Dedicated to all my friends, past, present, and future.
To my former friends who abandoned me because of their stupidity, misunderstanding, and ignorance, thank you: you made me better and stronger, even without meaning to.
To mypresent friends, who support me simply by their very existence, thank you: You give me purpose and the desire to reach new heights, to show them to you and enjoy the view together.
To my future friends, yet to be found in the endless expanses of time, thank you: You give me hope that there are still interesting, vibrant individuals amidst the dull routine, the grayness of everyday life, and the despondency of everyday life.
But first and foremost, I express my Infinite Gratitude to four guys without whom my life would be far less interesting and fulfilling:
Del, the owner of the best website on Earth;
May, whom I will love forever;
Dark, the sarcastic, critical, fragrant slowpoke beaver;
and Feo, whose starlight guides me to my Dream.
Warning
You stand before a vast meadow of emerald grasses, as if freshly washed by a warm summer rain. A gentle breeze plays with the blades of grass, above which sway the multicolored sparks of True Magic. Far away, on the horizon, a vague outline is visible, though from here it's impossible to tell what it is. You try to take a step, but invisible forces halt your progress, and from the space before you appears a board with a warning written in the rainbow blood of unicorns, who have happily shared it for permission to furiously hooffed all Evil seeking to cross the Border:
You stand on the border betweenfierce cruel reality and epic science fantasy with pricktricking. By stepping forward, you agree to the imposed restrictions and solemnly swear that you will not say you weren't warned or be outraged by anything you read after this Warning.
This text is not recommended for:
I. Proponents of the traditianal-classical approach to writing fantasy, thinking with one's head, and other such things. The philosophy of the following text is as far removed as possible from such representatives of boring medieval fantasy as tolkienen, martin, and jordan. You will not find any topics here that will seem even remotely interesting.
II. Elf-haters and gnomenphobes. In Eldingnum, we love elves and respect the right of gnomen to be skillful, sturdy fellows with pink hair and fashionably styled beards.
III. Girls, young women, women, and crones of any shape, age, beliefs, and gender. Just because. I conducted long and tedious research and came to the conclusion that you simply will not find any topics of interest here.
IV. For children of any gender and age. If your fragile mind can't distinguish Evil from Good, Love from Hate, and Bad from Kind on its own, there's no point in continuing to read this text, much less wasting time pondering it. This text is also intended for beings over 18 Earth years old. Preferably, 21.
V. For everyone else. Just in case. What if you don't like something, feel uncomfortable, feel somehow offended, and then start blaming me? Better yet, don't even start reading.
This text might appeal to:
I. Fans of True Elves, Cool Magic, and Epic Monsters.
II. Fans of well-designed worlds that don't fall apart into pieces of cardboard, sloppily splattered with ink, with the slightest effort of Analytical Thinking and Splendid Gumption.
III. Fans of Unexpected Plot Twists, changes of scene, and portals. Eldingnum is the World of Magic, and Magic is, first and foremost, limitless possibilities yet to be explored.
IV. For fans of stories in which the Prime Personas and those who help them live happily ever after, but still experience occasional hardships. Here you won't find Senseless Deaths of key personas simply because "Oh yeah, the readers like him, I'll just kill him, that'll be ridiculous!"
V. For fans of fantasy that shatters classical notions of traditional races, spits venom at them, and smirks at its accomplishments, arranging paralyzed thought forms in neat rows.
VI. For Ardent Defenders of Justice. Justice is one of the main themes permeating the following text, and those who don't like Just Punishments can read other texts in which Evil Beings live happily and unpunished.
By reading the above, you automatically agree that you are reading the following at your own risk and will not, by word or deed, harm the Author of these lines, or contribute to harm to the Author of these lines through your actions, thoughts, and/or encouraging the actions of third parties who have not read these lines, and/or in any other way. "Harm to the Author of these lines" is a term that characterizes harm from the Author's perspective, not yours, and the Author knows better what constitutes harm to him and what does not. Without reading this paragraph, but by reading any other paragraphs, lines, words and/or symbols of the following text and/or the above text, you automatically agree with every word in this paragraph, do not intend to edit and/or in any other way change any symbols in this text and bear full responsibility for your psyche and the time spent reading the following text and/or the above text and do not blame the Author for anything, and especially for the fact that you were unable to read and/or remember this paragraph at the time when it was necessary for further planning your steps in the following text.
By reading the following, you also automatically confirm that you are a rational being, capable of distinguishing a work of art, the action of which takes place in a completely different world with a different history and a different society, from political, religious or any other propaganda, and automatically agree that the following text does not contain propaganda, any traces of propaganda, the possibility of thoughts about propaganda, hints at the possibility of thoughts about propaganda or anything that promotes anything from splendid gumption to sweet cinnamon rolls inclusive.
If you've carefully read the above text and decided that the following is worth even more time, then welcome to epic science fantasy with pricktricking!
If you've carefully read the above text and decided that the following isn't worth any time at all, and the Author of these lines is a pompous fool with no sense of humor, then the Worlds of Unlimited Fantasy are not for you, and fierce cruel reality will never let you out of its sharp talons. Probably a sad thing. For you. :3
You ponder, mesmerized by the slow flow of unicorn blood from letter to letter: "Pompous fool? Traditianal-what's that? The above, the below, brr!" You shake your head and hear something like a sinister laugh or a mocking neigh at the edge of your consciousness. Hoping that it's not the unicorns planning to hooffed you, you slowly... reread the Warning, trying to spot the catch and at the same time determine whether you are an evil being, a good one, or a true neutral. Time flies unnoticed, one constellation gives way to another, the light unobtrusive music smoothly flows into a cheerful unobtrusive music, and you, having decided for yourself that you are good and not evil after all, try to take another first step…
...and you succeed!
Welcome to…
Author's Preamble
So, wanderer, you begin your journey through the epic expanses and dustydog-holes of Eldingnum, a world ruled by Elves, a world where Magic isn't just a Fireball, but sometimes even an Incinerating Fireball of Homing Reverse Destruction! If you're still unsure whether you're an evil or a good being, then this is your Last Chance to stop and take thought, because the road back will now close, and the portal will slam shut for scheduled magical maintenance. By continuing on, you officially confirm that you are a Good Sane Being and have carefully read everything written above. And if you haven't... Well, URUs always appear unexpectedly for those who violate them. ;3
About the Novel
...which you're currently holding on the screen.
