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It was an extremely dark night outside the small hut. The wind beat with brutal force upon the windows, shaking and rattling them furiously. The sound of the wind howling along with the thundering of lightning was almost deafening. Almost. The cries of a newborn infant could be heard by all those inside the small hut. Even some outside could hear the high pitch wails. The mother was screaming as well, but her screams were not like the babies. They were horrible, ear-piercing screams. The mother was badly burned around her inner thighs. The old elf known as Cisteli looked on.
"Have ye heard the rumors nursemaid?" he whispered to the servant beside the bed who was tending to the mother.
"Aye milord, but they are somewhat far fetched" she sighed, thinking of what she had heard from the other women elves around town. "Even for elf's tails" she muttered to herself so as not to offend Cisteli, for he was after all the eldest of the elves in their village. He slanted his eyes and cast a knowing look at her.
"Yes well, who in their right mind would believe that a woman was impregnated by a bolt of lightning" he said with a shake of his head and a sigh.
"Sir, she's not breathing" the nursemaid said, startled.
"Yes my dear, I know" Cisteli whispered. "There's nothing more we can do for her."
Cisteli slowly reached over and laid his hand over the dead mother's eyelids. "She knew the sacrifice the birth of this child would bring." Cisteli shook his head and went on. "For some reason she whole-heartedly believed that he was a child from the gods. She claimed to have seen a most handsome man when she got struck by that bolt of lightning."
The nursemaid looked up at him and got up of her knees. "Sir, the baby, what should we do with it?" she asked.
"Quick nurse fetch me some blankets, I shall watch over him". The nurse ran in to the next room and Cisteli gazed out the window and the raging storm of wind and lightning.
"What can this all mean", he thought. "This horrible storm on the day of his birth. It must be some kind of sign." He bent down to pick up the small baby boy that was lying on the covers near his mother. Freezing in half grab he gasped as he saw the mothers thighs...they were charred and blackened. He looked away and grabbed the small baby boy. "OW!" he screamed as he dropped the kid onto the bed.
"What's the meaning of this?" he said out loud not really meaning to.
The nurse came running in from the next room. "What's the matter milord? Are you ok? I heard a yelp of pain".
"This boy" Cisteli muttered "is burning to the touch." He looked at his hand...it was starting to blister. "Give me the blankets." he said as he snatched them from the nurse's hand. He bent down and wrapped the kid in the blankets and then picked him up. He could feel the warmth coming through the blankets. It was bearable though. "The storm, the mother...this child. They cannot be coincidence. I shall name this boy VISTILANTUS, for The spirit of Lightning..."
and so the story continues...
Prologue:
The elven elder with his long gray beard and flowing gray hair leaned over the crib to look at the wondrous baby elf laying there. The baby elf was just starting to grow tufts of silver hair. "Silver hair?!?" The old elf gasped. "This baby keeps getting stranger..." he whispered to himself.
The Elf's name was Cisteli and he had vowed to care for the baby. He thought back to when he first grabbed the baby and was burned. He looked at his hand. Yep, the scar was still there. That incident combined with the strange circumstances of his birth had made Cisteli name the bow VISTILANTUS, after the spirit of lightning.
16 years later
Today he was turning 18, his age of maturity. He had been studying for years in the mages conclave of his village. Cisteli of course was against it. He wanted Vistilantus to have nothing to do with magic. But he could not stop him. Even if he had possessed Vistilantus' very soul it would not have stopped him. He WOULD learn magic.
As Vistilantus sat down on his bed, he thought back to when he was younger. He remembered sitting outside on the hillside by his hut.
"The storm...the...storm..." he muttered while he started to drift back into his childhood. He was back on the hillside, laying down on the soft carpet of warm grass and staring up into the clouds. The clouds had started darkening and the wind was picking up. "There's a storm coming," he said to himself. He started smiling. He had always loved storms...their power and chaos he had always envied. He would give anything for them...anything. Soon the whole sky was darkened over and wind was picking up force. Winds started blowing off roofs and lightning started striking the ground everywhere. Trees were being split asunder by the terrible force of the lightning and some were being blown into houses by the monstrous gusts of wind.
Vistilantus started chuckling to himself. "This is beautiful" he said. He had not moved an inch. He was stuck there. Not physically but mentally. Enchanted by the beauty of the streaks of blue and white coming from the clouds. He was in awe at trees being thrown around like sticks of hay in the wind.
He heard a voice.
"Vistilantus...".
He looked around and saw nobody in sight.
"Vistilantus...".
He then realized that it was the wind whispering to him.
