Stories and Histories
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Please note that the numbers on the map correspond to the numbered tales
below. Click on the number to go to the corresponding tale.
Follow the life of Lord Imrahil and learn how he became the
general he is today!
Stories by Tim Wickstrom
Many Bretonnian lords and barons notice that Imrahil is not a very traditional name, but the reason why one of the most influential lords to come about since the King himself remains a mystery. Even Imrahil's close friends are not entirely certain of his ancestry. Many suspect his father was hit too many times in battle before he named his only son.
Imrahil's heritage is actually half-elven. His father was a devoted Knight of the Realm who never failed to safeguard his realm just south of the beautiful city of Quenelles. His name was Gerard Frontenac. During his errantry Gerard went to the forest of Athel Loren where he met his wife to be, a wood elf maiden by the name of Lileux. Despite the alliance between the Bretonnians and the Wood elves, marriage between the two races was generally frowned upon. However, Gerard took Lileux back with him to his realm and they were wed.
The two lived in relative peace and one day a son was born to them. On that day Lileux insisted that the boy be named Imrahil, which meant strength in her tongue. Gerard was loathe to give his only son (for now) an elvish name but agreed since he asked Lileux to give up so much to return home with him. The family was content, and Imrahil promised to be a great man some day. The child was fortunate for he seemed to show no outward sign of being half Wood elf. He was accepted among the Bretonnians.
Imrahil grew to be a strong and noble lad. He was much like his father in appearance and mannerisms, although his judgment was tempered by his mother's blood. The elf in him saw that violence was a means to an end, but not an end unto itself. Thus he could focus on more spiritual issues and he began to have dreams of the grail and the Lady of the Lake. He spoke to his father of this and he was greatly amazed that the Lady would seek a child of only 13 years.
It was at this time in Imrahil's life that his mother was slain
by a group of renegade orcs. Her heart yearned for the forest once more and
Gerard thought it best that she return to her own people for a while. But the
orcs slew her and her guards while traveling to Athel Loren. Upon hearing of
this atrocity Imrahil immediately swore to avenge her mother's death and save
his family's honour. This then was the beginning of Imrahil's errantry of
knighthood.
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News of his mother's death released a fury in Imrahil that he hardly knew he contained. He solemnly vowed to slay the vile creatures who dared to murder his beloved mother and to damage his family's honour. Imrahil's father, Gerard, agreed and gave his son of 13 years a young and spirited colt named Maeros, and arms worthy of a knight errant. A great funeral was held for the lovely Lady Lileux, and all in the realm of Gerard's castle mourned over the loss.
So began Imrahil's quest for vengeance. He was not to return until the orcs were dead as stone. Imrahil decided that the only thing he could at this moment is to try and pick up the trail of the orc raiders. Nasty tempered, green skinned brutes riding large, hairy and even nastier tempered boars would certainly attract attention. So he headed east, asking any peasants he came across whether they had any news of the raiders. It was generally rumoured that they disappeared into the forest of Athel Loren. During his inquiries he finally learned the name of the leader of the orc mob from a wizened old man.
"'Tis Gorbag the Foul who slew the dear Lady Lileux. I grieve for her death and hope it does not bring about the death of her son," crowed the old man.
"Thank you, old man, for your wisdom. But it is Gorbag who will find himself in the Abyss before long. The Lady shall protect me, since my cause is just and honorable," replied the fiery Imrahil.
"Perhaps, but do not underestimate the power of this creature. He was able to kill your mother, and she was a powerful sorceress!" said the old man.
Imrahil said nothing. This revelation made him wonder about the old man, but more pressing matters were at hand. Maeros snorted with impatience, seeming to sense Imrahil's tension and fury. He spurred his horse onward and left the old man to lean on his cane.
Day was drawing to a close. The shadows of the massive trees of Athel Loren lengthened and the forest looked especially foreboding and dangerous. Imrahil stopped to look back west. He thought he could see the spire of his father's castle glinting in the light of the setting sun. His vow strengthened in his heart and he promised himself that nothing would stop him from fulfilling his oath. Gorbag would meet his doom at the hands of Imrahil. The young knight turned away from his home. He looked at the young colt standing beside him. He was a fine horse, his white coat shining golden in the sunset. Maeros returned the look and stared into Imrahil's eyes with an uncanny intelligence. Imrahil prepared his camp and went to sleep with the sound of the breeze in the trees of Athel Loren.
