Stonehowl Links Stonehowl Holt's information is hosted on Tawmis' website. You can help ease the burden of bandwidth by making a donation through Payapl.

krwordgazer wrote: -real life scenario/event (eg. falling from stairs-dream-landmark) -breaking free from one's parents -a gift -an accident -secretly love -a new creature (eg. never seen before animal-mutant) ______________________________________________________________________ Where was he? Everything around him was black. Wait. No. Distant lights. Like stars. Untouchable were around him. He was now standing outside a stone structure that had a wooden door before it; he tried to open it; tried to go inside but the door was locked. A small key hole seemed to glare at him. He howled in frustration. He was outside the door, but had no key to open it. Foxhair watched as Shadow thrashed in his sleep. “What’s wrong with him?” she pleaded, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. Stream shook her head. “Based on how he’s been acting, I would say that in his slumber, he’s battling his own heart. What Recognition has done to him,” Stream turned and looked at Foxhair sadly, “and the way he feels about you. His heart has become a stranger to him. One tearing him apart about Joyleaf’s Recognition and the loss of her life, and the other with his emotions tearing him apart about how he feels about you.” Talon stood before his parents, Lionheart and Rainbringer. “This is insanity, letting them stay with us! Share our food! You can’t let this continue! We must drive them away!” “Have a care with how you speak to your father,” Hammerfang growled. “He may be your father, but he is also your Sire.” Talon turned to Hammerfang, baring his own fangs. “Have a care yourself, Hammerfang, for that means I am your Prince.” “And until you become the Sire, you are just as equal as I am, remember that,” Hammerfang took a step forward. Their hackles were on edge. “Stand down, son,” Lionheart commanded. “Hammerfang is right. You seem to have forgotten that I am your Sire, before I am your father.” “Sire,” Branchsnapper, who stood behind Talon, took a step forward. “While your son is,” he turned and faced Talon for a moment, before addressing the Sire again, “sometimes a bit… brash. He speaks for the majority, Sire. Most of us do not approve of these wolf riding elves.” “Have you forgotten that they also bring with them, Children of the High Ones?” Shadestrike countered. “That is children of the High Ones. Do you understand what that means? And if what Mountainheart heard is true, they know where the Palace is.” “And they want us to fight their battle,” Goldmane growled. “They would lead us to what is potentially a slaughter.” “They would be there with us, fighting side by side,” Clearwater spoke up for the first time since this gathering had started. “Some of us may die – but we would be fighting for the Palace of the High Ones. We’d be fighting for our home. We have heard legends, passed down through the generations, of the Palace. The secrets. The magic. We could return to the stars from which the High Ones came. We could, perhaps, find our true home.” “They chase a dream at most,” Dawneyes retorted. “Mountainheart said so himself – the Palace is guarded by trolls.” “Since when have we asked for anything for free? When have we not fought for everything we have now? Are we a pride of lions or a pack of jackals? We have never settled for scraps! Never! We have fought for this all! And now if the Palace is really within reach – how can we not fight for it?” Hammerfang shouted. Talon paced back and forth, his hands folded behind his back. His hair was raised on end his heavy footfall was an indication of his irritation. He looked at those gathered around him; Branchsnapper, Goldmane, Dawneyes… they saw as he did. These new Elves were a threat to be dealt with. They brought with them change and upset the balance of the plains; a balance that has long rested with the Priderwalkers being the dominate species. Now these new Elves brought with them Elves that claimed to be Children of the High Ones; claimed to know where the Palace was; rode wolves, a fellow hunter and predator among animals. “My father has become weak,” Talon finally said, “too lax! In his youth he would have never permitted for elves to be this close! Especially Elves that ride Wolves! Elves that claim to be Children of the High Ones! He’s being duped by these deceptive elves! And he’s too weak to see it!” “There’s nothing we can do,” Branchsnapper muttered beneath his breath. “Not so long as he is Sire.” “You are not suggesting?” Dawneyes looked at Branchsnapper questionably. “No,” Talon shook his head. “I believe I see where Branchsnapper is going with this. It’s a rule rarely used – if a Sire is found to be unfit, the Sire can be challenged for control of the Pride.” “You mean to Challenge him?” Goldmane looked at Talon questionably. “You know why the rule is so rarely used? Because when your father, our Sire, first took position as Sire, many thought he would be unfit for such leadership – but time and time and time again he proved himself