The Elf Killer – Part IV: A New Discovery

Mel’s Midweek Writing Prompt for this week is: Option 1: Sentence Starter –

I live in a society without rules, without boundaries; it is a dark and desolate place.

Click here to learn more about this creative writing challenge. Believe me, it is addictive! I love it. These are my stream of consciousness stories. I write them as they come into my mind with the prompt from the challenge. In addition, I have been posting my contributions to ReadWave. Check it out. It is another great site to display your writing talent.

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Rawmall slowly rolled over on the hard-packed earthen floor of the burned out elven hut. His head throbbed and felt like brilliant flashes of lightning were slicing into his brain. The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the hut as well as another unsavory aroma, of which he could not remember the source.

Gently, so as to not disturb his pounding head, he shifted his weight to his hands and knees. He balanced himself for a moment. Once the hammering in his brain subsided, he rose to his feet. Rawmall noticed that darkness had descended on the burned out elven community of Morr. He staggered towards the grey ashy remains of a fire where a cauldron was perched, still warm. The stench was overpowering and suddenly he remembered the events of the day.

The slaughtered body of the blue-haired elf, the human head of the elf killer boiling in the cauldron, and Nedra the Witch, all flooded his memory with the force of an assault from an enemy. There had to be at least fifty occupants of the elven community that were bewitched by Nedra somewhere in the Timmoral Forest waiting to be found. For a moment, Rawmall found himself temporarily blinded as the jaded fragments of his memory came together.

“I live in a society without rules, without boundaries; it is a dark and desolate place,” he thought to himself. Damn, that witch, Nedra! She had been pursuing him for the last couple of years now. Rawmall knew her game. She was a soul-eater. Every time she devoured her prey, she gained their strength. Men, women, elves, trolls, even half-breeds like himself, had fallen to her womanly wiles. Nedra was a seductive enchantress who always got her way. How he had escaped this time and why, he did not know.

A cupboard near the overturned table produced a loaf of stale bread and a gourd filled with water. Not the best meal, thought Rawmall, but better than nothing. Crouching in the shadows he ate his dinner slowly. In the silence he heard a slight rustling sound behind him.

Rawmall stopped eating and quietly set his dinner on the floor. Stealthily he crept toward the far corner of the burned-out hut. A dark shape moved softly toward the fire with little creeping motions. Its appearance was distorted and covered with some type of dark cloth. Suddenly, two brilliant blue eyes peered out from beneath the dark material.

It was a grundolyn female. She was small, only about two and a half feet tall, with pale skin and dark hair. Grundolyns work for the elves in exchange for a place to live. They have been the servants to the elves since the beginning of time. Many grundolyns live with the same family for generations. How this one came to survive Nedra’s bewitching was a mystery to Rawmall.

“It’s alright little one,” said Rawmall to the grundolyn. “You’re safe with me.”

The grundolyn stared at Rawmall and shivered, pulling the dark cloth around her shoulders. She spied the bread and water gourd on the floor and ran towards them. She grabbed the gourd and drank deeply. Water leaked out of her tiny mouth and dripped down her chin.

Rawmall sat back on his haunches watching the grundolyn with a puzzled look on his face. “How did you end up here, and not bewitched like the elves and the rest of the grundolyns,” he patiently asked her.

She shook her head and started to eat the bread, tearing it into shreds she could fit inside her small mouth. Rawmall repeated the question to the grundolyn, this time raising his voice. The grundolyn still did not respond. What the devil kind of black magic is this, thought Rawmall.

The grundolyn looked at Rawmall and covered her ears with her hands. Then she placed her hands over her mouth. She repeated this a second time. Rawmall edged closer towards the fire and pointed at his lips and then pointed to the grundolyn, motioning for her to look at him. “Can you hear me?” he asked her.

She shook her head trying to tell him “no.” She opened her mouth and pointed inside, nothing came out. It was then Rawmall realized that the grundolyn was deaf and dumb. She could not hear Nedra’s curse so it had no effect on her!

724 Words

Thanks for reading my continuing saga of the elves in Timmoral Forest.

