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SUMMARY: Fantasy in the tradition of LOTR .

It was a cold winter's night, and three other travelers and I were huddled around the warm fire in the inn. We had met by chance on the road there, and now were dining together. One was a wizard named Malihem; the other an elf named Shard Galen, who was
traveling toward his homeland to fight against the foul Shytal barbarians; the other was a dwarf
named Tauren, on his way to Daffur, dwarven stronghold in the north, to take over the position
of gatekeeper that his father had held for a hundred years. I was going to Chouc, the land of
vineyards, where my son had successful farm. It was but a few leagues away, but the winds that
blew were ferocious and biting.
"It's a dark night out," Tauren observed, tearing into a large slice of ham, his dwarven beard a light brown. "We're lucky there was little cloud cover to conceal the stars."
"Especially after the struggles that our ancestors fought," Malihem reminded us, "tobring us those celestial lanterns."
I had heard the tale of those first days of the War of Souls many times—and had told it as
much as well—but it was cold weather and my horse was sleeping warmly in its stable. Orzul the
Sluggard, my mother had called me, for I never chose hardship over comfort. After my youth, of
course, I had lost these traits while roaming the lands collecting lore for King Dawaran, but I
saw no reason to leave immediately, so I launched into the epic tale without further ado.
* * *
It was a fated day indeed when Gonat, son of King Pyrnos—ruler of all Men—decided to
saddle his horse and go hunting on a fine September morning. He was a tall youth, his brown
hair long, his eyes of the dullest blue. His muscular form made him a natural hunter and athlete,
and he was renowned for always getting his quarry. No beast escaped the shot of his bow, the
swing of his sword, or the toss of his spear.
It was that magical time when summer has not yet undergone the metamorphosis into
fall. The leaves were not yet the myriad colors that they would become, but were just beginning
to slowly change from their previous verdant green. All the creatures in the surrounding lands
were busy preparing for winter, and now was the best time to hunt.
His steed, its coat an onyx-black, had never stumbled or faltered during a chase. With a
speed almost inhuman, they sped away from the castle, stirring dust as they headed into the heart
of the woodland that was near the castle. As Gonat had expected, every forest-dwelling animal
was to be seen. The squirrels ran to and fro, their cheek pouches filled to bursting with nuts.
Birds perched upon every limb, chirping happily, and the fish were thick in the rivers and
streams.
Gonat rode on, searching for the perfect quarry with which to test his strength. Though he
searched the length of the forest, not a single animal could be found that he deemed worthy of
his attention. Where were the bears, the feral dogs, and the majestic stags that were his match?
He rode searching for hours, until morning turned to afternoon in a glorious ascension of the sun
through the sky.
Shaking his head in frustration, he turned his horse back toward the main forest road.
Though it was merely just a broad dirt path leading through the heart of the wood, it held great
importance to the king, and therefore was carefully protected.