Once upon a time, "The Highest Hero. Elven Diaries" was nothing more than a collection of jokes starring a silly but charming Prime Hero in the Main Role. It even had a title that ended with the ironic "...and maybe he'll find the Meaning of Life!" HH was a book about funny, humorous jokes based on wordplay, the various incidents surrounding them, and the silly, plot-driven shuffling from foot to foot.
Many, many years have passed, and now the HH has become a superserious epic science fantasy with pricktricking. "Why pricktricking?" you might logically ask. Because writing books without pricktricking is boring and bad for your mood. And there are plenty of books without pricktricking, but not so many with them. Fortunately, the HH isn't a humorous fantasy, as one might think, but a quite dramatic (at times) work that, fortunately, doesn't aim to overwhelm the unfortunate reader with a stream of poorly put together half-jokes, and doesn't plunge the happy reader into a whirlpool of fateful torment and gratuitous cruelty to characters who weren't even expecting it.
The HH is a science fantasy because Magic in Eldingnum obeys its own laws. Sure, you can just shout "Exoparmus!" and wave your magic club, and something is bound to happen, but don't expect any special achievements from such magic users. Real Magic lies in personal abilities, and, damn, it seems pointless to give a lecture on this and that here, especially since some of it will be summarized in the HH itself, some is irrelevant to the plot, and some is rather uninteresting even to most Magic researchers on Eldingnum itself. "It works, so what!" as they say at some symposiums.
What makes the HH's fantasy epic is that it describes large-scale battles, epic – and sometimes even mythical! – monsters, monumental events that change the history of entire Kingdoms, and even the destruction of worlds. If the previous sentence isn't epic enough for you, just imagine a huge, angry demon standing in front of the capital of one of the Kingdoms, pondering the most painful way to destroy it. Painful for the capital's inhabitants, of course. "Huge" doesn't mean two meters tall, or even two and a half, but approximately four hundred and sixty-nine meters tall, not counting horns and wings.
Overall, in the vast mountain of years since I posted the last Story on some website, I've managed to make Eldingnum more detailed and realistic than most worlds I've read about, develop the Heroes' story arcs in ways even my father would have never dreamed of, and come up with two or three names that would break the tongue of even the most seasoned Eyjafjallajökull fans. I'm quite proud that most of the races I write about, while not unique, are at least quite unusual within the boundaries of their names.
Please also remember that the HH should be a highly escapist fantasy, one that's incredibly pleasant to return to after a hard day at work, a sleepless night, or a walk in the icy autumn rain. It's also a joy to know that at last, at least someone is okay, and that no one was slaughtered or blown up for lack of anything better to do. Returning to spend a few more sweet, relaxing pages with Seymour and the others, turning which you'll know for sure that at least nothing particularly terrible will happen to them. And if it does, they'll emerge victorious from any Cataclysm with their heads held high.
I'm also thrilled by the very thought that someone has finally written a fantasy that's not about the sordid Middle Ages with pitchforks and despair, but something more unconventional and interesting. However, even sordid fantasy has its fans, so let's move on smoothly to…
About books
...that you might have read before.
Yes, imagine that, you've probably even read some books before. At least "ABC of the English Language" – otherwise, you wouldn't be able to put these strange symbols on the screen into something more or less understandable in your head. I've also read a couple of (hundreds) of books, and I can say with complete confidence that most of them are worthless commercial trash. But I must say: in this filth, there were sometimes diamonds, pearls, and even a nice-looking pebble that, while not particularly beautiful, is still quite real.
Having started editing theHH some time ago, I asked myself a perfectly logical question: "Why are almost all the books I've read so illogical?" Why are most authors so lazy about developing a plot within even a single volume, let alone the internal logic of the world and characters? And I realized: because otherwise, there would be no plot. So, if my Heroes suddenly wanted to throw a jewelry into a volcano, they'd use eagles. Whatever those chickens might croaked about themselves. Just kidding. Actually, a portal. Eagles for too long, I counted it.
I've also noticed that many authors relish in vile cruelty to Heroes and characters who don't deserve it. It's as if they have a list in front of their monitor, typewriter, pen, or ghostwriter, saying, "Kill them in the most brutal ways possible, torture them so that death seems like a release, and make all their achievements turn against them," along with a list of names. In Eldingnum, cruelty is only meted out to those who truly deserve it. And this, my dear reader, may not appeal to you either. On the contrary, I like it. Because I, a supporter of True Justice, would never write some kind of trash where the scum and villains win.
I'm writing about a logical and fair world, where only your actions can demonstrate how cool, kind, and noble you are. None of the Heroes I describe wear Plot Armor +1, and they are protected from mistakes only by their own ability to think and act according to the situation, not by authorial whims, laziness, the desire to drag things out to make even more money, and plot grand pianos. Don't like it? Read your lotrus, wheels of wasted time, asoiaf, asoyaf and asoyiff.
About Elves
...because there is no race better.
This could have been the end of this Warning, and the HH in general, but that would have been too boring and un-elfinity. My SuperBest UltraFriend, after reading the First Story, wrote me a great definition: "Elves! Elves? Elves-elves! Elves, elves, elves! Elves?! ELVES!!!" And he's absolutely right, because this novel isn't simply called "The Highest Hero," but "The Highest Hero. Elven Diaries." "Why is it called that?" you might ask. "Because further on all of this will be perfectly explained and thoroughly described in a certain way," I might answer, but unfortunately, the answer to that question is much simpler and more prosaic. Because I wanted it that way.
Having read countless books about elves, as well as watched a ton of comics, cartoons, movies, and anime, I sadly realized that different authors call completely different creatures "elves." Even house spirits, even strange little creatures. Even. Motherfuckers. Fairies.
After extensive research, which didn't take a huge amount of time, just months of painstaking exploration, I realized that the Artien Elves, who will be discussed in the HH, are much closer to the ancient, mysterious, and unpredictable creatures of folklore than to the standard fantasy wimps who dance around a campfire at night, sing with their mouths, and make reed boats for drunken neighbors to burn. The Artien Elves are ancient and powerful, selfish and narcissistic, fair and kindhearted, and many other words that I'm too lazy to write right now. If you met an Artien Elf, you'd immediately realize how wrong you were about elves before. If you had time, of course.
