly, apologetically. Grandfather's rule was quite specific: under no circumstances was the young Tier'dal even supposed to be seen, let alone talk, to anyone, "I'm not allowed." He did not understand why he was not allowed but such orders were not to be questioned, was his reckoning. Even so, tears of frustration stood out in his eyes as he wavered with indecision.
And then, everything stopped at once: the knocking, the storm... all light, all sound. The chaos swirling in his one corner of Nektulos took a collective breath, and in it's wake the silence was deafening. He closed his eyes against the darkness and the unconscious smile that appeared was borne of relief. Further confirmation came in the form of a soft, low tremor: a deep sound more felt than heard, and a strange yet brief heavy feeling to the air surrounding him.
There was a faint flash of light- called the 'afterimage', he remembered proudly- and he beamed up at the dimly glowing old wizard who now stood over him. The blue nimbus of light that surrounded him was dulled, but still it shone like a beacon in the pitch-black room. "Gedwilth," he addressed the child. Not even the hint of a returning smile was evident on the Tier'dal's harsh, angular face; and there was only command in his voice that, as far as the boy knew, had never been disobeyed, "Go to your room. And lock the door."
The tiny dark elf hesitated, and in that moment both the storm and their visitor decided to resume their racket with a fury, as if to make up for the silent moments before. He pointed one stick-thin arm at the door, "Grandfather, there's..."
"I know!" the old man snapped irritably. "Now go," he continued in a gentler, yet no less commanding, tone. His voice followed the boy as he scampered off, "And stay there until I come for you."