Tag: gpmv

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain: Part 4

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Dráiden’s love is missing! He’s tried everything to get her back, but it is as if she’s vanished into thin air. When she is dragged before him, beaten and bruised, he will stop at nothing to make the elves pay. Little does he know that not everything is as it seems.

Part I:  Luthandra Raikin
Part II:  Dráiden Kaldor
Part III: Elven Tidings

Part IV: The Sham

Three days. It had been three days since Luthandra had gone missing. Dráiden folded his arms across his chest as he leaned forward in his throne. He had no idea what the master of the Blacksmith’s Guild was meandering on and on about. Her maid, Braynia, claimed innocence and ignorance of the disappearance, but he had her locked up anyway.
His groom was interrogating her in the dungeon below at this very moment. I cannot lose the only one who ever treated me with respect. I just…I can’t. He wanted the family that was his birthright. He wanted at least seven children, and he wanted to live to see–
“My lord?” The blacksmith asked, clearing his throat as though he had just repeated himself.
“Yes, yes,” he replied. Dráiden rose and waved his hand. “Proceed.”
“The Blackmsith’s Guild thanks you.” Before the man could bow, Dráiden was already descending the steps of his dais and heading out the side door. The interrogation was more important. If anyone get get someone to talk, it was Preston.
The grey stone walls of his castle were a blur as he hurried down the dark steps that would take him to the place he was loathe to admit he had. The air felt cooler as he continued his descent. A shriek echoed against the stone walls when he snaked around a corner.
The warden posted at the dungeon’s black doors opened them when he saw his lord approaching.
“I saw an elf!” came a wild scream. “Before I went to bed! That’s the only-” Something wet thudded against something soft. Dráiden marched past the rows of cells leading to The Iron Door. The two prisoners locked inside cried out to him in desperation, groping at him with feeble arms.
He did not hear them.
Candlelight flickered through the tiny slit of a window in The Iron Door. No rose petals ever adorned the dreadful room which it guarded.
“I’d never hurt her! She’s my friend!” Dráiden pushed the heavy thing open. The woman was laying on a blood stained table. His groom was folding a soiled cloth with his back turned.
“Please. Help!” The woman arched her back, struggling against the iron bands that secured her limbs to the table. “I swear it. I would never hurt her! It wasn’t me! I SWEAR!” Bruises adorned her otherwise homely face. Splotches of blood marred her not-so-white chemise.
“She speaks the truth,” he hissed. “Release her.” He knew a lie when he heard one. No one could stand Preston’s games for long.
“I was just about to finish up with the same conclusion,” Preston purred, wiping his hands on his cloth. “The elf…that’s the bit that makes me nervous,”  he licked his lips with a twitchy frown.
“We live no where near Avanduil’s kingdom,” Dráiden sighed. “King Ciallmhar of Alainn is many things, but,” he muttered and suppressed the urge to shiver. “I will send a bird.”  Dráiden paced the space between the table and his groom. He wiggled his nose at the stale stench wafting throughout the room. “It would behoove him to look into the matter, as we are neighbors.”
“Yes, sir. I shall have one sent at once.” He flopped the rag onto the table as Braynia whimpered.
“Get that cleaned up and send her to my beloved quarters first,” Dráiden scowled.
…
Five days.
Five days had passed, and not a word, a sign, or a bird…Nothing.
Sleep had escaped him, and he was gripping Arrowheart’s hilt, tempted to slide her out and destroy the balcony in front of him. It’s as if she’s vanished by some wizard’s trick. It all screamed elf magic to him, but Ciallmhar was not the type to instigate trouble. The elves kept to themselves when they weren’t trading with the neighboring lands.
A door swung open behind him, slamming against something hard.
“My Lord!” Preston cried. “Your betrothed! She has returned!” Dráiden spun around and ran past his groom. “Dark tidings…dark tidings are ahead.” Presten scurried in front of him, leading him to the throne room.
Luthandra trembled on her knees as two wardens struggled to grab her arms and stand her upright. Sobs escaped his beautiful bride’s face. When the wardens managed to get the woman to her feet, Dráiden froze.
The blood burning beneath his skin churned, and it was as if Winter had come screaming at him in a violent whirlwind of ice and snow. Purple bruises lined her skin. Dried blood caked her mouth and nose. Her chemise was nothing but brown rags, barely providing any modesty. Dráiden tore his cloak off.
Preston grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders. She shrank away from him, whimpering like her maid.
“My love,” Dráiden croaked, shooing Preston away with a wave of his hand. He neared her in three gentle strides, cupping her chin. A grotesque bruise marred her left eye. “My love,” he rasped again.
“The…the…” she wheezed, lowering her face. Shame dripped from the sorrowful expression in her eyes. Dráiden winced and scooped the light thing up in his arms.
“Get my healer!” he cried. “No one enters her quarters except Preston!”
…
Preston hovered over her with a mug of hot tea in his right hand. Dráiden had kicked the healer out as soon as Luthandra’s wounds had been tended to.
“My sweet,” he croaked, holding her weak hand. A bandage had been placed over her left eye. “Your wounds, as fate has blessed you, will heal. You will be beautiful in a few weeks time.”
His eyes washed over her face, and he leaned over her to stroke her cheek with his other hand. She shied away from him with a grunt, turning her face away.
“They…they,” she whispered. “I was taken. Raped,” she shuddered. “Beaten.” Preston arched an eyebrow and set the mug on the table beside her bed.
“Who?” Dráiden asked. “Who did this to you? How?”
“Elves. They took me with their magic in the night and…and.” The woman shuddered again and sat up. She buried her face into her hands. Sobs raked her form. Preston neared him.
“King Ciallmhar won’t know what hit him,” Draidon hissed, rising.
“My lord,” Preston whispered. “Perhaps we should wait a few days. Traumatic experiences warp one’s view-”
“CIALLMHAR’S ELVES DID THIS!” He clenched his fists. “And for that, the Kingdom of Alainn will know what it means to waken a Kaldor.” he thrust his arm out and pointed at the window. “Summon the wardens.”
“My lord if I may protest. We need more information. Perhaps her maid can question her about-”
“She is to be the Lady of Westridge! Undermine me again, Preston, and you’ll be the subject of one of your interrogations.”
The groom blanched, but he bowed. “I’ll summon them.”