Much has been written about elves, as I've already mentioned, but I've never encountered anything quite like the HH. And I hope I never will. A world like Eldingnum is very difficult to describe, but to the best of my modest abilities, I try to make sure the elves I write about are striking and, moreover, memorable for more than just their outlandish names. You yourself, if you dare, can read about how awesome, incredible, and magnificent they are.
About Magic
...permeating all of Eldingnum.
I'd like to describe in detail on such a remarkably vivid feature of fantasy as magic, but then I thought Magic would best express itself on its own, so I'll limit myself to a slightly modified quote from one outstanding, albeit cartoonish, musician:
"Talking about Magic is like drawing a fart." © William Murderface.
* * *
Okay, I confess, my dear (or cheap, we're not a slave market here and you're not being judged by seasoned slave traders) reader. Where it said "this is your last chance," it was a blatant lie. Your last chance to change your mind lies before you now. Consider whether the Upcoming Adventures, the Unbridled Flight of Fantasy, and the Incredible Worlds of Magnificent Possibilities are worth the time and nerves you've wasted. I won't give you back your time. Nor your nerves. You'll likely quit reading after the First Story. Perhaps the Third. Maybe you'll reach the Fifth Scroll. Or you'll smash your screen screaming during the Prologues. But... What if you don't like it? What if you waste your precious time on something that will ultimately cause nothing but disappointment? I know firsthand how you feel after reading a terrible book where everything went wrong at the end. Or worse.
Literally, you've been warned. It's not too late to close this file, tab, or wherever you started reading the HH and forget all this like a telliblebrightmare.
...but if you're DETERMINED enough, and Poison and Justice burn like molten lava in your heart, then it's time to start smirking and scrolling down.
Author's Preamble
Now comes the Preamble from the True Author. While distributing your books through dreams is certainly far more profitable and affordable than through interdimensional mail, there are some limitations. I'll say right away that this is an Otherworldly Edition, and some inaccuracies are not only possible, but practically begging to be present. Through dreams, as I've already said, you can convey key points and important passages quite well, but all sorts of minor details can easily be forgotten. However, once you connect with the right dreamer, the flow of interdream data takes on increasingly solid and clear forms, allowing your victim to "remember" parts of their dreams even while awake, and through so-called "insights," gain even more facts and material.
Yes, of course, even in my native and beloved Eldingnum there are ardent opponents of my Feats and Adventures, but in other worlds, as I have already discovered with displeasure, their number may be orders of magnitude greater. So I will declare right away: everything written here is the Truth, laid out in such detail that even in Eldingnum many of the twists would be shocking. After all, this is an Otherworldly Edition, and I won't have to read messages about how I could, what I did, and why I did it all. Yes, I could. Yes, I did. So what? I am the Highest Hero, not them. I can do even worse things if I am angered. And now, compared to the days of the "Elven Diaries," I can do so much that my detractors will gasp, shrivel, and turn to dust even from their own thoughts. However, I have strayed somewhat from what I wanted to convey.
What I wanted to convey here is something that should have been clear long ago: these Scrolls are very different even from what I've read before. I've read, by the way, a demonically a lot. You know, the Saablas Academy has one of the best libraries in Eldingnum, and Rector Vespikus always improved it with the newest and most interesting books. But... Even the best books are full of tedium. Lengthy discussions of "Good" and "Evil" that fill five pages of internal monologue. Descriptions of leaves, vines, and trees that take up entire chapters. Repetitions and self-repetitions, sitting and croaking hoarsely from allusions to metaphors and chasing ambiguities along roads paved with allegories. And other such nonsense. I've tried to spare my readers as much as possible from this kind of thing, because I know from personal experience how "fun" and "interesting" it is to read such flights of "fantasy." Yes, of course, such a reader-friendly approach might make "The Highest Hero. Elven Diaries" seem like a crumpled script for something theoretically interesting, but that's the point. To convey the most important points without over-reading. Plus, I don't have a single rhyme here, so beloved by all sorts of "poetic types" who can't rhyme anything beyond "roses/bosses" and "dawn/pawn."
Also, the unprepared reader should be prepared for the fact that I am one of those authors who believe that the heroes won't pronounce self-evident facts about their world. Well, unless they are stupid characters with verbal incontinence, of course. From "HH. ED" you most likely won't learn who the Ellenites, Ellerites, and Helhayaers are; what the difference is between magithesized food and magisteriсal light, and why you shouldn't confuse these terms, which seem similar to the weak-thinkers; why "historians" are universally ridiculed, and their pursuits usually lead to even greater disappointments; how exactly the kergs came into being, and why and who needed it; why centaurs don't like unicorns, and basilisks don't like phoenixes; why theNeedless Lands are needed, who lives in them, and how big these territories actually are; what the differences are between the witches of the Winter Mountains, the First Coven, and Sunwitch, besides the smell; what are fantasials and memorials, and why watching them is a waste of time; what are the differences between Gleeing, magithesized, conjured, and simpled food; why is being a handsome mage much easier and more effective than being an ugly one; how do the simplest generalizations ray, sein, spikan, and nel decipher, and why nel and spican are usually not used in polite society; why have there been no humans on Eldingnum since EHH 1702; why aren't ogres actually man-eaters, but some weak-thinkers still believe otherwise... And so on and so forth. And, of course, the question that interests everyone most: why are Elves so cool, awesome, and wonderful. Okay, I'll answer the last one right now, so you won't have to suffer a bit longer. Because they're Elves, of course! :D
To sum it all up: your reading device currently contains a truly unique text, the likes of which I have yet to find in all my Adventures. Mainly because the kind of things I pulled off have never been done in Eldingnum before. Without spoiling anything, I'll just say that my friends love the way I describe them, and my enemies shouldn't care about the Deathworlds, as libraries are extremely rare there, and bookstores are even more so. Looking back on the Adventures that took place in 2006 of the Aeon of Highest Heroes, I can only add this: if I had the chance to live that year again, I would do everything exactly the same. Artien is my witness that even the Gods would agree with me on the incredible wisdom of my actions!
And finally, I'll add one of my favorite quotes from Artien, since I just remembered it. It might help you better understand the upcoming Adventures, and I'm already smiling contentedly at Artien's Incredible Coolness and his wonderfully sharp mind.