Morning came and Imrahil prepared for departure. Secretly he had been dreading entering the homeland of his mother. Even though he had elven blood coursing through his body, he wondered if the wood elves would allow him to pass unhindered. Slowly Imrahil entered the enveloping darkness of the trees.
There was no path to follow but Imrahil tried his best to maintain a straight line west until he hit the foot hills of the Grey mountains. If he found nothing, he would backtrack following the southern range of mountains. Perhaps the orcs had entered the forest to escape by some hidden mountain pass. Days passed but Imrahil found nothing. It was surprisingly difficult to find anything edible within the forest and his supplies were running low. He had not encountered any of Athel Loren's guardians yet, but the ominous feeling that permeated the forest was beginning to phase the young knight's resolve.
After a particularly miserable day of traveling Imrahil's dreams were troubled while he slept. He could see his mother, in all her beauty riding in a green field. She was smiling and was enjoying the warm sun of a Bretonnian summer. But the sky turned dark now, and harsh voices were screaming and shouting from a distance. Imrahil could not see who or what was making the noise. Suddenly overcome by large, brutish creatures Imrahil's mother fell and disappeared from sight. Imrahil tried to scream out but he had no voice. He could not move either, frozen in horror at the sight before him. One especially large and evil looking creature rose and approached the young boy. Imrahil reached for his sword only to find it gone. The orc, which Imrahil was sure the creature was, took a long, wicked looking scimitar out and made a move to remove Imrahil's head in one fell swing. But the sword never fell. When Imrahil dared to look again he saw the orc stumbling back, blinded by a powerful light.
Imrahil awoke with a start, covered in beads of sweat. Rays of the morning sun peaked through the boughs of the forest and Imrahil sat for a long while pondering the meaning of his dream. Despite being almost out of food Imrahil decided to continue on his quest. He had faith that the Lady would reveal his enemy to him soon. The dream was to prepare him for this day. Fully armed and armoured, Imrahil continued eastward.
Midday came. The quiet of the forest which Imrahil had grown accustomed to was interrupted by the furious sounds of a fight. Imrahil drew his sword and rode forth. Soon he heard the awful squealing of a beast in its death throes. He guessed this to be a boar of some sort, recalling his hunting ventures with his father. Imrahil wasted no time. He charged forward, unleashing as best a war cry as a 13 year old boy could.
Maeros ran full tilt into the brush ahead of them and suddenly
before him and his rider was an orc stooped over the carcass of a boar. Imrahil
took a mighty swing at the orc but slashed only the air. Imrahil pulled up on
the reins of his horse and turned about. There stood the orc grasping a black
scimitar. The creature said nothing but eyed Imrahil cautiously. The yellow eyes
burned into Imrahil's gray ones and the orc suddenly let out his own war cry,
more fearsome and terrible than anything the young knight had imagined. The
orc's powerful and muscular legs carried him forward at an inhuman speed and
bore down on the knight. Imrahil raised his shield just in time to block the
blow. Such was the force of the swing that Imrahil was knocked off Maeros and
lay prone on the ground before the orc. Again the orc raised his sword and swung
down upon Imrahil with terrifying strength. The blow was parried once more but
Imrahil felt something give way in his arm. He fought to contain the cry of pain
that resulted and rolled away from his adversary. The orc again stood in place,
feet apart and the yellow eyes never letting go of Imrahil's. The knight's left
arm hung useless at his side. The sword which was given to him by his father was
poised, ready to strike. Imrahil's stared back at the orc and set his face in a
look of grim determination. The orc once again charged but this time Imrahil was
faster to react. The orc raised his sword high as he charged toward Imrahil but
the foul creature never got the chance to bring it down. Just as the orc was
about to bear down once again on the knight, Imrahil lunged forward and forced
his sword into the orc's chest. The sword pierced the hide of the orc and
continued through the other side due to the orc's momentum. Imrahil resolutely
held onto the hilt of his sword and let the orc fall. Foul, black blood poured
out from the wound and the orc let out an almost human sigh as it died. The
yellow eyes stared into space. Imrahil collapsed, sitting beside his fallen foe.
The pain from his arm was overcoming him, and Imrahil was in danger of losing consciousness.
Before the world turned dark Imrahil thought he could hear the voices of
elves...
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