Legends of Belariath
Duriel
Where it all began ...
Duriel, A sylvan elf born in presence of fire, the deranged aquatint of strength and un-equalled fury, his mother a member of the elders and his father a heroine amongst the woodland village, sibling to none and reaching into his 7th year amongst the living. Though all of this meant nothing to fate, be it may that he was cursed at birth or that his presence meant nothing and the occurrence of evil was inevitable, the details are mild but to say the least he was the only living survivor of the once elegant village of ‘Palera`noitsa’, an elfin residence and reserve for all woodland creatures alike.
Typically when producing past-tense events and occurrences, viable accounts are either increased or dropped through the spreading of rumours and the coming of age, ‘Palera’noitsa’, however was a noticeably unknown residence, in fact other than Duriel himself nobody could have known it ever existed, its history passed with the thick flicker of trenching flames, and therefore when the time came that passing travellers would stumble upon the great tragedy that now lay dormant in ruins, they had very little evidence they could bring forward to sustain the truth about these once great people, and like most intelligent creatures, social chatter and the passing of rumours or stories are key to a delightful use of time, indeed. However, their rumours were false, and they jokingly insulted all the men, women and children that were murdered on that vicious, hideous day …
Years passed and Duriel gradually became more so adapt to living a solemn and lonesome life, taking his feed from the land and replacing anything he had taken in quantities far surpassing their original amount, he had become what many folk would relate to as a ‘Ranger’, a man of many talents and skills who works only with what he can carry with him and advancing alone, if not for the hideous past that lingered amongst his history, he was a delightfully contempt and happy young man. Though today, a day of not much significant importance, whilst centred generally midst his 53rd (an age more equal to that of an 18 year old human man) year amongst the living, all of the latter would change, and it all begins with his very rare and somewhat discernable visit to the urban town ‘Easelia’, the market territory just eastward of woodland district he had slept in the night before.
Duriel, had few tasks he’d need to perform in town, and he’d prefer if they were swiftly done so that he could remove his residence from its hazardous keep, though strangely upon this one very unexpected day he’d have the rare taste for an alcoholic beverage, be it the humid weather or the unclean urban aromas that were effecting his better judgement, but nonetheless his decision was still the same, and as such it wasn’t long before he was sat at a crooked, stubborn old stool staring up at a gluttonous ogre clothed in red pantaloons and a casual white uniform, apparently common of famous cooks and chefs. He originally only sought to order a water, or for his boyish experimental nature, something sparkling. But this was short-lived, as a stranger had made himself acquainted and had gone about ordering himself and Duriel a large ale, before leading the young elfin to a round table occupied by many other concern able strangers, all exhaling a dreadfully awful breath that had the same depth of hideous aroma as a pigsty. However, this stranger would have been better off not disturbing the boy upon this particular day when he just so happened to be in town, as the story he was about to tell had a very familiar ring to Duriels ears, in fact the story that was about to be told was the same false rumour that was presented by a returning entry-level trainee soldier from a reconnaissance mission to survey existing, surrounding lands, that was then adapted by his superior and adapted more so as it was passed on, from one generation to the next till it fell upon the man who was now about to tell it to the last existing survivor of the ‘Palera`noitsa’ incident. And so the story began, and it continued for a persistent amount of time in which the surrounding men other than himself and the teller fell asleep, though Duriel did not, as he continued to listen and idly began to piece each part together, a sense of déjà vu residing over him. Had he heard the story before, was he relating to something abnormal, gifted? What was the cause for this sense of familiarity, and then it hit him, like sharp metals slicing through paper, this story was a variation of his own past, a false pretense that had been past idly from one generation to another, a humoured kids story, something to tell the granddaughters and grandsons … And to think that he was sitting here, idly listening as this creature wailed jokingly and insultingly at his heritage, this above all angered him the most, for the first time in his life he felt disgust and hate for another individual to the level where he was willing to kill him.
Viciously he sprung forward, bloodshot sapphires wincing in the sockets of his eyes as he stared through the man, his palm rested against the hilt of his dagger, a deranged snarl taking place amongst his breath as all the acquaintances of the room fell silent, speaking in a language even un-common among elf’s, a tongue considered dormant and forgotten, “Thy wilst regret thou jokes, once I halst had my way with thee!” he regarded, his free hand grabbing roguishly at the mans throat, caring not as his nails tore into the mans flesh. Gradually suffocating him, his gaze still embedded into the mans line of sight, whilst the surrounding locals were either running for their own safety or were still debating the elf’s intentions, though Duriel was rapidly beginning to understand that the previously sleeping men weren’t friends of the mans as much as they were his ‘bodyguards’, as they now began to come around and immediately sought about removing various weapons, Duriel’s options although concern able, were becoming vastly thin, and above all deep down he had no intention to take anybodies life. Therefore in enlightenment of his options and the situation he was currently residing, he viciously flung the man aside, and removed himself from the surrounding vicinity, fleeing directly towards the woodland territory where he could easily lose himself in the familiar grasslands.
Panting rather deeply and in vast intervals, Duriel now stood at the limitation of his territory, having lost any chasing bandits or mobs long ago. His situation still rather heated though, as he went about using any breath he caught to scream out in frustration, his hate for that man still burning through his mind and causing him to think irrationally and unlike he would if he hadn’t heard that ‘story’, why was he still here? Why was he still alive? Why of all the great and heroic people of his village, why was he the only one to survive? And most of all why was fate still laughing at his every fleeting mistake!? He didn’t have the answers, but he sure as hell would get them, and the only viable place he knew of where he could, was the same place he dreaded most of all, the ruined sylvan village of ‘Palera’noitsa’, his home.