"Who's there?" He screamed, knowing that he was acting foolish. "Screaming at the wind?" he thought to himself. "This is crazy"
"Vistilantus, it is I...you father..."
"WHAT?!?!?... You can't be serious. This has to be some sort of magical practical joke" he screamed, barely even hearing himself in the wind, all the while having to avoid the flying debris.
"Please you must listen to me...they are watching..."
"Who's watching?" Vistilantus screamed again.
"Just listen...you must give your life to magic...it will take care of you. It will be your clothing, your food, and your shelter. You will need nothing more. the storms and lightning you so envy will eventually be yours...but you must be patient. Leave all you can here. Then leave this village and never look back. If someone tries to stop you, you understand what you must do..."
Vistilantus nodded. "I understand father...but who are you?" He knew it was too late...the wind had died down and the storm clouds were parting. Vistilantus shook his head and then pinched himself to make sure this wasn't a dream. He looked around him. All the trees in sight had been snapped like twigs. Many huts lay toppled over like they had been made out of mere paper. Everything was chaos...villagers ran around screaming, looking for lost children and other family members. The storm had come so suddenly that no one was prepared.
He now knew what he must do. He now devoted his life to magic. He would learn all he could before leaving this small village. He WOULD learn magic. The next 6 years of his life were hell. But they were a hell he enjoyed. Staying up to all hours of the night studying his scrolls, learning the precise pronunciation of the words to the spell. Sometimes staying up all night till he got it right. The flow of the magic through him was ecstasy. The feel of warmth through his blood and the almost overwhelming sense of oneness at the completion of a spell.
It was all worth it to him.
Cisteli grew depressed as he watched Vistilantus grow more and more detached from him. He had grown to love Vistilantus, almost like he was his own son. Now all Vistilantus talked about was magic though; that is...when he actually saw him. Vistilantus now spent all his time in the mages conclave.
"Bah! Selling his soul to magic..." Cisteli started to cry...
Vistilantus awoke with a start. He was sweating even though it was a somewhat chilly fall afternoon.
"What would Cisteli do now that I'm leaving?" he thought
He knew he'd miss this place...he had grown to love it here. He got up of his bed and walked out the door of his room. The rest of the house was empty. He left the house and started heading out the village. He swiftly walked down the cobblestone street of his little village.
A white robed figure stepped out in front of him.
"Out of my way old man" Vistilantus boasted.
"I'm sorry little one, but I can not allow you to leave," came an old and raspy voice from under the white hood. With that the robed figure reached into his pocket and muttered a few arcane words.
Vistilantus recognizing the spell the figure was casting. It was a simple hold spell. He quickly called to his lips the counter spell.
Two amazingly bright bolts of energy surged from each figure meeting each other in mid-arc and disappearing into the other. Quickly Vistilantus raised his hand, arched his index finger slightly and muttered the final words to a spell he knew would finish this battle quickly.
The hood from the figure slid off. The old mans eyes widened as he recognized the spell and knew what was coming. Death, swift but painful, in a streak of blue tinged white. Vistilantus finished saying the last few words of the spell and prepared for the rush of pleasure he knew was coming. He looked at his target, ready to watch it be given a swift death.
He recognized the man..."CISTELI!!!!" He cried knowing he was too late.
He felt the ecstasy building, but this time he couldn't enjoy it. Time had stopped at this instant. His gaze had met Cisteli's, except for Cisteli's gaze was frozen. Frozen on the death he knew was coming. Vistilantus wished that time would stay frozen forever, that he could have this moment last forever, because as soon as it started again Cisteli would be gone.
Cisteli say the Vistilantus' hand rise and it's index finger arch. Time slowed down. It was as if he was in a dream. He knew what was coming. He saw the threads of blue and white wind from the sky and into Vistilantus' hand. The glow in Vistilantus's hand swelled until it couldn't be held any longer.
Vistilantus tried to keep it in. Tried to keep it from being expelled from his hand. But it burned, he could feel the burn swelling up inside his body. His eyes were tearing up at the pain, his soul screaming out in agony. He let go...
"NO!!!...I'M SORRY....I'm so sorry..."
The lightning streaked forth in the blink of an eye, striking it's target and obliterating it...
Vistilantus felt sick to his stomach. He sank to his knees and crawled over to where Cisteli had been standing. There was nothing there except a black charred spot on the pavement.
"No...no...this can't be....I'm sorry..." he cried.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there on his knees, crying his soul raw. Raw of pain, raw of emotion, raw of guilt and anything else. He looked up. The way out of town was open. Leading to new places, new people, but all he cared about now...new spells and power...
And so it continues...
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