The Purity of Purpose

8/2/2019 The Purity of Purpose

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Slowly he awoke, his gaze greeted by an eternal watery blur of black and white.

He couldnt recall who or even what he was, his sight, his memory, everything was just a haze.

For how long he laid and fought for consciousness, he had not a clue. Six times over that period

of time he almost lost himself, almost allowing his heavy eye lids to forever slam shut. But every

single time some strength within him would force them to snap open, back to the view of the blurof black and white.

All the while he struggled to recall anything of himself, why was he here? What was his name?

Did he have a mother? A father? But no matter how hard he tried everything still remained a

mystery.

Terror soon began to over take him, was he doomed to never remember, to forever wander the

world without knowing anything of himself?

Finally after what seemed to be forever, his vision began to clear, the watery smear of black and

white slowly transformed into a starry clear night sky.

For few seconds he was truly at peace, the fear gone as he lost himself in the beautiful sky.

But that peace did not last long as in one horrific, violent moment everything rushed back.

Memory after memory flew through his bewildered mind, he remembered he was an elf an Asur

of Ulthuan. He was born and raised in the Ulthuan kingdom of Saphery, he had never known his

mother, she had disappeared mysteriously merely a month after his birth, nor did he know his

father who died in battle only a few months before his birth.

He was raised by his grandmother; Falindith a powerful and respected Archmage and Caradrith,Bladelord of the swordmasters, his grandmothers dedicated bodyguard.

He wasnt a normal Asur, he was a prince, a prince of the province of Arlyandor situated in

northern Saphery. But as yet a prince only in name as it was his grandmother who still stood as

steward, as he was to young, too inexperienced to rule. But this fact was never a grievance, in

fact he had always preferred it that way.

And his name was Alladhiir, prince Alladhiir Alkanthos of Ulthuan and the simple, simple

recollection of his name brought him more joy than anything else, and he was alive some how

he was still alive.

With this realisation his senses suddenly returned, but he had no idea they were ever gone.

His hearing allowed him to hear the almost comforting constant and chaotic crackle and pop of

fire, his sense of touch allowed him to feel the intense heat of the inferno on his face, his sense

of smell made him gag at on the staggering stench of cooking flesh and fat and his sense of


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taste caused him to cough as he felt the ash on his tongue and the dryness of his parched

mouth.

Then the pain came, an ache which echoed from head to toe, the familiar feel of a body which

was pushed to its very limits and beyond, he tried to groan, but it came out a mere mutter from

his sore raw throat.

They were ambushed, thousands of Druchii emerged from amongst the rocks, many to rain

black crossbow bolts upon them before anyone Asur could even begin to raise their shields or

notch their bows, while many more ran down the cliff side, to charge onto their open flank,

spears lowered and snarling with sharpened smiles.

The thought caused an immediate surge of panic that hit Alladhiir like a punch to the guts,

making him suddenly sit bolt upright despite the ache of his limbs and what he saw stole his

breath away.

On the mountain pass below, the bodies of Asur littered the snow and stone, this was what was

left of the once noble force gathered by his grandmother to reinforce the struggling Asur

defenders in the north. Four hundred spearmen, two hundred archers and one hundred of the

elite Swordmasters of Hoeth now lay dead and the ten horse drawn supply carriages were all

engulfed in raging fires, fires that should not have been so intense at such a altitude and that

spewed think, black smoke high into the sky.

But to some grim satisfaction many, many more dead, black armoured Druchii, the despised

Dark Elves, littered the landscape.

Alladhiir clenched his teeth and had to blink rapidly to fight back the tears, all the death, all thedevastation it was overwhelming, no amount of training could have ever begun to prepare him

for this.

He tore his attention away from the pass and to his immediate surroundings, all around were the

bodies of the regiment of Swordmasters he had travelled with, all laid shattered and scattered,

without rhyme or reason.

This Alladhiir found that hard to understand, he had fought along side them, he had seen them

react with supreme discipline, turning swiftly, stoically to face the Druchii ambushers.

It was Alladhiirs first taste of battle, he could remember the fear that threatened to over take

him, the fear that threatened to eat away his resolve and years of training. But more than

anything else he remembered the rush, the incredible rush, which intermingled with the fear,

diluted it into something that made him...Feel good, not just good but amazing, the blood sang

through his veins, never had he ever felt so alive.


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So Alladhiir with sword of striking raised and enchanted shield at the fore met the Druchii tide

head on with a deafening crash he would never forget as swords and spears met shields,

armour and bone.

Alladhiir allowed instinct to take over, instinct honed razor sharp from countless hours of training

and toil. His sword darted like quick silver, slashing and stabbing through the Druchii defences,his shield bashed and blocked while he dodged and ducked attacks that made it through his

defences, as the Vambraces of defence he wore enhanced his speed and reflexes to new

heights.

But the Swordmasters they some how turned chaos into perfect regimented order, their great

swords danced and darted in harmonious cohesion.