“We ride tonight.”

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain: Part 3

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Luthandra must flee Westridge! To be sentenced to wed a man with a severe lack of hygiene is to be sentenced to a life of misery! Her elf companion returns and offers a way out, but little does she know that she is walking into a trap.

Part I: Luthandra Raikin
Part II: Dráiden Kaldor

III. Elven Tidings
Wind whipped the pine trees overhead, making their black silhouettes look like seething dragons with outstretched claws. Luthandra struggled to keep from nodding off. She dug her fingers into the handle on the saddle in an effort to force herself to be alert.
He had returned. He had come back for her. The mysterious elf from Adaina Pass had rescued her.
“I know of an elf lord, my lady,” he had said. “I’ve sent word to my people, and he’s agreed to offer his hand! I know I am but a lowly sword-smith, but he…a powerful elf lord with blonde hair. His blade is unmatched! Some say he’s even more skilled than Avanduil.”
Between the sobs and the lingering odor in her mouth from Lord Kaldor’s slimy, grotesque tongue, Luthandra felt she had no other choice. A shudder ran through her when she thought about that wretched kiss. The elf tightened his grip on her torso, mistaking the movement for clumsiness.
“I’m okay,” she cried. I can’t let him think I’m weak. I’m just tired and…She winced. Kaldor was a monster! Oh, the dreadful way he had embraced her! The putrid stench that nearly made her retch right then and there! Then there was the matter of his sadistic sentencing. She couldn’t get the image out of her mind…The blood…the fear in the criminal’s eyes as Kaldor sliced his left cheek….because beheading him wasn’t enough…
“Hang in there!” the elf called. “We’re almost there!” Half the night had gone by, and Luthandra supposed she only had a few hours left until Braynia would wake up to find her mistress gone.
The foliage grew thicker the farther they traveled; the trees seemingly banded together like some sort of dark, twisted symphony of the night. She caught the elf occasionally whispering in some unknown, ancient tongue. They were now in The Wunderlands, she knew, the long stretch of forest between Westridge and the elven kingdom of Álainn.
No one entered The Wunderlands unless the elves summoned you, and they never summoned you, or so Braynia would say in her stories. The horse slowed to a trot, and she sucked in a deep breath. Finally. Luthandra was sick to death of traveling! She wanted nothing more than to fall into her future husband’s arms and bury her face into his beautiful, elven hair.
Shadows drifted between the trees as three tiny blue lights flickered into existence. Another elf appeared with two dark figures flanking him. He was adorned in leather and chain-mail so fine that she couldn’t distinguish the different links in it. These don’t look like regular patrol wardens…Why wear such fancy armor? Is my new husband eager to meet me? She smiled at that.
She didn’t wait to be helped off the horse. Luthandra swung her legs over and landed on her feet in the cool forest bed.
“Celmyra’s Gift, Wench,” said the elf with the glimmering chain-mail. Her gem began to glow. Metal slid against leather, and she counted three swords being unsheathed as the two shadows stepped into the clearing to join their leader.
“I-” she paused, bringing a hand up to her jewel. She covered it. “I’m sorry?” Perhaps wench meant something else in their tongue.
“You heard me loud and clear. Hand it over, or we rip it from that unworthy neck of yours.”
Her companion slid down from his horse, and she heard him unsheathe his sword. Its pointy tip pressed against the small of her back.
“But…I…am…to be married to an elven lord with long blonde hair. We are to have children, and-“
The leader laughed, a sneer marring his pale face. “You had your chance.” He pressed closer. She covered the amulet with both hands. The elves proved stronger, for she was just a maid of eighteen years. They gripped her wrists and tore her hands from her neck while her companion sliced the chain that held her family’s heirloom in place.
“How dare you!” she shrieked. “My father will hear-”
Her companion backhanded her and grabbed the front of her dress. Luthandra winced. Tears came bursting forth, and she found she had no control over herself. Heat seared from her forehead as her blood boiled beneath her skin. She screamed a series of words she did not know and had no business coming from the mouth of a high born maid.
His hands tore the thick fabric of her blue traveling gown. Its sleeves fell down her arms as the thing coiled at her feet. Stars studded her vision, but it was no deed of the elves which blinded her fury so.
“I AM LUTHANDRA RAIKIN! I AM GOING TO BE LADY OF WESTRIDGE!”
“Glory and riches wants she, the Maiden Vain,” they laughed. The leader swept his torso into a mocking bow as his fellows continued chanting their impromptu song.