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The Elf Killer – Part III: The Witch of Timmoral Forest

Check out Melissa Barker Simpson’s blog to learn more about the challenge.

I chose Option 1: Sentence Starter –

The first time I died, I was nineteen years old and resigned to my fate; the second time was a different story.

I am continuing the story of the Elf Killer, using the prompts from Mel’s challenge. This is a free writing time for me and allows me to experiment with different genres and characters. I am letting my true pantser out once again! I hope you all enjoy.

Here is Part One of the Elf Killer

Here is Part Two of the Elf Killer

As the darkness arrived in Timmoral Forest, Nedra the Witch watched the shadows grow long and deep as they descended and grew from the tall stature of the trees surrounding the glen. Conjuring her deepest magic she had materialized outside the cave she called home on the edge of the forest in order to safely escape from Rawmall, the half-breed elf.

Nedra paced back and forth in front of the door to her cave thinking of what her next move should be. Damn, Rawmall! That half-breed elf makes my blood boil, she thought. She didn’t need to take any more chances around him. His power over her was purely physical. Nedra wanted him in the worst way. If she succumbed to his charms, she would lose everything, again. Death was much too high a price to pay for a sexual tryst with a half-breed elf at this point. Not yet, anyway.

The night birds cooed above in the leafy canopy of the trees. The sounds of small scurrying animals were heard rustling in the dense carpet of leaves beneath her feet. Stars appeared in the night sky. Nedra slipped silently inside her shadowy cave while the ebony whispers of her gown flowed behind her. The low burning fire beckoned to her while the coals brought a warmth to the coldness of her body.

Nedra stoked the fire with a wave of her hand. Suddenly, another huge flame burst from her palm and glowed with a lavender intensity. Concentrating her thoughts, Nedra watched the blaze of her lust slowly burn to the size of a candle flame. Slowly the flame turned into particles of dust filtering through her fingers.

Nedra stared at the grains of sand and remembered. The first time I died, I was nineteen years old and resigned to my fate; the second time was a different story.

Nedra belonged to a coven of witches that like the dark cats they idolized, had nine lives. It was a certain kind of immortality if handled with the utmost of care. That meant following the rules, something Nedra had always struggled with. If certain urges were controlled, the witches could live long lives while meddling in the existence of others for their own pleasure. It was a blissfully wicked existence.

Impatiently, Nedra tapped her blood-red nails on the chalice she drank deeply from while memories swirled around in the dark recesses of her mind. Losing her first life had been careless on her part. At nineteen, she was too young to know that she had to overpower her thoughts of lust and greed. The Warlock had taken her life force quickly. Nedra had simply vanished in a puff of black smoke.

The dark headed human had been her downfall the second time she lost her life. She had bewitched him into giving her all of his wealth and power. However, once again Nedra had been too young to know that she should never trust a human. He had ended her life by thrusting a sword into her heart as she had fled his grasp taking his riches with her.

Eventually, true to Nedra’s powers, the human found himself a pauper and banished from his mortal kingdom. Madness had propelled the man to cross over into Timmoral Forest where the elven colony had flourished since the beginning of time. Visions of Nedra caused the man to view the world through a mist of red blood. Hatred became his life force.

Once Nedra’s life balance of seven lives had been restored, she cast a spell to bring herself back to Timmoral Forest. This time, she was determined to track the dark-haired human and take his life to pay for the untimely death he had taken from her.

Nedra smiled, remembering how she watched the human butcher the blue haired elf. The human was truly insane. She knew this would be her last chance to possess his soul once more. His life energy would give her the knowledge of the humans. She would become stronger with each soul her darkness absorbed.

She followed the human to the elven community of Morr. It was there she cast a spell on the elves hiding them in the darkest part of the forest as she watched the human burn their small community to the ground. The dark-haired human had never seen her coming.

He got what he deserved, Nedra thought, relishing the memory of the dark-haired human boiling in the caldron at Morr. It had worked. The trap had been set. Rawmall had come seeking the elf killer. Soon Nedra would get what she truly desired, Rawmall the half-breed elf.

