3. Alexander Redfalcon - A child in Narfell

Alexander Redfalcon - A child in Narfell


  • AGE 3

    Alexander Redfalcon clutched his toy dragon tighter to his chest and stared down the goblin staring up at him. At least he though it was staring at him, for its head was wobble a little in the mud. He looked at the green water seeping out of its body that lay five feet away.

    He had seen creatures such as goblins before he thought, though never quite this close, it had an odd nose and a daft expression, and reminded him of a small yellow bear, though bears did not have fangs such as this, nor did their head wobble. Bears was big, nearly as big as mother and had brown fur, so this was defiantly not a bear. It looked more like a kobold, he knew what a kobold was because they were rude, peed in the waters so people could not bathe and made funny hizzing sounds.

    Mother had taken him sledding on the hills North of Peltarch and they once came and interrupted the game, but this was no kobolds, they were grey and had scales, but same nose and same daft expression, specially when their heads were wobbling in the mud.

    He would have been a bit afraid, if mother wasn't with him. He knew he was safe with mother, she said he was the bravest little warrior she knew, but still he was a bit afraid. He put his toy dragon paw in his mouth. Mother was calling him over and he walked slowly toward her, he wanted to run but didn't want her to think he was afraid, not of wobbly heads, that would be a silly thing to be afraid of, though the goblin had looked scary.

    Mother was yelling at a halforc towering over her, he was at least as large as a bear he thought, if not taller. How she could dare to talk at somebody that big Alexander mused, suckling on his dragon. Mother had to be brave. The halforc was picking his nose, mother didn't like it when Alexender picked his nose, he bet it was why she was yelling at him. Waving her arms she was pointing at the goblins and him, he wonder if he had done something wrong. He was certainly not picking his nose today, perhaps the goblin did, though it would be hard to pick your nose when your body was five feet away.


  • Blood - age 6

    The floorboard felt cold to the touch. Six year old Alexander curled his toes inward, and sat hunched forward on the side of the bed as Gildor bustled around him with breakfast.
    "Get some socks on if your cold, there are some in the drawer" She instructed, lifting a small sot-black pot and setting it on the table.
    She was brewing some tea over by the lit fireplace that was giving of more light then warmth at this hour. Alexander pulled on the wooly jumper, scratching his irritated throat and staggered over to the drawer.
    "Where are we going" he said under a yawn.
    "I'll show you in a minute, just get something to eat first, and we will head out."
    He hated oatmeal, it was plane, soggy and each day the same, still she insisted on him finish it
    "Eat up, it's good for you" She said, putting a canister of herbs on top of the mantelpiece and joining him at the table.

    He didn't remember last time he had been up this early, Peltarch was almost completely desolate with barely a single person in sight. It was not quite lit, but not fully dark anymore, it was as if the sun had just began to rise over the roof tiles and left this airy greying light over the quiet city. It was freezing, frost lay as thin icing over the grass tufts and cobblestones, and his breath appeared as white damp from his cold lips.
    "Dragon breath"
    He would have found it amusing hadn't he been so incredibly sleepy, and frozen to the bone. He held Gildor's hand and followed her obediently as they turned the street corner and staggered past the "Commons". Even the guard who usually stood attentively and erect by the large gate, had a slump curve in their shoulders and seemed to barely acknowledge them as they moved past.

    Ahead lay the mountains of Giantspire, stretching as a long spine toward the great glacier, sun lit up the highest top with a golden light, but down where he stood it was still dawning. He had never been further North then the rolling kobold hills, he loved playing along the icelace collecting shells and picking pebbles which he decorated the windowsill at home. But this was not where they were heading, Gildor followed him up a long slope until they could view the whole of the kobold valley. The wind had picked up, and was tugging gently at his jumper, blowing red hair across his face.