“How can you be Lady of Westridge if you run away from your betrothed?” he sneered. “Leave her with just her chemise,” he barked. The others dropped their haughty grins. “Let her wander The Wunderlands in her own misguided blindness.” There was a hiss, and the elves were gone.

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain: Part 2

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Lord Dráiden Kaldor will do anything for his betrothed. All of the grand plans he had for a feast are thrown out the window when a situation that requires his immediate attention arises. He takes Luthandra with him, for she must learn that life in Westridge is rough.

II. Dráiden Kaldor
He knew he wasn’t a looker, and he knew women whispered behind closed doors. He was hideous with an incurable case of foul breath, but that didn’t mean he was a fool. Dráiden gazed at his future wife with a sense of satisfaction. At least she stood firm and masked whatever ill-begotten thoughts she might be thinking behind an expressionless face. Most women produced a shudder at the very least. This one will stay. I can feel it.
The fingers of his right hand twitched. She’s holding her breath. Had he forgotten to chew on mint leaves!? He had been so sure that everything was ready…Dráiden extended his arm towards his betrothed. It’s no matter. She would have found out anyway. Better I know her reactions now than find out later…
“Ride with me,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll show you your new home.”
…
“My lord…My beloved,” his lovely Luthandra started. She was still in the traveling dress he had sent her, and her pale face was traced with lines of exhaustion. She frowned. Her brows made a cute dimple when they scrunched the way they did. She doesn’t want to offend me! Something in his gut fluttered. Women liked to mistake his unsightly appearance for cowardice and ignorance. They underestimated him. Always.
“Forgive me if I am speaking out of place, but I am not yet Lady Kaldor, and I-” She stopped before the gilded chair beside his throne. Her pale fingers did not flinch as her eyes studied the intricate rose petals carved into the wood. His mother had sat in that chair, and her mother before her…
“You will sit in the empty throne beside my own,” he said before she could stammer her beauty away. “Life can be rough here, and you will soon be Lady of this place. There are times when Duty calls me elsewhere,” he smiled and gazed at her. She blushed, but complied and sat down. Her skirts swished in all the right ways as she moved.
Luthandra’s fingers twitched on the armrests. She’s young. Remember that, Dráiden. She’ll get used to this. “An unfortunate emergency has arisen. I am most sorry for this. I promise that we will feast when it is over.”
“As you wish, my lord,” she bowed her head, and none too soon. The doors to the throne room swung open. One of his wardens came rushing in, his chainmail clinking and slinking with his strides. The man went to one knee before speaking.
“We’ve caught him, and he told us where he hid the boy.” Kaldor twirled the hair on his chin and waited. “The rumors….are true. My men were able to get it out of him…”
“Then he will be punished accordingly. Fit him with a collar and bring him to the courtyard.” He glanced over at his groom, his chief servant. “Fetch me Arrowheart.” Preston bowed his head before shifting from his position below the tapestries that hung to Dráiden’s right.
Dráiden rose, his thick, velvet clothing rustling with his movement. “Ready my horse, one for my betrothed, and five men. I’ll bring the boy back myself. It was I who put that man in charge of Helenion’s Citadel for the Gifted.”
…
He walked arm in arm with Luthandra along the dimly lit halls of his castle. Darkness had replaced the bright sun which had brought her to him. He hoped she liked the suite he had set aside for her. A fire in a homely fireplace was waiting for her. Her handmaiden, he knew, would be there to bathe her in the warm bath his servants had readied.
He stopped when they came to the rosewood doors of her suite. Whatever artist had carved the thousand flowers in the ancient wood had died eons ago, and some wondered if the person was even Man at all.