"Good must be better than Evil. Good must be smarter, more cunning, more beautiful, and sexier than Evil. And Good must also be stronger and more ruthless than Evil, planning its actions dozens steps and even years in advance so that Evil has no chance of victory, not even the faintest one. So that Evil, barely hearing the footsteps of Justice and Good on the stairs leading to its attic, cowers in fear in the far corner of the closet, covers its tear-reddened eyes with crooked, nail-bitten fingers, and begins to whisper, "Not again, please, not again!" And trembles more and more with every step of approaching Retribution.
That's what True Good should be. All other "good" is nothing more than Evil's pathetic attempts to disguise itself."
* * *
And now that both Authors have finished with the Preamble, here comes, perhaps, the most interesting part of the Prelude: THE PROHIBITIONS.
THE PROHIBITIONS
* It is forbidden to slash/parry/relate in your head, on paper, in typesetting programs, or in any other way, already known or not yet invented, Artien and Denise de Obolier, Norvaynen and Dazzayne, Veldenvankur and Radezunda, Bargrant and Reida, Seymour and Tobold, as well as all the rest with all the rest, unless there was a direct instruction to do so in the HH's text itself, and not "Well, there seemed to be a hint here, I'll go slash them with drool in my eyes and no one decree me what to do!" Andecree or not, but slashing is PROHIBITED, understand?
* It is forbidden to invent and write fanfiction about the main character in any way, whether already known or yet to be invented, or to share thoughts with anyone about your fanfiction about the HH, any place, creature, entity, spirit, or phenomenon unique to the HH, much less think about heretical things like "Will Artian be able to beat the Emperor?" and other such nonsense. It is also forbidden to draw any fanart about the HH or places, creatures, entities, spirits, and phenomena unique to the HH, especially if you can't draw or if I, Grimuar Grimnox, don't like your style. If you suddenly, Completely Accidentally, decide to draw fanart about something described in the HH or possible within it, first contact me for approval of your ideas and provide at least a few of your previous works so that I can properly evaluate them and make the Only True Decision. Parodies, mockery, and caricatures of the HH are also prohibited. :3
* It's forbidden to remember names and titles from the HH for more than two seconds. The name "Rolf" can be remembered for three seconds; it's simple.
* It is forbidden to speculate about the appearance of kergs, how they came to be, or even their purpose. Do kergs have horns? Are their ears like thoseof cats, squirrels, or a rabbits? If kergs have tails, are they fluffy, bare, or covered in scales? And if they do have tails, are they tipped with nothing, a fluffy tuft of fur, or even a demonic "spike"? It is also forbidden to speculate about the height of kergs, much less the very existence of kergoyles, which are rumored to be at least three meters tall, even taking into account their habitual hunching. How exactly kergs came to be or what half-mad scientist thinks they are his creation is none of your business. Just save yourself the time and trouble; kergs are definitely not worth it.
* It is forbidden to speculate about whether there are Dragons on Eldingnum. And if there aren't, what are those enormous shadows visible in the night sky above the Capitals?
* It is forbidden to think that there are werewolves on Eldingnum. It is also forbidden to think that there are no werewolves on Eldingnum.
* It is forbidden to think that gunpowder has been invented on Eldingnum forty-six times already, but the crazy old men still don't set off fireworks.
* It is forbidden to call Aendir and Kaengar Aedirn and Kaedwen.
* It is forbidden to insist that elves can have skin tones other than the normal ones. The normal skin tone for elves is the Nordic, aristocratic pale.
* It is forbidden to be a fan, much less a zealot, of the HH, Eldingnum, the Elves of Artien, Artien himself, or anything else unique to the main character, without written or printed approval from me, Grimuar Grimnox. Superseriously, you may THINK you're a fan or a zealot, but without my approval, your efforts to love the HH or Eldingnum are worthless. Remember this carefully before you get attached to MY creations. }:3
The authors are not responsible for any moral, physical, or any other imagined or contrived damage to your consciousness, health, wallet, or anything else you own. All places, creatures, entities, spirits, and phenomena in theHH are created with incredible pleasure and are pure figments of the imagination, not intended to offend, confuse, or dishonor anyone. All allusions, similarities, parallels, and perpendiculars that you, our dear reader, may draw between something in the HH and something else from some other source are purely the work of your clearly meticulous mind and were not intended by any of the Authors of this Wondrous Work.
Let me remind you once again that everything written below is pure fiction, including Magic, Kerg, Nobility, Good, gravity, unfinished Hero Arcs, stones, racism, the superiority of Trolls over everyone else, and, of course, overpopulation. Let me also remind you that such absolute nonsense as Self-Sacrifice, Altruism, Humility, and localizations can only be the figment of an overheated imagination, capable of only half-heartedly struggling with Harsh Reality while lying in bed at forty-five degrees Celsius.
So, the Warnings have been read, the Preambles are over, and the Prohibitions have begun to be strictly enforced. It seems it's time to move on to the most boring, unassuming, and relatively safe part.
Adventures.
Chapter One, In Which Fate Coils
A bright green leaf, as if washed by the first summer rain, broke free from the sturdy branch of an ancient oak tree and, carried by a playful wind, flew toward the colossal building looming in the distance. The leaf was young and healthy; powdery mildew hadn't marred its pallor, galls hadn't grown on it, and caterpillars hadn't gnawed at it with greedy mandibles. So why did it decide to distance itself from the oak tree on which it had grown for so long? Why did it fly alone into the unknown, where only withering and dust awaited it?
The colossal castle grew ever closer. Above the central tower, a vortex of elements spiraled, changing colors from dark purple to ghostly green, from sunny yellow to azure. The unbridled power of primordial Magic could have frightened anyone, and the leaf trembled. The wind swung up and to the right, striking the leaf against the sparklingly clean window, which had steadfastly withstood this unexpected blow of Fate without the slightest rebuke.
Beyond the window was an office, clearly a mage's: dozens of strange devices, ceiling-high bookcases crammed with books, a pile of violet-silver pillows in the corner, and two armchairs, between which stood a massive dark wood desk piled high with all sorts of objects that could only be found on the desk of a practicing mage. The master himself sat facing the window, the midday light falling on his proud nose and illuminating the wrinkles around his bright eyes and the mockingly upturned corners of his lips. Hundreds of chestnut braids, sticking out in every possible direction, made up his hair and beard. A strange cap, the color of the night sky, somehow remained on his head, its golden tassel twitching every now and then for no apparent reason. Long, manicured fingers were folded like a pin on the desk. The sleeves of his dark, loose robe, made of the same material as his cap, were slightly raised, revealing forearms with skin significantly younger than that of his fingers and the backs of his hands. It was also safe to assume that the mage, while not a daily gym-goer, was at least no stranger to exercise.
