The Clash of Three
Chapter One: Discovery

It all began with the staff. Algeron had been hunting in the forest previously, and his efforts had been unsuccessful. The warping was almost at its zenith, and he had no food to show for it. A few deer grazed nearby, and he managed to get a shot off with his great yew bow. But his arrowheads were made of soft shale, as the iron and flint had been taken by the army. The heads were too soft to do much but bruise the deer. The white spots in their fur streaking in the distance only increased his humiliation.

Not for the first time, Algeron cursed at his hand, looking down at the three scarred fingers. Only stumps remained from his fourth and fifth fingers, punishment for theft in Infelix. Just then he heard the brazen call of a war horn. Crows screamed their irritation as they pumped their great black wings into the sky. Algeron tried again, and this time the shale was enough to bring down one of the crows, their skulls being much weaker than the deer hide. He ran to where the crow had fallen, and wrung its neck when a noise made him look up.

Ahead of him was a battle. He spotted a fay from the elven kingdom, her violet hair spinning wildly around her head, enveloping her face, but not enough to cover her tapered ears. As she turned he saw that she was strikingly beautiful, but now her face was twisted in concentration. She carried a staff glowing with inscriptions upon it as she fended off six small creatures. They had four legs that they skittered around on, with a torso covered in a dull gray exoskeleton. Their heads were elongated and pointed, with gleaming red eyes that were embedded at four locations in their skulls. They carried gleaming orbs in their hands, and beams of light shot out of them to attack the fay. She was limping, with a charred hole in her leather pants to reveal the seared flesh underneath. The creatures surrounded her, and she looked up to see Algeron. A contented look crept across her face, and she lifted her staff into the air. The creatures became agitated, clicking what appeared to be mandibles and screeching as they renewed their attack with vigor. A bolt of light shot out of the staff, and the fay plunged it into the ground, and as beams of light struck each of the creatures, their screams of agony echoed through the forest. As Algeron looked at the fay, he saw her beautiful features become engulfed with the same light around the creatures, and then the ground around her imploded, knocking Algeron off of his feet, smashing his skull into a nearby rock, and then he saw no more.

When he came to, Algeron staggered to his feet, and felt with his crippled hand the blood matting his hair. He crept cautiously over to where the fay had launched her final attack on the creatures, and he saw a charred black hole where she had been standing, all the trees within thirty feet were strewn along the floor like so many sticks and turned to firewood. At the center of the hole was the staff.

He lifted it, afraid that it might harm him, and ran his hand along the length of it. It was made of a kind of wood, but the wood was pure with no knots or warps in the grain. It was a light brown, and the runes in it now lay dormant.

As he stood, he felt cold iron digging into the back of his neck. “Do not move. Turn around” Algeron turned slowly, the staff all he held in his hands, his hunting knife back with his bow. Before him stood an army scout. His tunic was emblazoned with the green flame of the high council, and he carried a short sword that he was pointing at Algeron. “What are you doing here? The warping is almost upon us.”

“Hunting,” Algeron replied.

“An interesting way of hunting,” said the scout, gesturing at the devastation behind him. He looked down and saw the staff. “What is that?”

“My walking stick.”

“Give it to me,” said the scout. Reluctantly, Algeron began to hand over the staff. He bore no love for the army, with their harsh taxation to pay for the high council’s ongoing war with the Elven Kingdom and the Alvarians, the insectoid creatures he had seen fighting the fay. But for a reason he couldn’t understand, Algeron did not want to give up the staff. He knew it was powerful, he had seen that from the fay, and did not want it falling into the hands of the army. But he couldn’t assault the scout: he did not need a price on his head. However, he was conscious of the blood covering half of his face, and the scabs and lacerations that distorted his features, which would make it difficult for the scout to recognize him later.

“The staff, now.”

Algeron made as if to give him the staff, but then whipped around with it to strike the scout in the temple , years of pulling his bow strengthened the hit, and the scout crumpled to the ground.

Algeron reached into the scout’s pack and found his food supply, stashing it in his tunic pockets. He ran back to his bow and arrow, snatched up his crow and knife, and began to make his way down the mountainside.

He stumbled back into the village, taking care to not be seen, for some of the villagers were not fond of him, and he did not want to be reported for having the staff that had interested the scout.

He finally made his way to the small home that he and Varnum shared. Varnum was his uncle, his father’s brother that had been trusted with Algeron after his father had disappeared sixteen years ago. Algeron knew nothing about his mother, and nobody in the village knew about his father. “Varnum!” he called, knocking on he door.

After no answer, Algeron began to worry. “Varnum!” he shouted, pounding on the door, before he finally rammed his shoulder into it and it flung open. The few streams of sunlight that entered through the wood planks in the ceiling shone through the dark room, glinting off the dust.

He found Varnum in the corner of his room, his normally silver beard now a dull brown, blood covering his face as he slumped on his side. His hands were bound by a coil of glowing energy, and his mouth was covered by a thin strip of leather. Algeron knelt down next to his uncle, and pulled out his knife to cut his gag off. The leather parted easily under the sharp blade, but when he touched the knife to the energy coils, the point of contact flared and Algeron flew backwards into the far wall. As he rose he heard a voice. “I would not have done that. It was most unwise.”

He turned to see a figure cloaked in shadow in the corner of the room. As he stepped out of the shadows, he pulled down his cloak, revealing a fay warrior in full battle armor. His helmet was elongated at the back, and came down around his cheeks, leaving his face open. His breastplate was a dark black with a single diamond in the center, which he touched and the coils around Varnum’s wrists melted away and the diamond glowed.

“I see you have found the staff, Algeron. It is now time to begin. Time for you to fulfill your destiny...Before it is too late.”