But for every one Druchii felled, two would take their place. How so many had infiltrated so far

behind the front line, Alladhiir did not know, but he could not help but strongly suspect sorcery to

be involved.

Finally he found what he was looking for; his master the Blade Lord, Caradrith lay like every

other corpse. A spear stabbed into his chest.

Alladhiir found he couldnt fight back the tears anymore as they flowed freely down his face.

Caradrith had always seemed indestructible, always so strong and sure.

But another thought override this, how could Caradrith who Alladhiir could clearly recall standing

strictly at his side during the entire encounter.

What had happened? How was he still alive, when his master who seemed no matter how longor how hard the young prince trained, he in their countless sparring matches, could never defeatCaradrith, and that confused Alladhiir, how could Caradrith who had decades upon decades ofexperience over him, be dead?

Countless more unanswerable questions flew through his thoughts but they were all chased

away as he saw...

Without hesitation Alladhiir was suddenly on his feet and running, ignoring the horrifically painful

protests of his aching weary limbs.

He sprinted, bounding over countless corpses all the while hoping that it wasnt, that it couldnt.

But it was and as he came close, he abruptly fell to his knees as the racking pathetic sops

overtook him.

His grandmother lay limp and lifeless, her large blank eyes wide, staring up at the night sky. Her

stomach had been sliced open, her entrails hanging out freely.


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Alladhiir had known she was dead the very second he had regained his memory, but that wasnt

what caused him to sob and sniff so strongly, no.

He knew without doubt that the death his grandmother had suffered was one of the slowest and

most painful imaginable. She took along time to die and was in utter agony the entire time.

She was the kindest most beautiful being he had ever known, wise, giving and selfless in a wayAlladhiir could never hope to ever be.

He gathered her in his arms and held her close, well aware of the blood staining his Dragon

armour and cloak but couldnt have cared less. She didnt deserve this fate, she deserved this

the least of anyone.

For how long he clutched her and wept he had no clue, but after he wiped away his tears and

laid her down and gently closed her eyes, sudden rage boiled to the surface, rage beyond

anything he had ever felt or ever would since.

His grandmother the kindest, gentlest person this world would ever know, how could she have

befallen such a fate? And how could the supposedly almighty gods to whom she had spent

countless upon countless of hours worshipping and paying tribute to, allow this?

What was the point of worshipping gods that only stand back and allow such injustices occur?

What was the point?

He clenched his teeth and viciously punched the stone.

He felt like roaring his rage up at the sky, at the useless gods his grandmother had loved with all

her heart and soul.

If they were so powerful, why were the Asur slowly dieing out?

If they were so all so all seeing how had the Druchii so successfully been so far behind the front

lines to organize this ambush?

If they were so caring, how could they have allowed his grandmother to die such a horrific

death?

With every question, the enraged Alladhiir punched the rock at his knees, his armoured fist

clanging with every impact.

Finally Alladhiir stopped and turned to glare up at the heavens as a sudden, strange calm over

took his once overwhelming rage. His mind was now clear, clearer than it had ever been before

or ever since.


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It was then, when he knelt on that rocky mountain over pass, amongst, the countless corpses,

that he swore that never would he ever bow to any god, not the gods of the Asur, not the god of

the human Empire, nor the accursed gods of the Druchii or Chaos.

That from this day on he would rely on himself and only on himself and to spite the gods, to

show that everyone that the worship of these deities was useless he swore one day he wouldbecome the greatest warrior the world would ever know, greater than the infamous Prince

Tyrion, greater even than the legendary Aenarion and he would do so without the aide of any

god.

With this he looked down at the armour he wore, his Vambraces of Defence, his Dragon

Armour, while on his belt was the empty sheath that held his Sword of Striking and somewhere

else was his Enchanted shield, all of which were magical items given to him by his grandmother

and worn by his long dead father and his father before him.

Briefly, Alladhiir considered getting rid of them, but quickly decided against it, they were all

crafted by his ancestors, by the hands and efforts of mortal Asur, infused with magic developed

by mortal Asur. Some may think him a hypocrite for keeping them equipped, that magic was a

gift from the gods.

Alladhiir shook his head, no, magic was a gift from the world, a gift that was further refined by

mortals.

He shook away the thought and slowly climbed back to his feet, grunting in pain as his aching

limbs flared horribly with the movement.

Alladhiir paused to look briefly back to his grandmother, she was dead there was nothing morehe could do for her, then he turned away and began to search for his missing sword and shield.

It did not take him long to find his sword and shield as they were very near where he had lain

and they were lain neatly, as though someone had set them there, his sword on the right, and

his shield on the left.

At this Alladhiirs eyes widened with surprise and he glanced over his shoulder at his

grandmother. Had she done this? He couldnt help but wonder.

He shook his head and looked away, that was the only explanation he could contend to be

viable and he leaned over to retrieve his weapons, slinging the shield over his shoulder and

sheathing his sword.