He placed his hands onto her shoulders, gently turning her so that he could look at her. Circles weighed her eyes down, and she couldn’t hide the frown on her face with one of her polite smiles. He cupped her chin.
“I know that wasn’t what you expected, my sweet,” he purred. She stiffened and regarded him in silence. The frown on her face twitched, but she said nothing. “You did well today. Your riding skills are commendable, and the way you handled the child when we pulled him from the cave…” he paused. No. That isn’t what is bothering her, and you know it. It seemed that Arel had sheltered his daughter from the bloodier parts of lordship. The fool.
“I’m the one who carried out the sentence, and thus it was me who had to do the final deed.”
“I,” she started, he ran his finger over her cheek. “I know. Never trust a lord who hires and hides behind a masked executioner.” Her town was weary, and he knew that she was tired, but–
He kissed her.
He kissed her hard.
His tongue ruled her mouth while his hands brought her close to his body so that he could feel her soft form against his. Dráiden broke away when he felt her weaken. She is exhausted…leave her be. It took great restraint to let go of her and open the doors to her chamber.
“Goodnight, Luthandra,” he whispered. She bowed her head, her sandy hair hiding her face.
“Goodnight,” she whimpered. “I…fear…I’m…too tired…” He let the heavy door fall shut behind her.
Dráiden headed for his own chambers across the large hall which joined the two master suites. He drifted in a mindless daze until he was standing at his favorite balcony. It was a secluded place. It was his thinking spot…And brooding post. His eyes fell over the garden below.
The moon was a crescent sliver, barely bathing Westridge in any light at all. Still, he could see twinges of its soft glow reflecting off of the water trickling from the fountain. A hooded figure approached it, throwing back its cloak to reveal the face of a handsome elf.
Something within Dráiden’s chest tightened. I hate it when Ciallmhar’s people come waltzing around here as if they own the place. He turned. Though his relationship with the elves was neutral, he couldn’t help but be jealous. Elves were never unsightly. No. I will not ruin such a fine day as this! Closing his eyes, he focused on the day’s events. Finally a woman who won’t shudder at the sight of me or try to overstep her place because I am ugly. He sighed, rubbed his head, and went into his chambers.

All Shiny and Chrome

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I didn’t think it was possible for a movie to completely blow me away and douse me in its flames of awesomeness, but one film recently let me bask in its glory.

Mad Max: Fury Road

Figure A

This one is worth going to the movie theater for. Trust me on this. The stunts, accidents, and flames were all real, as were the unique post-apocalyptic cars themselves. You cannot go wrong with an armada of aggressive cars, all shiny and chrome, especially if you have your own Drum & Metal Corps (please see Figure A and the flame shooting guitar).

The movie doesn’t have a lot of dialogue, but the action sequences are works of art awesome. There isn’t any pointless romance, though there is a budding relationship between two characters. It’s played out in a way that doesn’t pigeonhole any characters for the sake of a “lame” romance. It fits with the flow and story. The two characters involved are not the main characters. I liked how the writers left the main two characters alone in that regard.

The villain’s (Immortan Joe) costume and make-up was amazing….everything in Mad Max: Fury Road was amazing!

I give it infinity flame throwing guitars. This is my highest ever rating!

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain

I hope you enjoyed the first little bit of it! There is more to come!

You are always free to let me know what you think by shooting me an email or sending a comment through the form on the left!

Want to see more of something on this blog? Let me know!

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain: Part 1

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Get your medieval and fantasy fix!

Because every fantasy story needs some sort of map (and as seen in my previous post)…I’ll just leave this here…Click the image to view full size.