A young man sat opposite, impatient and tense. He was dressed in light brown leather, unadorned and, let alone stylish, and his black, calf-length boots with rounded toes clashed violently with the rest of his attire. A small duffel bag, clearly his own, hung over the back of the chair. A couple of its pockets bulged, the rest appeared empty. A satisfied smile played on the young man's lips, like that of a predator who has just sated himself, but is already ready to seek out his next victim.
"And... should I go to Neighgoul? But, Vespikus, that's just ridiculous! How can my first quest be in a crumbling Forsaken settlement?! It's simply illogical!" The young man's voice was thick with hostility and disgust.
"First of all, Rector Vespikus. Secondly, it's not my problem. Your first quest is in Neighgoul, at Uncle Gru's tavern. I can repeat it a third time, but my time is too valuable for repeating myself. Yours, too, I presume?" The slight displeasure Vespikus added to his voice was clearly feigned, given the mocking way he looked at his interlocutor. "And if I were you, I'd leave the Academy as quickly as possible. Tobold's rage at your victory still burns."
The young man snorted contemptuously:
"He's blazing, indeed. I'm not afraid of him. And we both know he's no match for me in a duel."
"Yes, you're right about that. But he has friends."
At these words, the young man's face darkened and he lowered his head.
"I'd have friends now, too. If it weren't for him." The words came out with difficulty through clenched teeth. The thoughts, so hard to banish, returned. Thank you so much, Vespikus, your support is amazing!
"In any case, now you have something he doesn't – the Golden Hero Card," Vespikus smiled encouragingly, noticing the youth's shoulders straighten slightly. "And you still have to go—the road to Neighgoul is long."
"If Tobold wants to be a Hero so badly, why not make him a cookie card?" the young man snorted, reluctantly standing up. "He'll be a Cookie Hero."
Vespikus burst into loud laughter, though the joke clearly wasn't all that funny. Wiping away his tears, he managed to say between breaths:
"Go on, Hero! Let everyone bow before the power of your humor!"
With a satisfied smile, the young man slung his duffel bag over his back and walked out of the office, nearly bumping into Diriaris, Vespikus's pet wyvern, who squeezed through the door just ahead of him with his usual disdain. Nodding to Diriaris and earning a nod in return, the Hero, without turning around, raised his hand in farewell and walked out to meet the eagerly awaiting World.
* * *
The colossal castle, which had become his second home for ten years, was left behind. The classrooms and lecture halls, the Indoor Forest and laboratories, the Two-Handed Dungeon and the Archers' Tower... And, of course, the Dungeons of Endless Terrors, whose name was most apt. The Hero closed his eyes and shook his head, driving away the intrusive thoughts of the unwanted events of two weeks ago. And, most likely, he would have been able to continue on his way peacefully, if not for a furious shout from the balcony above the Main Gate.
"Get out of here, you dullard! Worthless pillock! Everyone will be better off without a worthless nobody like you!"
This voice was well known to our Hero. He would not confuse it with any other. Tobold Windfree, fourth son of the Duke of Freewinds. And the only one of his children who did not attend the Kevinostre, the Academy of Polaris. Why he didn't study there, the Hero never wondered: it didn't matter to him. But the angry cries did.
"Shut. Your. Mouth." Looking closer, the Hero noticed someone else standing behind Tobold's tiny figure. "Go fuck your lover or otherwise vent your venomous anger, you pathetic slug."
Tobold almost fell off the balcony from these words, but someone's hands held him tightly.
"Yes, I! I..." the nobleman tried to think of something even more insulting, but, to his regret, he couldn't. "I'll surpass you in everything! I'll be better than you ever dreamed! Your envy will burn with the force of a hundred thousand suns! I…"
"Surpass." The Hero snorted contemptuously, turned off the Thunder Voice, turned around, and, humming a catchy tune, began to approach his Destiny.
* * *
Only one road led from the Saablas Academy to Neighgoul: the Eighth Elderoad. It was still a long way off, but the meadows and tiny copses delighted the eye with fresh greenery, and the future beckoned with magnificent promises of incomparable feats. A gentle breeze rustled the grass, rare birds called to one another, and the buzz of insects completed the idyllic picture. Along the edges of the enchanted stone road, clumps of bushes occasionally appeared, and the Hero was approaching the last of these, almost at the Elderoad itself.
The bushes would have been completely unremarkable if they hadn't been shaking like a hurricane, and our Hero, frowning for a moment, slowed his pace. Who knows what's going on out there? Maybe…
Someone screamed in pain, a high, utterly beautiful voice, and the Hero's doubts were washed away by an icy wave. Drawing his trusty sword, he began preparing his spells as he ran, and had already broken into a run when a monster leaped straight at him!
Standing over three meters tall, with enormous claws and a long tail, the monster ran toward him, grinning…
The situation was clearly not in the Hero's favor, and yet he silently threw a few test bolts of lightning straight into the monster's face, which was remarkably reminiscent of an elven one, and continued running, smoothly shifting the weight of his sword for a decisive blow.
There were only five meters left to the monster and something completely unexpected happened: it swerved to the right, waved its tail and disappeared in a cloud of purple-silver sparks!
The Hero was three meters from the monster, but now there was no trace of it. Quickly casting a few Search spells, he continued running toward the silent bushes.
A few seconds later, having broken through the dense branches, the Hero was surprised to find the elf lying on the ground like a crumpled doll. Broken, bloodied, and wearing filthy clothes, he was a vile mockery of a representative of the Supreme Race. His eyes were closed, and the fingers of his left hand trembled, their rhythm slowing.
With a shuddering sigh, the Hero pulled his most precious possession from the top pocket of his duffel bag. The Vial of Life, shimmering with every shade of gold, glittered in his hand. Every graduate was given one, but only one. A tiny vial containing a powerful potion, capable of restoring life to anyone who drank it, provided their spirit was still struggling with Death.
Kneeling directly behind the elf's head, the Hero deftly gathered his hair, which was strewn across the grass, so that it would not get in the way, moved closer and, placing the surprisingly light head on his knees, poured the potion into his slightly open mouth.
For a moment, nothing happened; the Hero even wondered if he'd been given a simple golden mixture, not a miraculous elixir. But the elf's head gradually began to gain weight, and then his eyes opened wide. Strangely blue, they stared straight up into the eyes of his savior.