by defeating many who sought to challenge him, including his own brother, Mountainheart who is nearly three times the strength of Lionheart.” “I must challenge him,” Talon growled. “It’s the only way to break free of my parents – and for the Pride to survive – properly.” “Talon you must realize that the Challenge is not to the death, accidents have been known to happen,” Goldmane urged. “When the Challenge becomes too intense and the competitors can’t be separated…” Later, deep in the shadows of night, two figures gathered… “Is it as bad as I feared?” one voice asked. “If not worse,” the second answered. “He insists. And he will not give up. Never.” “That is unfortunate,” the first voice said, somewhat remorsefully. “I know this must be difficult,” the second voice agreed. “But if the problem is not taken care of now, it will get worse for you.” “I know,” the first voice retorted. “It makes it no easier.” “Of course not,” the second agreed. “I assume it shall be as it always is,” the first voice asked. “Of course,” the second commented. “It is already being taken care of.” Talon threw his blade at his father’s feet. “I invoke the right of Challenge.” Lionheart stood. “Talon, do you realize what you’re doing?” “I am saving our tribe,” Talon snapped back. “You have grown old and weak.” Rainbringer stood. “Do not speak to your father like that!” “I am not speaking to my father,” Talon retorted. “I am speaking to my Sire. After all, he is my Sire before he is my father.” Talon sneered at his father. “You can choose to not accept and forfeit your reign as Sire to me, or you can – as I expect you will – accept the Challenge and meet me on the field.” Lionheart kneeled and picked up the knife. He wrapped his hand around the blade as tightly as he could, then pulled the blade out while his hand remained clenched; drawing blood. He handed the blade to his son, who had issued the challenge, who did the same; then they took each others hands, both cut and bleeding, and clasped hands, sealing the Blood Promise. Branchsnapper tied a cloth around Talon’s arm, accidentally drawing blood. “My apologies,” Branchsnapper quickly said. “This cloth has long been in my family, passed down from hunter to hunter, as a token of well wishes. I wish you well in the Challenge, Talon.” Goldmane handed Talon a drink from a cup. “It’s not forbidden in the rules, so I wanted to give you this. It’s a drink that will enhance your strength and quickness, made from Redleberries.” Goldmane bowed. “I am prepared to embrace our new Sire.” Dawneyes smiled at Talon, then leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Just be safe,” she whispered. Talon licked his lips. There was a taste on his lips that he could not recognize, and the kiss almost seemed to be a farewell… Talon lunged with his blade. Lionheart easily moved to the side avoiding the sloppy swing. Talon wiped the sweat from his brow. Why was this so hard? His heart was pounding in his chest. His muscles were aching terribly. His vision insisted on remaining blurry more often than not. “You can end this quickly by throwing down your blade to my feet and kneeling,” Lionheart urged. This only seemed to infuriate Talon more as he continued to lunge time and time again. But he missed. His father, his Sire, could end this easily if he so wished. But he clearly enjoyed tormenting Talon; making a lesson out of him to others who would stand against Lionheart. This made no sense. Talon was faster, stronger, wiser than Lionheart. This fight should have already been over. Then he realized it. He looked to those who had stood by him all this time; those he had trusted; those who had supported him: Branchsnapper, Goldmane, Dawneyes… One of them had betrayed him. One of them had poisoned him. He looked up at Lionheart. He could see it in Lionheart’s eyes. He saw that his son had figured it out. Now the Challenge would end. The way Talon realized it had to end. Lionheart batted Talon’s sword away effortlessly and grabbed Talon by the throat, and with a quick jerk of his hand, snapped the neck of his only son. The limp body collapsed to the ground. In both awe and uncontained horror, the Stonehowl Elves as well as the First Ones, watched in horror as Lionheart turned his back on the limp form of his son. “Let this be a warning,” Lionheart growled as he passed Talon’s remaining supporters, “to those that would seek to betray me, to those who would seek to Challenge me, and to those who think I am unfit to lead the Pridewalkers.” Daymist stood among the Stonehowl Elves. “I have made no secret of my dislike of any of you,” she began with such conviction, “but never did I believe – for a single moment – that I would find any of our kind that I would regard as more barbaric than the trolls of the Frozen Mountains. But,” she pointed towards where the Pridewalkers had been slouching around, doing little to acknowledge the death of Talon, “I believe I finally have found them. Never, despite my dislike of you all, have I ever feared for my life in your presence. While your ways, your hunting, your very cores are very barbaric to me – they do not compare to what I have seen tonight in them.” Warsong and Wardance held their new cubs in their arms, Dusk and Dawn. Dusk, who was born with black hair and brown eyes, seemed to symbolize the setting sun and approaching darkness of night; while Dawn was born with blond hair and blue eyes, symbolizing the rising sun and morning skies. Warsong spoke first, “I admit, I fear for my own cubs. To see how their Chief so thoughtlessly killed his own son.” “What worries me,” Stillbreeze said, “was not that their Chief killed their own son, but how their own son was fighting.” “What do you mean?” Foxhair asked, looking up from tending to Shadow. “He was young,” Stillbreeze said. “He looked as if he had the body of a warrior, but he fought as if he was going on with six moons with no sleep. He was slow. Sluggish. Uncertain.” Stillbreeze gave it more thought, “And they had said that the fight was usually not to the death; so why then did the father snap his cub’s neck? I think there’s a lot more here that we don’t see all of.” Spearclaw approached on his lion. “Sire, urgent news. A quickdeath has been spotted.” “Another one?” Lionheart stood. “Assemble the others then. This must be addressed quickly, before it gets any closer.” Vineweaver approached, seeing the commotion and excitement, his red hair weaved individually, swaying as he approached Lionheart. “What is this ‘quickdeath’ thing?” “A beast,” Lionheart explained. “Like none you have ever imagined.” “You’d be surprised,” Vineweaver returned. “There was a creature called ‘The Coil’ that we once fought.” (1) Lionheart stared at Vineweaver. “Then gather your tribe if you believe you can help against this beast.” The Stonehowl Elves gathered with the other members of the Pridewalkers and rode out to the flatland. There – practically invisible – except for being pointed out by Spearclaw, who was trained to specifically look for Quickdeaths – was a creature most foul. Huge powerful legs, much like a jaguar’s rippled with muscles. The skin of the creatures body, seemed to be several masses of muscles, all woven together, encased in some unknown form of natural body armor. Three sets of smaller, tentacle-like limbs ending in suction cups were attached to each of the Quickdeath’s sides; these, Lionheart informed the others, were used to catch unwary prey and stuff the unfortunate creature into its massive, digestive maw; a maw laced with razor sharp teeth. Four eyes were mounted on retractable stalks atop of its head. The long, whip-like tail at the end, had spikes, that Lionheart also informed the others, it was able to project by whipping its tail at high speeds; the spikes were laced with a lethal venom that could easily paralyze an elephant. Stillbreeze looked over to Lionheart. “How do you normal kill these creatures?” “Kill them?” Lionheart would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “We don’t kill them. We usually simply lure them away. We set up several … runners… to provoke it… it chases one runner… which will lead it to a second, who will provoke it, which will lead it to a third, who will provoke it, so none of the runners ever tire – until it’s lured to where we have a dead animal carcass waiting for it to feed. It has a voracious appetite – all it cares about is food.” Stillbreeze looked at Lionheart. “You can kill your own son, but you can’t kill a beast?” “This is no normal beast,” Lionheart replied with enthusiasm. “Rest assured, we have tried to kill these creatures. It has cost us many of our tribe. Now we find it easier to keep luring them away when they get too close.” “Your son mentioned that your pride was the king of these lands,” Stillbreeze looked at Lionheart. “How can that be, if you allow something else to rule over you?” Lionheart shook his head, his massive mane of hair gently swaying in the light wind. “You and the rest of your tribe are more than welcome to try and kill the beast.” “If we kill this beast,” Stillbreeze put her bow over her shoulder. “Will you speak to your people about joining us in reclaiming the Palace?” “Of course,” Lionheart smirked. “But I promise, I will have nothing to discuss with my tribe.” “We shall see,” Stillbreeze smirked. “Foxhair, you stay behind – keep watch over Shadow. Moonsong, Treerunner, Vineweaver with me. Stream, stay with Foxhair and Shadow. Skyshade, you have cubs. Don’t look at me like that.” “I want to go,” Windfetcher pleaded. “Glimmer thinks we’re ready.” Stillbreeze smiled at the young cub. “If this were a normal hunt, you would ride with us, Windfetcher. But we’re facing something new. Something,” she looked at Lionheart, “something dangerous. Your better off here with Foxhair and the others – help keep them safe. Along with the First Ones.” Windfetcher heaved a deep sigh. “Lionheart says the beast is quick,” Stillbreeze explained to those she had selected for the hunt. “So our attacks will be quick; and then gone; do not stay and engage the beast. Distance is our friend, but do not underestimate its speed.” Silently they shared farewells through Sending; something Shadow had always taught them to