The Rider of Eluiyin

[Le Pistolet]

Recently I've been toying between the idea of going for a generic combined arms approach to an army, or doing a themed army based around an all mounted Ellyrian cavalry force. Being a stickler for theme, I am inclined to do the latter, even if it may mean sacrificing some of what make the High Elves great. Thus, to make me feel better about this choice, I have decided to indulge in the theme slightly, to make me enjoy it even more. Hopefully the more I write, the more I'll be willing to let go of some of the shiny things, in favour of an army of badass horsemen from the Ellyrian plains.

Without further ado, here is the first chapter of my army fluff, The Rider of Eluiyin.

Chapter I

Sethanya tore across the rippling sea of grass that lay before her. Sadul’s powerful legs pulsed and flexed as they carried her with ease, weaving in and out of the rocky outcrops that marked this regions like islands. Sadul knew this land as well as she did. She didn’t have to kick, or even make any movement whatsoever. Such was their bone, she just knew.

In the distance, she could see Highhall. The looming rockface on which it stood jutted out of the ground like a mountain. It was the tallest object for miles around, and no one could miss it. Above the dark grey of the sheer rock stood the glimmering towers of her ancestral home. She remembered the years she spent there as a child, looking down on the rolling plains hoping to be set free to roam the grassland. Her father had had other ideas, and had tried to raise her as a noble lady, but she had defied him. He had never forgiven her for that, but could not deny she had started on a better path.

Sadul snorted gently as if he could read her mind. She patted his warm flank and he snorted again in recognition. She thought back to the first day the two had met. It was the same day her father realised she was not like the other girls. When she had mounted the fine grey mare, in the ceremony all men and women of Ellyrion go through, they had connected in such a way that even the most experienced lords knew something was different. Every rider in Ellryion shares an innate bond, but theirs was unique.

Soon enough, Sethanya and Sadul were at the foot of the enormous crag. At its base were the large paddocks, the first civilisation Sethanya had seen in several days. The stables were built into the foot of the rock, hewn from the stone to keep the horses safe in dire times. These lands were ripe for rustling, and their dark cousins longed for Ellyrian steeds.

However, these stables were for the lesser riders. Sadul’s place was in the Great Stable with his brothers and sisters. They had all been bred for Sethanya and her family for generations, and they received the finest care any horse could ever hope to receive. Although there were servants and hands to help with this, whenever Sethanya returned home, she personally saw to Sadul’s care. She couldn’t bear to be without him for too long.

Rider and horse galloped up the winding path to Highhall and were soon there. The wind up here was phenomenal, and blew Sethanya’s hair and Sadul’s mane wildly. The wind was what Eluiyin was famous for. Channeled down from the mountains above, the wind ripped through the valley and across the plains, making the grass rustle and sound like the sea. It was said if you blindfolded an elf from Lothern and brought him to Eluiyin, he would believe he had never left his home.

As they climbed, Sethanya heard a screech carried on the wind. In the distance she looked, with her keen eyes, and saw the outline of a Great Eagle circling the mountains to the north. In Eluiyin, the eagles were great omens, and she was sure this meant the Gods had brought her back to her homeland for a reason.

Finally, they pulled up to Highhall. The crisp marble towers rose overhead, majestic and perfect. They were millennia old, put there by the first Horselord of Highhall. She had forgotten her ancestors name however, she was never very good at academia; she had always wanted to nothing but ride. Sadul’s hooves cracked against the cobbled floor, rapping gently as he slowed to a halt before the Great Stable. Ahead of them was the welcome party. News travelled fast at Highhall.

“Sethanya. You’re finally home!”

Her mother ran towards her, arms open wide. With a swift jump, Sethanya dismounted her steed, petting her gently as a servant let her to the stable. After tending to her steed, she finally turned to reciprocate her mother’s gesture, embracing her like a daughter should.

“I’ve missed you so much my dear. You have so much to tell me!”

“Indeed I do mother. Indeed I do.”

“It can wait. You must say hello to your father.”

She turned to her father. He was always more reserved than her mother. He stood their silently, watching the display of love with a stern look on his face. Every time she saw him, he seemed to age more and become more grim. The years took their toll, and the constant raids could not have helped.

“Hello father.” She offered, moving towards him arms outstretched.

“Good to see you my daughter.” He nodded, keeping his arms folded, forcing Sethanya to awkwardly stumble forwards.

Seeing her awkward gestures, her brother Senluin moved to her rescue, arms outstretched for an embrace. She quickly turned into his arms.

“Sister, my dear sweet sister, my riders have been telling me many tales of your deeds! I would love to hear if they are true! Few believed such things were possible, especially not possible for a girl!”

Senluin always berated her for her gender, but she knew deep down he respected her, and was perhaps even slightly jealous. Being the only son and heir, and Warden of the Westerlands as well, he never had the time she had to be free on the plains and to hone her skills. She could tell that like her, he longed to be on the open grass sea again.

Her mother grabbed her by the arm, and they intertwined.

“Come Sethanya. I had the servants draw you a bath, and then your father has laid on a great feast in light of your return. We have much to discuss!”

She led her into the main hall of Highhall, through the great ivory door, carved with the deeds of their ancestors, and two enormous carvings of an Eagle and a rearing stallion, the two symbols of her family. It had been months since she had last seen them, but they always brought her a mixed feeling of comfort, but also claustrophobia. Whenever she saw them it mean dresses, banquets, politics and etiquette, not freedom, tranquillity and the vast open plain. Nevertheless, it was home, and she was finally back.