Glory, Pride, and the Maiden Vain
by M.L. Crabb
Prologue
I knew the maiden before the downfall she wrought upon herself, before the treachery set itself into her mind, and before she met her betrothed. Many say it was vanity. Some say it was revulsion. Others say it was pride, and few say it was hatred of the elves which spurned her fate.
It was naivety that did her in, and now she is but a song that Westridge children sing in the fields.
See saw,
Tip or fall!
Lord or Elf,
Slay them both.
Maiden Fair,
Dissappear!


I. Luthandra Raikin
A chill settled in the Adaina Mountains, marking the descent of the sun. Where it went, only Night knew. Luthandra Raikin extended a pale hand as her warden, Jeffroy Wynn, helped her out of the carriage. A horse whinnied in the distance. She shivered and wrapped her cloak around her slender form.
“We’ll camp here for the night, Lutha,” he said. Her legs felt hard and stiff from the day’s ride. It had been particularly rough, but traveling through Adaina Pass didn’t have a reputation for being bumpy for nothing. She issued Jeffroy a nod without looking at him.
Servants climbed out of the wagon behind her carriage, and she knew that they’d soon be busy building a fire and clearing the area for the night’s supper.
“I must do a Lady’s bidding,” she said with a half smile. Lady. It would be something she’d have to get used to. Her eighteenth name day was only one month ago, and it was within that same month Lord Dráiden Kaldor of Westridge had made the proposal to her father, Lord Arel Raikin of Bellavis. There were politics involved, secrets, lordly reasons, and a treaty drafted—none of which was of any concern to Luthandra.
She was going to be a Lady. She was going to have her own castle, her own lord husband, and babies. Lots of them. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and she giggled.
“I’m right behind you!” said Braynia, her handmaiden. “You promised you wouldn’t get into trouble without me, and here you are laughing like a whimsy girl of thirteen! What deviousness possesses you?”
“I wish to do my business alone,” she replied. She heard Braynia scuffle her feet in an air of disappointment. Oh, she liked the girl just fine, but sharing a tiny compartment with the same person for days on end would wear down even the most well mannered of women.
She skipped away from the others, humming softly to herself. Images of Lord Dráiden Kaldor filled her mind. What did he look like? She ran her fingers along a tree trunk when she was out of sight, and she slowed her pace to a saunter. Her sandy curls bounced down her back as she tilted her head in her dreamy state.
His first name certainly sounded elvish, and it was no secret that Westridge had dealings with them; after all, a narrow valley was all that lay between Westridge and the ancient elven forest. I bet he has long, smooth ebony hair and skin like honey. Their children would be beautiful, and her first daughter would one day inherit the mysterious stone at Luthandra’s throat.
It was green, and on some nights when the moon was big, it would glow. On instinct, she brought her left hand to it. It was set in a thick brass band that went around her neck. Luthandra ran her index finger over its smooth surface. Sometimes it reminded her of a pearl, and other times it looked like a faint emerald star.
“Lady Luthandra Kaldor,” she announced to the trees. She was a noblewoman to be sure, but the odds of her becoming a bride of one of the nine lords of the realms of Men were slim. There were many noble families, but only nine women at any given time could hold the coveted title of Lady.
A twig snapped to her right. She glanced over her shoulder. A pale face peered at her from one of the trees. Luthandra froze when she noticed its angular features and pointed ears. An elf. Maybe wishing her beloved had elf blood in him was a bad idea. She swallowed, her throat going dry.
The elf leapt out of the tree, landing in front of her on his feet as though he had been standing there all along, silent as a statue. He was nearly a foot taller than she with a muscular form that would have made her blush had she not been so terrified. He wore a shimmering hubric of silver with pants the color of charcoal underneath. A small sword hung from his left hip, and he lifted a hand.
His hair was dark, just like the Dráiden Kaldor of her dreams. He’s not one of Avanduil’s folk. It’s okay. They look like angry forest men in their browns and greens. A wave of relief swept through her form. He was smiling at her. Definately not one of them. Men did not return from the silva forest beyond the greylands, or so the legends told.
“Fair maiden,” he said, his voice like silk. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. In fact, I was not going to reveal myself to you at all until I saw…” he tilted his handsome face and reached his fingers out. “That,” he paused and lowered his hand. “The jewel you wear.”
“Don’t you like it?” She twirled around for him, letting her skirts swish around her ankles. Her gown was made of heavy, traveling fabric, but it was still blue and still pretty. Her beloved had sent it as a gift after the betrothal had been finalized.