do. Each hunt could be the last time for any of them; and never saying one last farewell was always a regret that those who survived were left with. Something Shadow, openly confessed, to learning from humans. Stillbreeze, Moonsong, Treerunner, and Vineweaver rode upon their wolves into the field, circling the Quickdeath, attempting to disorient it – the creature however simply stopped moving and lashed out as they rode close to the Quickdeath. Massive claws pulled Treerunner from his wolf when he circled too close. Immediately Moonsong’s heart sank. Stillbreeze launched an arrow, striking the inside of the Quickdeath’s mouth. The Quickdeath was moving too fast; Stillbreeze knew this now. They were going to lose. The battle was turning quickly. It was like stopping a raging river by building a damn made of a single twig. Springwater, a Russian blue colored wolf tried to save his bond, only to have his throat torn open by the Quickdeath. It bought Treerunner a few seconds to try and crawl away before the Quickdeath pulled him back under its talons. Moonsong seeing her soul mate in danger, became reckless and was pulled from her wolf. Her wolf, Branchseeker, having seen what the Quickdeath had done to Springwater, knew to nip and run, and repeat. To do anything else would be a foolish waste of life for all involved. Stillbreeze launched a number of arrows into the foul beast while Vineweaver manipulated whatever plants he could to try to entangle and slow down the Quickdeath beast. Moonsong had almost pulled Treerunner free of the foul creature. “They’re going to get slaughtered,” Spearclaw looked at Lionheart. “We have to send in our runners to help them. Lure the Quickdeath away.” “We have to do no such thing,” Lionheart said, still watching at Stillbreeze and the others fought fruitlessly against the Quickdeath. “After all, the Quickdeath will consume their flesh and move on.” He looked at Spearclaw, eyes downward, “You also might want to remember how you address me, and do not think again, to tell me what to do.” Spearclaw looked back at Stillbreeze and the others; though his eyes kept falling on Stillbreeze. He wasn’t concerned about any of them truly – except her. He was infatuated with her, and her bravery, her leadership. He’d never seen such a strong female before. She was different. Intriguing. He clenched his teeth, grabbed his spear and rode his lion out into the field, shouting, “Its brain is not located at the top of its head! Shoot for the base of the neck at the back!” Spearclaw had been the sole survivor to survive the first battle with the first Quickdeath the Pridewalkers had encountered. The first one, they fought – they had killed – after it claimed nearly sixteen members of their tribe – all who had tried to fight it that fateful night. The Pridewalkers never recovered from that decimating night; and have since then used multiple runners to lure the creatures away, whenever they drew too close. Spearclaw, as the single survivor of that fight, became the “expert” on the Quickdeath creatures. The Quickdeath sensing Spearclaw’s arrival suddenly turned its attention on him. The beast reared up, its massive claws slashing Spearclaw across the face and knocking him from his lion mount. Arrows were proving in effective, so Stillbreeze did the only thing she knew that was left. While it was occupied with Spearclaw, she rode by and leaped from her wolf, sword out and plunged her sword as deep as she could into the base of the creatures neck in the back. It roared an unholy sound and thrashed around before it collapsed to the side. Spearclaw watched as Stillbreeze yanked her sword from the creature’s neck and immediately rushed to Treerunner and Moonsong’s side. She called out for Stream to immediately come over. Spearclaw laid there, his face cut open by the Quickdeath’s claws; but he did not feel the wound or feel the blood that poured from his wound. The only thing he felt was his heart. And it was pounding. Each beat speaking to him. Saying the same thing over and over. Stillbreeze. 1. This happened in the January 2009 Grab Bag if you want to read about that. 2. For those that did not pick up the reference – the Quickdeath is actually a monster from the role playing game STAR FRONTIERS. I even used the description of the creature straight from the module itself, as well as the location of its brain. I have always loved STAR FRONTIERS as a game, so it was fun to put a little bit of STAR FRONTIERS into one of my ElfQuest Stories. 3. The element of real life, was Shadow being locked out in the very beginning; I used it very metaphorically; in that he was locked out of his own heart, and didn’t have the key to his own heart, and can’t figure out what to do. 4. I also did a lot of focusing of the Pridewalkers with this one, which I had not intended, but sometimes the stories write themselves. I introduced an element of betrayal to Talon (and a mystery as who could have done it). But at the same time, while Talon came across as a “bad guy” as in not likable – we see that his father is no better. Sometimes there are no real “good guys.”