Arn of Däle: The Golden Sceptre

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  • Publiceret: 15 aug. 2014
  • Opdateret: 15 aug. 2014
  • Status: Færdig
The story is about an elf named Arn. He lives in a grove with his ''tribe''. This tribe is to protect Galadriels magic sceptre, which has great powers. The sceptre is one day stolen by some evil dark-elves, and Arn sets out to retrieve it.

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1. Arn of Däle: the Magic Sceptre

In the land of Elen’thal, the land of the elves, lies a very peaceful grove in the middle of the forest Däle.  Here lived around 60 elves; of who 30 was grown men and the rest were women and children. They lived a peaceful life. The purpose of their whole existence was to protect the holy relic of Galädriel, the elven goddess.  The relic was a golden sceptre. The sceptre had magnificent powers, and it was with the power of the sceptre, Galädriel had created their beautiful grove in the forest. She created an oval-shaped river with a bridge in each end, and made the trees in the grove very fertile. On the trees there grew all sorts of wonderful and exotic fruit, and even the leaves tasted wonderful. She gave the elf-tribe the opportunity to live in this wonderful grove if they swore to protect the sceptre, for it had very great devastating powers. If the sceptre would ever end in the hands of evil men, they would use it to eradicate life, as they knew it. For this task she cast a spell on the elf-prince: Arn of Dale. Arn was the best fighter the elves had ever seen, and he had the sight of an eagle. This was not enough security for Galädriel, so she enhanced his strength, bow shooting ability and finally she made him able to sneak soundless through the darkness like a shadow in the night. With these abilities came great responsibility, and Arn promised to keep the grove safe with his life.

One evening Arn and his long-haired and beautiful wife and little light haired kid were sitting at the dinner table in their little hut. The hut was only one cosy little room with a fireplace, a table and a big bed. As they were eating, Arn’s son asked him: ‘’Father, is it true that the evil men want to steal the sceptre?’’ Arn answered with a little grin: ‘’Son, if they really do, I promise you I’ll deny them the opportunity’’, and winked at his son, who looked to be cheered up by that cheeky answer. ‘’Well, I better get going, I’ve got the night watch with Anduíl tonight!’’ Arn said, gave his son a hug and his wife a kiss. As he was walking down the road to the northern bridge, he waved to some of his friends walking home from the previous bridge-watch. At the northern bridge he met Anduíl. Anduíl was one of Arn’s very dear friends, and they had had many good times. So the night watch began. As it became very late, they were beginning to feel a bit cold. It was a very silent night, and they couldn’t see very far. Suddenly Arn heard a cracking noise from a tree a couple meters away. ‘’Did you hear that Anduíl?’’ he asked. ‘’No, I heard nothing, but you’re the one with the sharpest senses. Let’s see what it is.’’ They drew their swords and walked slowly over towards the tree from where the sound came. When they were getting close enough to the tree, Arn heard the sound of a bow getting tightened, and he yelled ‘’GET DOWN!’’ The arrow whistled through the air, and stroke Anduíl in the thigh. Anduíl roared as he went to the ground. From the tree above him there sounded a loud crack, and Arn turned around while swinging his sword above him, almost like a reflex. The sword slashed the shadow-looking person that had jumped from the tree and he fell to the ground with a dull sound. The person kept lying there while blood was dying the earth red around the body. Arn turned to Anduíl who was still laying and holding his knee in pain, but Arn knew he couldn’t remove focus from the battle yet, for there was still at least one enemy left. He signalled Anduíl to be quiet and crouched. He was listening very careful and squeezed his eyes together looking in the direction of the arrow. There were so quiet, that you could have heard a needle drop to the ground. Suddenly he saw a glint of metal over by the forest. He threw himself to the ground, and the arrow, which was fired, flew over his head. He slipped into the shadow of a tree, and he knew he was almost invisible in the shadows. He slowly sneaked through the shadows towards the place he had seen the arrow fly from. As he got near the spot, he climbed soundlessly up in a tree. He proceeded to jump silently to the next tree, and so he kept on, for he knew he could see well from up in the trees. As he reached the fifth tree, he suddenly spotted a man dressed in black crouching directly below him. He slowly drew his sharp knife. He took a deep breath and jumped. He pointed the knife straight at the person’s neck on the way down, and stabbed it deep in. The person gave a rattling sound while kneeling down. Arn looked at his face. It was surely a dark-elf…