The elf continued to lie there. Invisible currents coiled around him, twisting into spirals, flowing from past to future and back again. Invisible, yet not incorporeal. Goosebumps ran through the Hero from the touch of magic, as if his will was being tested, exerting pressure that he withstood without complaint.
Finally, the elf looked away. With a slight movement, he stood. His tattered clothes had miraculously become whole and clean, his previously tangled hair fell in a silvery waves over his shoulders and back, and his staff slid into his mighty hand. With a nod, the elf emerged from the bushes that had parted before him.
The Hero stood up with some difficulty. His legs were numb, clearly indicating that the test hadn't been completed in just two minutes. Shaking his head in disbelief, he followed the elf out, not waiting for the bushes to return to their common shape.
"You saved an completely unfamiliar elf," the elf said quietly in a melodic, high voice as they stopped at a crossroads. "Why?"
"No one else will die next to me," the Hero said firmly. "Especially not an elf."
"An Elf?" the elf chuckled, his beautiful lips curling in disdain. For a brief moment, the Hero's mind flashed to the monster rushing toward him. The elf pondered something for a moment and finally said, "Take this dagger in memory of your words. "No one will die." Well, well!"
His body began to be enveloped in silver sparks and the Hero shouted:
"Wait! What's your name?!"
"The time will come and you'll will know."
The elf's words hung in the air, and he himself disappeared before the sounds silenced out.
The Hero closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then, shaking his head, strode steadily northeast along the Eighth Elderoad. The haunting melody wouldn't let go, and Fate called to the Hero who would change everything.
What, you believed it? You bought it, huh? You bought it?! Personally, I didn't. As a participant in the events that took place in reality, not in the author's head, I, Seymour Distroy, can confidently shout angrily: "Whatnonsense!" That's what happens when you let someone else write your story, your Adventures.
Of course, Daniel Lutakke, who has written several quite good books, mostly popular in the Kingdom of Fishlovakia, may have altered my story slightly to suit his own views and skill. Everyone does that. But not in such a monstrous way!
When he asked me for permission to write about my Adventures, I agreed on one condition. If I liked the "First Chapter," he could write the rest. But I didn't like it. I told him so. And just in case, I turned down all the other people who wanted to write about my Adventures. And now, in order, from the fucking leaves to the incomprehensible monsters "resembling elves."
So, leaf. Fucking leaf, screw its branch! I've always been against describing unnecessary things, like ruminating on experiences, musings on Good and Evil, and describing unnecessary things that play no role in the plot for three or four pages. By the way, the previous sentence is a bit too many unnecessary things, isn't it?
At first, I even thought he'd decided to write a botanical fiction about the adventures of leaves, but no, even in that he disappointed me. It would have been cool: me-dendrary, Eldian-entheyne, and Vel-ayedvarkur. Sigh. So many ideas, so many ideas! And all for nothing. All for the sake of a fucking leaf slapping its face against the glass! And that's it. It's never mentioned again. It's as if I were to describe Morkins, the kerg I met near the Elvenhome in Scandenwald, in detail for a chapter or two. The story, the family tree, how he came or traveled or teleported to Scandenwald in the first place. And all of this would be about as interesting to a sophisticated reader like me as a leaf is. Which is to say, exactly zero interest. Because he plays no part in the plot.
Describing Vespikus's office and the man himself is a thankless task, to say the least. Vespi is certainly cool and one of the two coolest Rectors in Eldingnum, but he's not exactly crucial to the plot. He didn't prepare me for an "extremely important mission" for seven long years, and he never even died during that time. It's not that I wanted him dead, far from it. He's awesome. It's just that in the books I've read, "wise mentors" sooner or later die "for the good of the plot" and for the sake of the notorious "hero's development." Vespikus, fortunately, is too good to be such an idiot. And the fact that he works out every day to maintain his impressive physique is no secret to anyone at the Academy. Well, at least to those who care about their beauty as much. Daniel didn't describe Diriaris at all, and he's no less awesome than Vespikus! Dirri can activate an aura of terror at will, sometimes driving those he dislikes to nervous breakdowns. And... Okay, let's move on.
Daniel didn't quite accurately describe me as wearing the Novice Leather Outfit. According to him, some weak-thinkers creatures might well conclude that my own skin tone was light brown, not the northern pale. It's even paler now, however, but that doesn't apply to the time period described in the passage. Every graduate of the Saablas Academy in 2006, Aeon of Highest Heroes, was offered a choice of four sets: Novice Heavy Armor, Novice Robe, Novice Leather Outfit, and Novice Dark Leather. The Dark Leather Outfit has a significantly better color scheme, and yes, it complemented my old styles perfectly, but its design is almost hideous, and I simply couldn't imagine anyone embarrassing themselves in something like that on their first quest. The Leather Outfit has the advantage of having a great design and a comfortable belt, not to mention other things I won't discuss now. Of course, graduates are perfectly capable of leaving the Academy in ordinary clothes, but I, anticipating at least the possibility of a fight, didn't count on the speed of my Battle Attire. And, in general, I was right to do so.
And now about Tobold. Oh... I felt embarrassed in front of him even when I simply read "Shut. Your. Mouth." But Bod, when he read it himself, simply laughed, limiting himself to "What a moron!" Daniel probably wanted to imply that we would have a confrontation and all that, but, damn, who does that?! Yeah, Tobold and I had some disagreements at the Academy, and for a while I thought I hated him, but fortunately, I've never been such a rude asshole as Daniel described. At least, as long as anyone can see it. The "force of ahundred thousand suns" part is pretty good, though. It's practically the only speck of light from a hundred thousand suns in this entire, relatively short text.