776 Words.

Thanks for stopping by,

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The Elf Killer – Part Two

My friend Melissa Barker-Simpson sponsors a weekly writing contest called “Mel’s Midweek Writing Menagerie.” Each week on a Thursday, she posts a new prompt, and contributions will are shared via Featured Fiction. Check out her personal blog to get all the rules.

Here are the options for this week:

Option 1: Sentence Starter –

“What the hell do you expect me to do with that?”

This sentence can appear anywhere in the story. The maximum word count is 1,000 words. The genre can be any of your choosing; either factual or fiction based. You may use art to interpret the sentence, or poetry if you wish.

Option 2: Fanfiction –

Write a scene with one of your favourite characters from film or television.

I decided that I am going to choose Option 1 and continue on with the story of Rawmall, the half-breed elf. Here is The Elk Killer, Part One if you would like to catch up.
I am learning to be a “pantser,” and letting the words flow…

~

Rawmall continued his way through the forest walking in an easterly direction, cautiously looking for any telltale signs of the elf killer. Whoever had killed the blue haired elf was brutal. The killer had left the body to rot and decay where the elf had been slain.

Rawmall shook his head in disbelief. The Elves of Timmoral Forest had a code. They always buried their dead, even their enemies. No elf would have killed another in this manner, he thought as he trudged through a dense copse of trees. Decomposed leaves made a carpet beneath his feet. He pushed his way through an almost impenetrable thicket of bushes with leaf tendrils that curled as they pulled at his arms.

Through the leafy canopy above, Rawmall could see black clouds building against the dusky blue sky. A noticeable greyness descended upon the forest. The wind blew from the north and white lightning sliced through the sky.

In a hurry to beat the weather and to get to the edge of the forest and the elven community of Morr, Rawmall began to run. He positioned his quiver and bow over his shoulder tying the deer skin laces to keep his equipment from falling off his body. He kept up the steady rhythm of his running feet, breathing to conserve energy as his long blond hair streamed out after him.

The velocity of the wind continued to increase pushing against the elf making his trek more difficult with each gust. Determined, Rawmall ran faster, his feet so swift they barely touched the ground. Thunder rumbled and fat drops of rain began to fall slowing his pace. He smelled the smoke from the Village of Morr before he saw it.

Or, what was left of it. The village was a shell of burned out homes. Acrid smoke rose in dark smudges blown about by the mighty wind. Rawmall walked amongst the burned out shells of the elven homes looking for bodies. There were no bodies anywhere in the ruins. From what he could tell the flash point of where the fire began was at the town center, on the village green. A peculiar smell lingered in the air and he could not place its source.

Fifty elves, men, women, and children lived in this small community. Where could they have gone, thought Rawmall? He ran the perimeter of the village noticing that the fire stopped at the edge of the forest. It had not set any of the trees on fire around the boundary of the village. The outside limits were scorch free.

Rawmall noticed that one of the homes had less damage than the rest. He gingerly walked through the scorched earth into what was left of the elven home. A thick oaken table had been turned over in the middle of the room. To the right of the table were the remains of a cooking fire where a great cauldron was suspended, bubbling and hissing over hot coals untouched by the fire that had devastated the village.

Rawmall remembered what the strange smell was once he peered inside the boiling cauldron. There bobbing up and down was the head of a human! Short, closely cropped dark hair clung to the scalded skin. The eye sockets were bare as loose flesh boiled away from the skull leaving thick fat floating on the surface of the boiling liquid. The smell was unforgettable.

“This is black magic! What the hell do you expect me to do with that?” Rawmall said loudly, startled by the sound of his own voice, and the contents bubbling in the cauldron.

“Whatever you want to do with it,” said the voice of a woman in a cunning whisper.

Surprised, Rawmall spun around grabbing his bow, all the while fixing an arrow in place ready to shoot in the direction of the voice. There in front of him stood the small figure of a human woman wearing a long black dress and cape. She shook her long dark hair at him in defiance as she stood waiting for the arrow to find its mark. Her ruby lips curved into a sneer of hatred.