    There was an old ruin wall ahead where she crouched behind, bringing him down with her. She studied his face for a moment with a look of uncertainty and thought, stroking his chubby cheek before speaking for the first time since leaving their door.
    "I have something for you" Her voice was a whisper.
    From behind her back she removed a maple-short bow about the same size and length as him and presented it. He stood for a moment admiring it, holding it with a wide eyed expression. One of Gildor's most precious belongings was a bow she had taken from a Goblin king, he knew the tale well and was not allowed to play with it. It leaned against the far wall, and she oiled and tended to it regularly, going on to great details about how to best preserving your weapons. "This is what will grant you a long life" she had explained, and now he had one of his own, though not quite as fancy.
    She watched the boys lit up expression with a warm smile, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
    "Want to give it a try?"
    It wouldn't be the first time he had fired off an arrow, his aim was unsteady, but he managed to hit the target which he was mighty proud off. Still why she had brought him all the way out here puzzled him, and at this hour? Could they not have gone to "Blades and Bows" as they usually did? She slowly rose back at her feet and peeked over the wall, she stood still for a moment before crouching back down with a serious look.
    "I want you to listen to me well, do exactly what I say, promise?"
    He nodded.
    "Rise up slowly, and look over the wall"
    He did as she had told him, he crawled up from the wet grass and peered over the rocks. Down in the small valley beneath was a large grassy meadow stretching toward some distant slopes. There was movement, something grey and scaly was standing between the tallish grass, its pointy snout sniffing the air while its red alert eyes scanned its surroundings.
    "There is something down there" Alexander said excitedly nearly forgetting himself and pointing.
    Gildor grabbed his tunic and pulled him roughly down telling him hysh
    "Yes, I know.. it is called Kobold, that is a Runt" She explained him.
    She removed an arrow from her quiver and lined it up with his bow. This time she rose with him, oh so carefully they both peeked over the small ruin wall.
    "Remember what I taught you?"
    She corrected his fingers so that he was pulling the string back with his index and middle finger, while steadily holding the arrow in place with his thumb.
    "You don't have to pull it far, just keep it steady, see that? do you see it between the tall grass? Good, now try to aim for it"
    Alexander felt his mothers breath as she leaned over him, helping him steady the bow.
    "Don't let go before I say so" she whispered hotly in his ear.
    He swallowed, the thing was moving, sniffing and searching its territory, he could see a pointed tail wiggle behind it as it reached down to pick something up, before returning to its pacing.
    "So very still now" he listened to her words
    "You are one with your bow. The wind you can feel, hear, it is your aid, it will carry the arrow. Stretch out with your mind, can you touch the kobold? Can you feel its scales? It is warm to the touch, soft even, can you feel it? The arrow is an extension of you, you know where the arrow will strike, you can see it in your mind, you can reach over and touch the very spot, aim for it's head, yes.. steady now, keep it still, don't have to pull it that far, that's good… still... still... let go.. NOW! FIRE!"

    The arrow flew through the air and struck, Alexander shut his eyes but slowly opened them as a pained hissing noise pierced the air.
    "You did it!" his mother shouted excitedly taking him by the hand and rushing hastily down the slope.
    He followed, still startled and confused by it all, but approached the crying creature. There it was, lying on its back with the arrow pierced in to its left leg. It was alive, but no longer mobile. The Kobold's violent eyes peering desperately up at them, still crying out in pain as if calling for aid. He felt his mothers hand on his back, he was pushed toward it.
    "Get your knife out" She instructed
    "It still lives"
    Alexander looked down upon the Kobold that was breathing heavy, its rusty dagger laying a few feet away and out of its reach.
    "Go on, finish it now, before the other hear it crying"
    Alexander stood there.
    "Kill it.. KILL IT" Gildor growled angrily.
    He clutched his knife, looking bewildered from the wounded creature to his mother. It seemed it was more prepared to flee then attack back, and this made him hesitant.
    "See it's throat? stab it do it now.."
    He felt uncertainty, nervous, he didn't want to strike at the Kobold, it seemed helpless, crying out in pain, its moan growing louder every moment.
    "Hurry! Go on kill it now!" she shouted, taking his shoulder roughly and pushed him even closer.
    "STAB IT!" Her shout was mixed with anger and a hint of madness.
    He didn't know if it was the moment, or the fear that drove him, but with both hands he struck the kobold in the chest, burring the dagger once in to its lungs before leaving it and stumbling back.
    It was still crying.
    Gildor yanked the bloodstained knife out of its body and handed it back to him.
    "Again, it is still alive, now finish it!"
    He moved over, and this time stabbed again, then repeated it, and then a final time until the thing grew limp and its cries silenced.
    He stood there, blood splattered over his tunic and face, his hand stained red.
    "Congratulation my love" Gildor kissed his cheek and hugged him tight.
    Alexander just stood there.
    "Let us go back and celebrate"
    The sun had risen in to the sky, he took his mothers hand and wandered back to the city, the bloodstained knife lay loose in his grip the new bow strapped to his back.