The most unpleasant part, of course, is about the "elf-like monster." Describing a fucking leaf for two paragraphs, and then the monster in one line, is simply bad form! A monster that is clearly crucial to the plot. A laughingstock! When I gave this text to Vel to read, my little vampire burst out laughing and said, "I can just picture a pumped-up, clawed elf with dreadlocks. Who runs and yells, "Give me a curling iron! Give me a curling iron and scissors! I'm fucked!" And then teleports back into the bushes and plays dead." Mm-yes-sah... No, of course, I know that in the remote villages of Fishlovakia and the forts of Englycand, where elves appear at least once every two years, you can still find dim-witted Old Believers who believe that elves are actually vile old men who use illusions to make their bodies beautiful. Or worse. But even there they wouldn't believe in "elf-like monsters." Of course, any mage, and especially a seasoned metamage, can assume a monstrous form resembling an elf. It's not that difficult. But this, this... This is something else! It's like saying, "Careful, there are angry geese in the yard!" when there are no geese in the yard at all! Not even invisible ones! "An elf-like monster" is so unnecessary to this plot that I simply don't know why it was even necessary! And anyway, if I were to continue reading, it would only be to find out: what kind of monster is this? Of course, we'll probably never find out. Because I don't like fanfiction. Especially vile ones. Especially about myself.
There's not a single line about the Sun of Happiness, which is associated with so much... um... inexplicable stuff. There's not even a mention of awards. Although the awards turned out to be much more important than I thought on June 1st. However, there will be [SPOILERS] about the Sun of Happiness, so I'll just be saddened by the fact that someone is completely indifferent to things that are truly worth describing and that are quite important to me.
In conclusion, I can add that Daniel clearly overdid the "heroism." Yes, I like being reminded that I'm the Highest Hero, but not twenty-three times in a row in a tiny scrap of text! And, moreover, if he was really thinking of flattering me, then why not at least "The Highest Hero"? This novel, by the way, is called "The Highest Hero. Elven Diaries." While reading, I remembered an ancient Englycand verse. If slightly modified, its beginning would sound something like this: "The Hero is riding to home at night, The Hero sees the Hero in bright moonlight. The Hero thrust fist in might of Moon, The Hero comes out and yells: "It will be your Doom!" Well, I think you understand what I mean. To summarize, I want to say that Daniel has a good imagination; I especially liked Eldian's snide remark about the elf's hair: "A wave of bald hair fell on his shoulders." Because it's completely unclear what's wrong with the hair: is it there right away, is it scattered across the grass, or did it appear after the potion's effects? It feels like Daniel sat down to write a novel in a day, and then got bored an hour later. And he didn't even mention the roarkern hit "Two Troll's Walkingfield" once! It was flying out of every soundizer in Eldingnum all May! How he could have missed such a wonderful event and come up with an "elf-like monster" instead, I simply can't explain!
And, so that you get the right feeling about this passage, I will finish with Vel's words: "Let's write it down like this: "Everything was beautiful, why are you picking on me?!"
Grimuar Grimnox & Seymour Distroy
presents
(we show, we don't give)
The Highest Hero
Elven Diaries
Scroll One: Ascendance
Story One: About Unexpected Chance Meetings
The colossal castle of the Saablas Academy was behind me. A pleasant, light breeze caressed my face, and the Ventosack wasn't so heavy that its strap was weighing down my toned shoulder. I left at one fifty-seven, grabbing a quick bite of pie with nothing and mineral water. Sure, the Graduation Feast, which began immediately after the exams, was in full swing, but who needs any kind of food, even top-notch, when an Adventure awaits, one I'll strive to make legendary?
Rector Vespikus told me my first quest awaited me in Neighgoul, a wretched Forsaken refuge with a long journey to it. I figured I'd reach this backwater by five-forty, almost four hours, if I didn't stop for anything less important than the First Quest. I could have used Haste, but I decided to make it on my own. The quest could be anything, and no sentient being would want to be in a Forsaken settlement at night. Accurate calculation is one of the qualities a Hero, especially a Highest Hero, must possess.
"Get out of here, get lost, and don't let your spirit be found here!"
Toady. He should have been drinking some stale alcohol with his friends instead of wasting his time on pathetic attempts to anger me.
"I see you have a date with alcohol poisoning after falling from the balcony," I turned to the Academy and saw Tobold Windfree, the first from the end heir to the Duchy of Freewinds, straining with all his might to shout to me and at the same time not fall from the balcony above the Gate.
"What?! Yes, I!..." I never found out what he wanted to say. His pet elf came up behind him – and what did such an ancient and wise creature see in the arrogant and impudent Toady? – and gently embraced him from behind, touching his lips to Toady left ear.
I smirked, seeing how much he wanted to push his elf away and at the same time couldn't move away without falling.
"I will incinerate you, liar! Deceiver! Unworthy of even the Copper Card, empty talker! My Fireball…"
"Even the kergs aren't afraid of your Fireball," I added Thunderclaps to my voice, so that I could now be heard both inside and outside the Academy. "And not even a Fireball, but a Firezilch. It's the size of a fist and burns for two seconds. Look HOW it should be done."
I arranged my cards into the Fireball symbol, adding the Size, Brightness, and Inner Light cards. A work of art that even Guardian Kaiver appreciated with a surprised look shone twenty meters above me, a ten-meter-tall, blazing star of red, orange, and yellow fire. After holding it there for about half a minute, I recalled the cards. The Fireball triumphantly shrank and vanished.
A wild cry of shock and outrage shook the castle. Well, okay, it only shook the air.
It looked like Toady was about to fall off the balcony in a fit of rage and run to get revenge on me. That is, if he could remember the Levitation spell, which he'd struggled to cast even in lectures. Trying to get revenge. It's incredibly unpleasant to know that someone is absolutely better than you at everything and that the Hero's Gold Card was awarded to his and not you. Although you really wanted it too. Yes, you really did.
The elf didn't let Toady fall. His embrace was too strong, and the whole time he whispered something in his ear, continuing to hug. Gradually, Toady went limp in the elf's mighty arms.
"So if I were you, I'd stand there and quietly hug... who are you with? However, as the Highest Hero, I couldn't care less about extras." The elf, of course, wasn't an extra, but I think he'll understand that I didn't mean to harm his dignity.
Having finished him off in such a refined manner, I turned around and headed down the Academic Road to the Eighth Elderoad, which would take me to Neighgoul. My first quest would begin at Uncle Gru's Tavern, which I'd never heard of. There wasn't even an entry for it in the Hero's Codex, let alone in the library books I'd quickly skimmed after receiving the Hero's Card. It was probably just another seedy dive for scum and vomit.
I walked and hummed "Two Troll's Walkingfield," knowing that Toady continued to rage.
Lost in thought about the quest in the backwoods with the Forsaken, I ignored the slight feeling of sadness and calm that grew stronger with every step. Slowing down, almost stopping, I realized with surprise that these sensations weren't mine and that their power reminded me of the Elven auras we'd encountered long ago in the lessonsof Racial Diversity.
