Times Past: Vignettes

[Ebon Ilnaren]

OOC: This thread will be for shorter stories from the past of characters involved with Ebon and his family, one- or two-post tales that would not necessarily warrant a full thread. Enjoy!

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Roughly five years after Ebon escaped Tar-Kyrul

"Ebon, watch your left flank!" The clacking of wood upon wood rang through the campsite as two men fought with staves, one older and weathered, the other young and strong. Yet despite the younger's speed and strength, the elder clearly held the edge in this battle, demonstrated as he swung in from the side, aiming for his comrade's ribs and striking true. When his attack evoked angry muttering, he raised a calming hand. "Easy now, no need to grumble. It's been but half a year since you started your combat training in earnest, while I've been doing this for decades. You'll get there." He considered Ebon for a moment before continuing. "Remember to use all of your senses. Not just your eyes, but your ears, the faintest sound of rustling cloth and scuffling dirt. More than that, use your mind, your gift, always. Keep at it, and in time it will be as simple as breathing itself, and with even less thought. Sight alone will fail you eventually."

Leaning on his staff, the young man looked up at his mentor. "I'm trying, patron, but-"

"Please, I've told you before, call me Doran." He wiped his forehead, sweeping short brown hair touched with grey away from his face. "You're thinking about it too much."

That brought a rueful frown to Ebon's face. "Thought becomes reality. Your words, Doran, in describing our gifts."

"True, but thought is not always a conscious action. The underlying current of our minds, our awareness, takes many shapes and not always through actively thinking. A scent or a sound will trigger an emotional reaction. Sufficent drills with a weapon lead to an instinctive action, what some warriors call memory of the body. For me, with my primary gift as a telepath, it's a constant awareness of the minds near me... and for you--in time--it will be that sense of where things are around you. How far, how detailed, those are things that only training and will can determine."

One eyebrow rose above jet black eyes. "I get a sense of things, but it's hazy, like the forest on a foggy morning, before the sun burns the mists away." Ebon shook his head, his gaze downcast. "Maybe that is as good as it will ever be."

Lightning-quick, Doran's hand whipped out and slapped the back of Ebon's head. "Keep talking like that, and it surely will be." He glanced around the campsite. Others of the Feranor were engaged in drills, or attending to their personal duties, or enjoying a brief moment of leisure. The sunlight filtered down through the trees, casting dappled shadows in some places and shining brightly elsewhere. "Here. Take a look around. See it all, let your vision absorb it, soak it in. You have it?" When Ebon nodded, Doran smiled. "Now... close your eyes! Do you see an image, a remnant of what your eyes showed you? It fades, yes, but open your eyes again. Now close them!"

"For an instant, everything seems so sharp, clear. But it fades so quickly!"

"Now do it again, but imagine holding onto that afterimage. Picture it changing as people move about. Feel the breeze on your skin, and picture how it causes a tent to billow, or a leaf to skip across the ground. Let your mind fill the space around you, not thinking, just feeling it all. Sensing it." As he spoke, Doran stepped softly, silently to Ebon's right, raising his staff. "Can you picture the scene?"

Ebon nodded once. "I can."

"Good." Without any warning, Doran swung his staff hard at his young student's head.

Ebon's own staff came up to meet it, a solid whack ringing in the air. Opening his eyes, he turned and looked to Doran, almost awestruck. "It was like a dark haze, but then... I could sense your weapon swinging down towards me, like a turtle breaking a pond's surface and climbing up onto a log."

"There you go." Doran reached out to tousle the youth's dark hair. "Sight without seeing... it's a good start!"

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Roughly twenty years after Ebon escaped Tar-Kyrul


"Hurry! We have to give the others time to break camp and get in the move, or the Knives and their troops will be on them in moments!" Ebon directed his fighters to take up positions in the trees or under brush cover around the forest meadow. Once the rest were concealed, he swiftly rose up into the branches, finding a good vantage point. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind, as Doran had taught him years before, scanning in all directions. Rein in your thoughts! he sent to them, keeping his sending right. Be still.

For what felt like an eternity, silence hung over the meadow. Then Ebon sensed movement ahead of them, heard the faint but growing beat of booted feet tramping across dirt and fallen leaves. In one instant there was a gleam of sun on silvered helm, and then it was gone. Steady, warriors of the Feranor. Steady. Draw them out into the open, as many as possible before we strike.

Soon enough the first of the enemy emerged into full view, Silver Knives in their armor, the Kyrul's elite troops. As much slaves as the foot soldiers they led, the Knives all wielded the power of mind, much as the ruling class, though their low birth relegated them to little more than living weapons indoctrinated into their Master's service. As much as he hates them for what they were, Ebon also pitied them for what they might have been. He also thanked the Seven and all the forbidden gods that he, like many of his troops, had escaped their fate.

Just before reaching the near edge of the clearing, the lead Knife stopped, lifting a hand for their company to do likewise. What are they doing? Ebon wondered, and then the answer came as a pressure began to build against his mind, an urge to call out, to reveal himself. Hissing under his breath, he reached out to the other Feranor, hoping to calm them. Stay hidden, my friends. Do not show yourselves. Be still! BE ST-

With a strangled cry, one of the rebel warriors broke cover, charging headlong at the foe... for a half-dozen steps, until an unseen force caught hold of him and ripped both arms and head from his body.

Swearing expletives under his breath, Ebon sent the call out. Hold them here as long as we can! Gifted, focus on the Knives! The rest strike at the foot soldiers! Remember... we are free men!