    (updating and sticking things in one thread)


  • 5 years old

    There was things hidden within the dark that Alexander could not see.

    He wasn't quite certain what it was; occasionally late at night, he would lie on his side when pretending to sleep and peer across the small open room that worked as a bedchamber, living space and kitchen combined. There was no light except the dying ember of the fire, and a silvery shadow cast from the windowsill.

    His mother was just movement, barely visible, pressed up against some far wall, believing herself unobserved. She twitched peering left and right as if watching something dart about the room, occasionally her hand reached for her dagger, half drawing it as she observed the "thing" slithering along the bookshelf and curl up in a distant corner.

    Alexander had never been able to see it, but by the actions of his mother, it was clearly there, and it frightened her in a manner, that he never desired see his mom. Where it went or if it still dwelled there he didn't know, but after some time Gildor usually slunk up on the floor and curled up tightly, tucking her knees to her chest. Sometimes rocking, sometimes weeping, sometimes shaking, or sitting dead still, she would speak to herself, utter incoherent nonsense, or short phrases that fell out of context.

    "..it washes easier from the blade than the hands" she mumbled, picking at her skin, turning her hand over. "we can still see the eyes, why do we always look in to their eyes.. we will not let it feed on us.. no more, it will feed us no more.. they will not win, we will not allow it, we will not become like them.. why do they want us.. why do they feed ..enough, so tired ..so very very tired ..we must rest now"


  • Lord Arar RedFalcon

    Two and a half year it had been since Alexander had last seen his father. He had back then only referred to him as the "red man" and he thought him no different then any other person that regularly visited his elven mother.

    Upon his last visit, Gildor had been cleaning the cutlery when he had appeared as out mid air and stood suddenly behind her. Though good as her ears was, no doors or windows had been opened to her knowledge, nor had she heard him approaching. The soapy ceramic mug in her hand slipped out of her nimble fingers and bounced twice against the oak floorboards before laying wobbling at his feet.

    Lord Arar RedFalcon was a man of exquisite taste. Heavy robes of expensive fabrics, fashioned with elaborate buttons of fine metal, draped his tall and slender form. Red and black as was his house colours, and in comparison, barefooted Gildor in her baggy tunic and dirty dish wash towel looked rather plain.

    She stood tense peering up at him with an odd expression, rarely seen on her face. It was an odd mixture of vulnerability, and awe, a glint of a meeker side of her usually hidden behind a confident smirk, and distrusting eyes.

    He removed his helm to reveal a modest smile, playing on his cold features framed by long red hair that reached him to about his shoulders, and cold brown eyes resting under level brows. She didn't move as if she was frightened to startle him, and he reached out to removed the towel from her fingers, holding her hands between his. For a moment they just looked at each others. His skin was freezing, as touching by ice but she had become well accustom to it, and knew that within time room temperature and physical contact used to bring some warmth to him. He bent down and traced a kiss upon her lips, she accepted and leaned in on it, rising on to her toes.

    A giggle escaped the corner where Alexander was assaulting a small village with a tin dragon figurine. Gildor broke the kiss and awkward turned away embarrassed, smiling toward her son before folding the towel and attempting to appear busy.

    "You are all well I hope?" He asked, undoing the silver-pin beneath his chin and draping a heavy black cloak over a nearby chair, making himself at home.

    "Uh-hu" Was her simple reply, and she cursed herself for not coming up with something more clever. He nodded his head twice before strolling over to his son, crouching near his make-do village built up by books and various wooden blocks.

    Alexander didn't recognize the man as "father" but knew him well enough to not grow embarrassed, and shy, when approached.

    "What do you have here" he asked, picking up a wooden pitfiend. Alexander moved the dragon through the air, making weak roaring sounds as it dove down upon an unexpected tin soldier, hitting it thrice.

    "Ah, Pitfiend, perhaps one of the Dark Eight?" He asked his son quizzical. "Mighty devils that helped Asmodeus win the day during the Reckoning, with each of The Dark Eight in charge of a particular aspect of the Blood War"

    Another crash and a ceramic mug lay shattered near the kitchen table.

    Arar looked from the broken cup up to pallid Gildor with a twisted grin.
    "We do not speak that name within these walls" she half sneered, cutting herself on a glass as she bent down to pick up the pieces.