“I…do, Maiden,” he drummed his fingers over his chin as though he wasn’t quite sure of how to act. The elf shifted his weight. “I have a proposition for you, and one would be wise to heed the advice of an elf. I’ve seen many turns of Men in my lifetime.” His dark eyes sparkled. I bet Dráiden’s eyes sparkle better.
“Oh, and what sort of proposition do you have?”
“I will take your hand, and you will live out your days in happiness. You will return our dear Celmyra’s Gift, and in return, I will be your husband. I’ll treat you kindly; you’ll have children who’ll enjoy the pleasures of elvendom.”
Marriage!? Was this elf out of his mind!? Did he not know who she was!? Her eyes widened, and Luthandra put her hands to her gaping mouth.
“Kind Sir, who are you to ask such a thing of me? What lands do you hold, and what brought you neigh?” She squared her shoulders. Her father would be proud of her eloquence! She was sure of it.
“I hold no titles. I am a simple swordsmith. You will be happy. You will have all the comforts of home and then some.” He stretched his right hand out to her, his eyes large and welcoming. “You will be treated with the highest respect for returning-“
“I am sorry, but no. I’m on my way to be married to the Lord of Westridge.”
“I know. I’ve seen your convoy and heard your wardens speak of it,” he said, nodding his head with a grim expression on his face. “Disappointment awaits you. Give my people Celmyra’s Gift, and only happiness you shall see.”
Luthandra put her hands to her neck, covering the gem. My family’s prized gem...The elf was after nothing more than treasure! She scowled at him, screwing her pretty face into a twisted scowl.
“Do you think I’m stupid!?” she snapped. “I am to be Lady of Westridge! How do I know you won’t just snatch it away from me and leave me for dead!? Get away from me before I scream and summon my wardens!” The elf backed away, his face unreadable. He uttered a word in a tongue she could not understand and was gone. A leaf trickled down from the tree behind the spot where he had stood, and there was no evidence that he had ever been there, not even a footprint.
He was after her riches! Elves were supposed to be better than that! They were supposed to be wise, gallant even! Were all the wonderful tales of elven princes whisking innocent maidens away lies!? It was no matter. Dráiden was gallant, and Dráiden would protect her. He’d give her all that she could possibly want.
Luthandra picked another place to do her private bidding and headed back to the campsite. Jeffroy was telling Braynia that they only had a day and a half before they’d reach their destination. At that notion, she smiled. Luthandra said nothing of the elf; some things were never meant to be known.
…
The sun blazed overhead in a final attempt to threaten Ithir with one last heatwave before Autumn prevailed over Summer’s end. Luthandra’s convoy inched closer to the gates of Westridge. A trumpet sounded from one of the watchtowers in the distance. Heavy stone dragged against an unseen, hard surface as the massive gates opened. Luthandra plastered her face at the window.
Lord Kaldor’s banners flapped in beautiful blue streams as his men rode out to greet them. Luthandra held her breath. The carriage came to a stop. Another trumpet sounded as drums began to thunder. Lord Kaldor rode out from the gate, his horse a massive black stallion decked in black leather. Silver fire and blue frost marked Lord Kaldor’s cloak, which billowed behind him.
“I can’t take this anymore!” she cried, shoving the door open.
“My lady!” Braynia shrieked. “This is unseemly behavior!”
“I want to meet my beloved!” She jumped out of the carriage, landing squarely on her feet. Lord Kaldor’s horse trotted to a stop, and the man swung himself from his saddle with one, fluid movement. No elf could be that precise! Smiling, she walked towards him, passing his bannermen and their pretty streamers.
He neared her, and it was then that she saw him.
Luthandra stopped, but remembered to curtsey.
Lord Dráiden Kaldor closed the gap between them with three long strides. Oh, he was tall and physically fit in stature all right, but…His face…His skin…It was sallow, almost sickly with about as many ruddy pot marks as there were stars in the sky. His nose was a huge, hooked mess, and he had a stringy blonde mustache that looked greasier than a basted chicken leg.
His brow was adorned with a silver band, but it did little to mask the fact that the man was balding, and what was left of his hair hung in mismatched clumps about his shoulders. His eyes! His eyes were sunken and beady, like tiny buttons sewn into a fabric too thick and coarse for them to be of any use.

“My lady,” he smiled. “It pleases me that you are so eager to meet me,” kindness marked his tone, but Luthandra held her breath. The only thing that smelled worse than Lord Kaldor’s mouth was the rotting cow her caravan had passed along Alpine Road two days into their journey.