“I suppose you want to know what I did with your elven friends,” said the woman slowly licking her voluptuous lips as she stared at Rawmall.

“That would be nice to know,” growled Rawmall furious with himself that this evil wench had found him again.

“I bewitched them,” she said watching Rawmall’s fury mount even further. “This is the human that killed the elf in the forest. I bewitched the elves and hid them before he got to the village to do any more damage. They are all safe. The damn fool burned the village. When he was done, I took care of the human,” said the dark-haired woman striding across the floor toward Rawmall.

“In fact, the way I see it, you now owe me,” she said placing her hands on her hips staring at him through hooded eyes.

“I owe you nothing,” snarled Rawmall. “Free my friends, then we’ll talk. I do not associate with witches, so make it quick!”

Clearly irritated by Rawmall’s words, the woman’s eyes began to glow a deep emerald-green and a thick noxious fog filled the room. Hours later Rawmall woke up on the floor of the elven hut. The woman was gone.

895 Words – Made up as I typed. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks for stopping by,

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The Elf Killer

My friend Melissa Barker-Simpson sponsors a weekly writing contest called “Mel’s Midweek Writing Menagerie.” Each week on a Thursday, she posts a new prompt, and contributions will are shared via Featured Fiction. Check out her personal blog to get all the rules.

Here are the options for this week:

Option 1: Sentence Starter –

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

This sentence (thanks, Rose), can appear anywhere in the story. The maximum word count is 1,000 words. The genre can be any of your choosing; either factual or fiction based. You may use art to interpret the sentence, or poetry if you wish.

Option 2: Fanfiction –

Write an alternative ending to one of your favourite films or television shows.

I am using Option One.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Rawmall knew Elves could be killed by violent acts because he had lost many friends during the Elf Wars long ago. That was when he found that living in captivity did not suit the Elves of Timmoral Forest. Some lost the will to live and were found wasting away in a cave after the insurrection. Elves are supposed to be immortal, thought Rawmall to himself, not die alone in a forest, the victim of a killing.

Rawmall stood in the clearing, staring at the half decomposed body of the male Elf. His long blue hair had been partially ripped from his head. A long metal-tipped arrow had pierced him through the heart. The metallic smell of blood was everywhere in the forest clearing. Rawmall sniffed the air noticing the leaves of the bushes were covered with sticky blood. Flies buzzed around the rotting corpse. There were no sounds other than the mournful howl of the wind sweeping through the mighty oaks.

Rawmall was a half-breed Elf, part human, part elf. Looking at his outward appearance he looked like a magnificent human man, except for his unusually long pointed ears. His father had been human, his mother a rare Nandor Elf from beyond the Misty Mountains. Rawmall’s heritage spoke for itself. He was a brave warrior and champion of his lineage.

The digging of a hole to bury the deceased Elf took several hours to complete. Rawmall dug with a thick limb from an oak tree, using his hands to loosen the red clay soil when necessary. Rawmall dragged the decomposing body to the edge of the burial mound. He reached for the arrow still buried in the Elf’s chest. It broke in his hands as he pulled the course arrow from where it had been lodged. He would find the owner of this arrow. His life depended on it.

The Elf’s body shifted as it fell into the gaping hole. A foul stench rose up into the air, and a dark cloud of flies quickly covered the body. Rawmall scraped dirt into the hole burying the body of the unknown Elf. Finally finished with the grueling burial, he took a long pull of water from the deer skin bag he wore while on his journey to discover new lands.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced the tree trunk nearest his head. He could hear it whiz by him in the still air. Rawmall grabbed his bow from the ground and crawled to his quiver which lay next to the burial mound. Placing an arrow on his bow he crouched low, taking aim at the trees from where the arrow had come. Silence filled the clearing. Rawmall crouched and waited, poised for immediate action.

Whoever had tried to kill him was long gone. Rawmall retrieved the enemy arrow from the tree and placed it in his own quiver. He would find this elf killer, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Total Words: 500

Thanks for popping in. I promised an elf story to my friend, the Word Nerd. ❤

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