    He sat in silence for a moment observing her with a cold expression, before moving to where she stood with a polite smile. "very well" was his calm reply, pulling the bleeding finger that Gildor was suckling at away from her lips and running his cold hands across it, closing the wound with a simple touch.

    Nervous, for reasons Gildor couldn't identify she looked down upon her son that had grasped nothing of the conversation, and began to fidgets with the corner of her tunic. "W.. why don't we just go to bed.. it.. is getting late"

    He smiled and nodded his head, moving over to pick his boy up.

    "Very well"


  • Age 4 - "there are only 3 things worth knowing about your enemy"

    Gildor lit the candle at Alexanders side, and sat upon his bedside, stroking his hair tenderly. He wasn't particularly sleepy yet, nor was he fully awake, but dwelling in a half dazed existed between this and the dream plane. Gildor's face grew serious and her almond shaped eyes drifted toward the blue light that was cast through the nearby window and made puddles on the floor.

    "you are growing so quickly"

    she said in an elven tone that seemed almost saddened by the fact. She leaned down to her left boot and pulled out a five inch long blade, that lay comfortable between her nimble fingers.

    "I should start to teach you how to use this properly, get you one to replace that wooden blade of yours."

    Alexander reached out to touch it but she deftly flicked the blade away from his grasping hand and shoved it back under the leather of her boot.

    "Anybody can hold a knife Alexander, but before we start I want you to know how to dominate it. To fight with finesse is an unappreciated art form, people look with admiration upon the warrior who swings his blade or axe above his head as if it was nothing but a piece of wood that with the right strength, no matter where they strike the enemy, they are destined to do a damaging blow. But a finesse fighter, know the enemies weakness, and with next to no armour dodges each blow, light on his feet like dancing and strike where the blade will would do harm the most. Knowing your enemy is half the battle."

    She kissed the forehead of the four-year old and pulled his blanket up to his chin.

    _"There are only three rules you must always keep in mind when you meet a possible enemy;

    If it think, it can be fooled.
    If it feel, it has weaknesses.
    If it bleed, it can die.

    everything else is irrelevant. Good night my son, Corellon Larethian protect you."_


  • Alexander woke up in a start, glancing franticly about the room. Alone, the wall of warmth that usually lay curled up beside him was gone and it was just him and the darkness. He began to cry. He didn't like the dark, there was things hiding in the shadows, for he could see how the light casting from a nearby window, distorted the items around him to look vicious and alive. No, they were alive, breathing, watching him from each shadow, with their sparkle eyes and glistening fangs. He was certain that something moved beneath the table, and he hugged Pokey his patchquilt dragon closer to his little chest. His cries grew louder, and he sat there, weeping, tears rolling down his puffy cheeks.

    The door burst open and a figure moved rapidly across the floorboard, grabbing him. He let out a yelp at first, but at the familiar smell, warmth, touch, he quickly stilled and crawled closer to the form. It was mother, she held his head to her bust stroking him tenderly, whispering hyshed whispers hotly in his ear. He quiet down a bit, but still cried, feeling angered to have awoken alone, and abounded. She slipped her cold body under the covers of the blanket and lay there with him, as he slowly relaxed against her leather armor.

    He didn't notice at first, perhaps she didn't neither, but his cheek was no longer only wet by tears, she had smudged something across his skin. As her hand retracted, he could see the dark coloured liquid against her flesh, and in a sniffle he slapped her hand saying "dwirt". She looked at her fingers, and sat up in the bed, shaking her head. "blood" she corrected him. "you will get used to the sight of it" She crawled out and dipped her hands in the bucket of cold water in the corner, wiping it on a towel. The boy now lieing, observed her curiously, as she lit a lamp on the table, returning and sitting with it on the edge of the bed.

    "why do you cry, what scared you so?" she asked Alexander, who was picking at Pokey's button eye. He didn't reply at first, didn't understand, she watched him for a little before he pointed at a darkened corner with a short finger, saying "monstwer".

    She laughed, stroking his hair caressingly and held the lamp as far as her arm could stretch, throwing long golden shadows toward the corner. "No monsters here" she told him in elven "well.. there is one.. a monster that sleep beneath your bed, and guard you from the real vicious creatures that dwell outside. There are monsters, but not here, not now." He kept fidgeting with the button, distracted. Gildor kept talking, running her fingers through his ginger locks.