Alladhiir stood silent for awhile gazing down onto Saphery below, his long brown hair being

blown around by the cold high altitude winds.


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He felt strange, almost light headed and it wasn't just from the lack of oxygen, he felt clear, pure

like he had been born again.

Was this what purity of purpose felt like? Because it felt truly, truly good, invigorating, inspiring.

Alladhiir shook himself from his reverie, now wasnt the time to stand around, there could easily

be Druchii still about.

Ignoring his aching limbs, Alladhiir started slowly down the pass, trying the entire time to cling to

the shadows.

He had never been that great at being stealthy, having lacked much of the necessary training in

it, but he had always a natural affinity for it.

It may have been because his mother was a Shadow Warrior of Nargaythe, so perhaps the skill

was some what hereditary?

Again Alladhiir shook away the thought, he needed to concentrate, not allow his mind to wander

so much, he had a bad habit of it, a habit that both his master and Grandmother had attempted

to to break him out of.

Alladhiir frowned and at the thought of them, he would miss them, life will never, ever be the

same.

He clenched his teeth, stopped and hunkered down behind a large boulder and wondered; what

was he to do? Head north, over the mountains toward Averlorn as they had initially intended?

Or go south, back to his city?

Alladhiir gazed grimly over over the destruction, the beautiful view of Saphery ignored, thinking.

The first thing he needed to do was to search for survivors, Alladhiir couldnt comprehend that

there would be any amongst that mess, but he couldnt just leave without at least looking.

With a heavy sigh, Alladhiir stood and hesitantly began the horrid task.

For three horrid hours, Alladhiir searched. At first he did so gingerly, moving bodies with the

point of his sword or with movements of his shield. But it did not take long for the slow

inefficiency to frustrate him, so it was soon he found himself using his hands, roughly pushing

and lifting with animal like grunts of pain and strain.

At every single slight sound he would suddenly stop and looked, tired, hooded eyes darting for

the sounds source. He knew well the danger he was in, but he could not leave if there was

even the slightest chance of another survivor.


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Although it was not selflessness that drove the young prince, no, he wasnt like his grandmother

and never would he contend to be either, if Alladhiir could find one Asur in a somewhat healthy

condition working with them would increase his own chance of survival if they encounter any

remaining Druchii ambushers.

If he found any too badly injured he would give them the release they deserved with his sword.Realistically that would be all he could do, having no practical knowledge in medicine.

Many times the stench over came him, causing him to stop and spew, this occurred seven

separate times within the first hour before he finally became acclimatised. Alladhiir had never

had the strongest of stomachs and now it certainly showed, much to his rage and frustration.

It didnt take long for blood to be smeared all over his face, for it to mat into his hair, to flood into

his mouth, to flow up his nostrils and soak through his cloak.

All the while he had to fight a constant war against his weary, aching limbs, his eyelids that

refused to stay open and the cold, the bitter constant cold which ate into him always enhancing

the aches and pains further.

After those three long arduous hours Alladhiir found he wasnt even a third of the way through,

so many bodies, so many dead, so, so many.

It was when Alladhiir was on the verge of giving up, when he heard the noise, a slight muffled

groan and in a split second he had his sword drawn, shield in hand, the tip of his sword pointed

in the noises general direction.

Almost immediately he heard another groan and quickly and carefully Alladhiir slipped towardits source.

He found it came from underneath a dead Asur archer, whose expression was utterly

impassive, despite the black crossbow bolt embedded in his skull.

With his sword held ready to strike and his heart beating a mile a millisecond, Alladhiir reached

out and ripped the body away.

He found another Asur, underneath, another Asur wearing the robes of an archer and who

couldnt have be much older than Alladhiir, he was covered head to toe in blood, but otherwise

seemed utterly unhurt.

It took Alladhiir along time to register it, to comprehend it. He couldnt understand; why had this

archer survived but not his grandmother? Or Caradrith?

Why!?


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The anger abruptly raged back, causing him to clench his teeth and grip his sword and shield all

the harder.

What gave this archer the right to live over his beloved grandmother!

For awhile he stood, fighting against the horrifically powerful urge to plunge his sword straightinto the heart of the mumbling, unconscious archer.

In the end it was one thought that stayed his hand; why was he alive? Why was he alive and not

his grandmother? She was a better being than he could ever hope to be, she deserved to live

more than he as well, more than anyone.

Alladhiir shook his head and his jaw twitched, suddenly utterly ashamed of his foolishness, he

had come so close to murdering an innocent over such a petty and pathetic reason, it sickened

him more than his many hours searching through the corpses.

He was no better than the Druchii.

This thought suddenly sobered him, causing him to straighten and blink as though slapped, he

knew exactly what he needed to do.

He was to make sure that this Archer lived, no matter what.

With a heavy sigh Alladhiir began to gather the Asur in his arms, besides if he lived then

Alladhiir would have a higher chance of living himself.

The Purity of Purpose

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