And I almost missed a faint sound, a groan or a sigh, coming from a dense clump of bushes on the side of the road. I could have used Search and Detect spells, or at least averted a potential awkward situation with the classic "What the Woodbeast in those bushes?", but my senses told me not to, and to dash straight into the bushes. And so I did.
Lying in the bushes was the most beautiful elf I had ever seen…
…with the biggest wound on his chest I've ever seen.
What kind of evil, elf-hating beast is capable of such a thing?!
Without wasting a second, I sat down next to the elf, carefully placed his too-light head on my left thigh, and, biting my lip, poured the Vial of Life into his sensual lips. The only one they gave me after the exams. Well, what else could I do? His lightness meant he was incredibly close to dying, and he was practically weightless.
When the adrenaline had worn off a bit, I realized the elf had wanted to tell me something, but I either hadn't heard or hadn't paid attention. In any case, he was feeling much better now: the blood was quickly drying, and his head, still resting on my thigh, was already regaining its weight. And then I truly felt the Millenniar's powerful aura: calm, commanding, confident. Even more questions: any abomination capable of doing such a thing to a Millenniar – and this elf was at least a thousand years old – didn't deserve to live. Or whatever it was doing. It didn't matter.
As I studied the elf, I realized he was studying me. A faint smile played across his already richly colored, luscious lips. I had a strong urge to run my hand through his magnificent hair, but I quickly stopped myself, as that would have been impolite. The elf smirked, surely reading my thoughts.
So there I sat, and he lay. He'd probably come to by now, but after that awkward moment, I didn't want to interrupt this wonderful feeling of Fate Changing. Luckily, I'd studied well enough to understand that Fate was changing, whether it existed or not.
The elf suddenly took my hand and with a slight movement lifted us to our feet. I didn't even notice how we found ourselves on the Elderoad. Nor did I notice the din'anoir, the legendary weapon of the elves, leaping into his right hand. The blades at the end of the mighty staff gleamed red with smug satisfaction, even though the sun was still high.
Now I could see him in his normal state, without the horrible blood stains and other unforgivable obscenities that you shouldn't do to Elves if you don't want to die a long and painful death.
He stood almost two thirty, mighty built like all elves. His knee-length, silvery hair, reminiscent of frost, fluttered in the Wind of Otherworld. A faint smile played on his sensual lips. He had astonishing, deep blue eyes, instantly reminiscent of the waters of the Northen Sea on a sunny winter day. He wore a lime-green jacket with sleeves that flared at the wrists, a white shirt with a small lace collar, snow-white elfeel trousers that hugged his stunning hips, and caramel-colored boots with rounded toes and no visible laces or cuffs. Around his neck hung a thick silver chain with a strange, constantly shifting decoration.
"And you don't feel sorry to waste your last Life Vial on a completely unfamiliar elf?" asked the completely unfamiliar elf with a strange smile, in which approval and sadness were mixed in roughly equal amounts.
"For the triumph of Justice, I wouldn't spare a thousand vials, because only a vicious bastard would dare attack an Elf." My phrase, of course, is cumbersome and pompous, but I had a full two seconds to come up with something suitable, and with the Hero's Card, time moves quite slowly, if you so desire.
He chuckled and nodded to himself.
"You have earned a reward for your noble deed," the elf said solemnly, his body lit up with golden light. His pose was almost an exact replica of Legendary Triumph Pose #22. Except that his right hand was facing forward, not sideways. "Take it!"
Just above his waist appeared the Great Breastplate of Unseen Power, the Daggers of the Silent Postman, and the Rare Sword of the Dissenter's Slayer, glowing with a heightened version of the same light that shone from his own body. I took the Sword and Breastplate. Daggers are for weaklings.
The elf grinned again. I thought he'd ask, "Why didn't you take the daggers? You could have strengthened your sword or armor when you're near a spellforge." And I remembered how tedious proper reforging was and how long it took to strengthen even a common sword, let alone a rare one. No, thanks, that'll happen later. And if anything happens, I already have the money.
The daggers vanished in the same radiance. The light around the elf returned to its normal spectrum, characteristic of this time and the overroadness.
"Who dared attack you?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.
"You shouldn't be concerned with such questions at this moment."
I felt his smile tighten, though the curve of his delicious lips didn't change a millimeter. And what would I do without the senses enhanced by the Hero Card? I could miss half of it, if not three-quarters.
Suddenly, the elf stepped toward me. I reflexively wanted to retreat, but I couldn't – his Will held me in place. And, frankly, few would back away from such a magnificent elf. Especially one you'd just saved.
The elf grinned and said:
"Since you've already given up on the kidney-cutters, take this one."
And he handed me the golden circle of the Sun of Happiness amulet. True, the eyes of this particular one were shining rubies half the size of his little fingernail, not the usual grooves pressed into the gold. In his palm, with its long, graceful fingers, the amulet seemed tiny.
"Thank you, of course... But why would I need one? The shelves are full of them everywhere."
The elf, with a smug smile in which oceans of superiority shimmered, said:
"Like these? You can search. Don't take this one off while you search."
Mhm, this is all very strange. Without a second thought, I quickly took the amulet from his surprisingly soft palm and fastened the chain around my neck, tucking the circle under my shirt. The elf watched this with a satisfied squint. I didn't know how exactly the elf would get out of here – what business was the Ancient One having in the No One's Lands? – and so I allowed myself one question, not really expecting an answer. Then again, I might have been lucky – I had saved him, after all.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"We'll meet and find out," the elf continued to look at me with a smile. His gaze penetrated the very core of my consciousness with such authority, as if I had now become one of his retinue. And he disappeared as suddenly as an unspoken question disappears when you find the answer a second after it appears.
I stood there for a moment, as if in a trance, capturing that rapturous gaze and remembering how I'd rushed toward the bushes. I didn't know then that this chance encounter would change my entire life. And even if I had, I wouldn't have acted differently.
Shaking my head, I emerged from my numb, spatially numb state. The first quest, which Vespikus had given me with a silly laugh, as if he knew where it would lead, still awaited me. And so I continued on my way to Uncle Gru's Tavern, unaware that an innocent encounter in Neighgoul would become a turning point that would forever change all the Kingdoms.
Singing "Two Troll's Walkingfield" I took great strides towards becoming the Greatest Hero of Eldingnum, as I always wanted.