    "There are two type of people in this world, those that fear the darkness, and those that find safety in it. Shadows are safe, the night, the dark, it is like a blanket that curl around all things, hiding and protecting it so that all that it touches may sleep. The kettle, the glowing amber, the tea canister, even each little pewter spoon, all is sound asleep, draped in the darkness. It will protect you, as long as there is night, nothing can see, or find you."

    By the time she was done with her talk, Alexander was sleeping, drooling on the pillow. She kissed his temple, and wiped the smudge of blood from his cheek with her thumb.


  • Alexander swung his sword deftly through the air and struck the chair with such force, his blade bounced off. He loved his blade, his pride possession except for Pokey his trusty companion and toy dragon. His blade was well crafted, and about the length of a long dagger, except his sword was special, his sword was made of fine wood. He let out a giggle and tapped his feet energetically against the wooden panels. "That is one mighty, scary looking chair" Gildor told him in elven, putting the supper on the table. He moved over and wrapped his arms around her leg, giving it a hug "Dwagon" he corrected her, giving the chair a light poke. She ruffled his hair and chuckled, while pouring herself a cup of tea.

    Alexander looked over at Pokey, that lay discarded on the bed. He was a multicolored patchwork dragon, who had considerable less stuffing than the first day, his long neck dangled down, and his front left paw was grey, flat and usually soggy from Alexander continually suckling on it for comfort. He had two different buttons for eyes, a black and brown one, one large than the other, since one fell off and got replaced by mother.

    When him and mother went to the Peltarch library his favorite book was a huge leather bound book, too heavy for him to lift, but with the words "Dragons of the known realm" written the faded gold printing on the front. Inside was beautifully watercolor illustrations of the various known dragons, and there he had seen an image of what he was convinced was pokey.

    "Pwokey.. Pwokey" he has said excitedly, bouncing on her lap and pointing at the image "Prismatic dragon" read Gildor, holding an arm securely around his belly as the boy tapped the sheet. "Can you say that? Pris.. matic.." he couldn't, he instead stuffed Pokeys foot in his mouth and peered at the impressive image in wonder.


  • I really like that first post, could have been me, only I was still like that when I was 10, but hey, sooner or later we had to go through that period


  • Alexander lay on his side in the far too large bed in the Boars Inn. He was sound asleep as Gildor snuck inside, removed her heavy red robes and curled her naked body up against his back. She felt warm, it woke him up and he stirred. She snuggled closer, stroking his hair tenderly and making hyshing sounds in to his ear. He felt her wet cheek, as she lay with her head ontop of his stroking him caressingly.

    He didn't know why mother felt wet, but assumed it was raining, it had to be raining outside for his face gotten wet when it rained, though her hair was dry. She was telling him a prayer, a blessing she repeated some nights for him to learn, she whispered it hotly in his ear, though it was far too complicated for him to understand. It was said in elven, and always at night in whisper, almost as if she was sharing a secret, and Alexander loved secrets, he had once had a secret pet called Wolly, a beetled that lived in his right pocket but after two days had become boring and refused to play or move anymore. He assumed Wolly was sleeping, he had been sleeping too, before mother came to lie beside him, whispering her prayer in old elven.

    _May the Blessing of Light Be Upon You, Light on the outside, Light on the inside. With the his Sunlight Shining on you, May Your Heart glow with Warmth, Like a Turf Fire that Welcomes friends and strangers alike.

    May his Light Shine from your eyes, Like a candle in the Window, welcoming the weary Traveler.

    May the Blessing of his soft rain be on you, Falling gently on your head, Refreshing your Soul with the sweetness of little flowers newly blooming.

    May the strength of the winds of Heaven Bless you, carrying the rain to wash your Spirit clean, Sparkling after in the Sunlight.

    May the Blessing of the his land be on you, and as you walk the roads, may you always have a Kind word for those you meet.

    May you understand the Strength and Power of him in a Thunderstorm and in Winter, and the Quiet beauty of Creation, and the Calm of a Summer Sunset.

    And may you come to Realize that insignificant as you may seem in this Great Universe, You are an Important part of Corellon Larethian's Plan. May he Watch over you, and keep you Safe from Harm._

    Then she kissed his temple and returned to stroking him. At this point she usually slept, but this night, she just held him, held him so close he wondered if she was going to let go. "What ever happens.. to me.. you will be fine." she said, trailing a finger along his half pointed ear.