Back in the camp Arn saw to his joy, that Anduíl had been taken care of, and was talking to some of the other elf-warriors of the grove. The smile on his face faded as he saw their grave faces. They told him that the golden sceptre had been taken in the night, and urged him to retrieve it. Arn was very curious, because the last of the evil dark-elves was killed many years ago. He had even been in the great battle, where the last dark-elf was slayed. The other warriors told him, that the elders would speak to him about that matter.

In the holy house, where the sceptre normally was, the elders awaited him. They looked very serious, and they asked him to listen carefully. ‘’We have a plan for you, Arn of Däle. We want you to retrieve the sceptre before anything bad happens. As you know, the sceptre must channel it’s powers for at least 4 whole days.’’ ‘’What about the dark-elves, where do they come from?’’ Arn interrupted. ‘’The man, who has the sceptre, is a necromancer. He has brought the dark-elves back to life, to steal the sceptre. You have to do this, or else all life will be eradicated from Elen’thal. Luckily you can kill them as if they were normal dark elves’’

With these words Arn drew out to retrieve the sceptre. He had been told, that the necromancer lived in a small castle just out of the forest. He was travelling on foot, and he had brought his two best knives and his sword. It was the finest blades the elves were able to make, and it could cut through an armour plate like a knife through butter. On the second day of travelling he could see the castle, so he stood of his horse, and knew it would wait for him. He climbed a tree, and waited for it to get dark, so he could sneak in. When he found it dark enough for him to move unseen, he would climb over the wall and into the fortress. He could see that it would be impossible to jump to the castle wall from his tree, because it was around 4 meters away, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to make the jump. Clever as he was, he had brought a grappling hook, and he used it to climb over the wall unseen in the darkness. When he got over the wall, and jumped the 3 meters down, he landed silently as a whisper in the wind. He was extremely good at jumping from tall places because of his strength, so it wasn’t a problem. He looked around in the castle yard. It was empty. There only stood a wagon with some hay in it, and then there was the main building. It had to be at least 3 stories tall. Suddenly the door went up, and he jumped into the haystack and laid completely still. The two dark-elves were walking towards the wagon, and he knew he had to do something, so they wouldn’t discover him. He drew his knives, and waited in silence. As they were just in front of him, he drove a knife into each of their necks. They fell to the ground in silence, and Arn dragged them into the haystack to hide them from enemies to see. He crept into the house and walked slowly down the hallway inside. At the end there were some circular stairs, which he climbed. He was informed that the necromancer lived at the top of the building, so he snuck all the way up.

At the top there was a dark elf, who was watching the stairs, but Arn was creeping in the shadow, so the dark-elf didn’t see him before it was too late. He sliced his throat open with his knife and opened the door, with a creaking sound. As he entered the room, he saw the necromancer sitting in his chair. Suddenly the chair turned and the necromancer looked him straight in the eyes. Arn was crippled, and he could feel his heart beating faster. The necromancer got up, and drew his great broadsword. Arn knew, that the sceptre was not ready for action, so he didn’t have to fear any great fireballs or other magic spells coming at him. He drew his own sword and charged at the necromancer with an echoing war cry. He swung at the necromancer’s head, but the necromancer dodged, and was able to slice Arn in the side. Arn could feel his anger build, and he took up one of his knives and threw it directly at the necromancers face. The necromancer didn’t manage to dodge it this time, and the blade went deep into his eye. He let out a roar, and fell to his knees. Arn approached him and said: ‘‘this one is for Anduíl!’’ With these words he swung his sword against the necromancers head, and sliced it from the body. It rolled over the floor, and the necromancer’s days were over. Arn went home to the grove with the holy sceptre, and was praised as a hero. The elves decided to give Arn a name day, which meant that they were to hold a great party every year on this day, and they started the very same day.

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