Valley of Tears: The Epic of Matheu Helms

[Lex Helmsley]

Character Link: Matheu Helms

It was a cold December. The snow had relentlessly unleashed a blistery wrath upon the world, leaving it abandoned beneath a thick layer of white, frosty snow. The wind had become an enemy, attacking all and everything like an unseen wall of daggers; piercing the skin to draw the blood of any daring travelers will. Many call this place the 'Tomb of Gods'... some call it the 'Valley of Tears'. Whatever name it has been given, it has not been dubbed a friendly terrain.

Fumbling about the thick of it, was Matheu Helms. He was drifting; a mercenary in shambles... a warrior without work. His home had abandoned him in a way that left him deprived of any hope. His King had forsaken him and he had lost sight of his dreams; thrown away whatever passion he had for his country. He was a self-proclaimed exile in search of a cause. What use was the good without the bad, likewise, what use was Elophane if there were no threats. Surely it would become an antique. Something to sit and gaze upon as it collected dust for an eternity.

Matheu removed the mystical blade from the bowels of its scabbard. The sun reflected off its flawless face. It looked as though it had never been used when in fact its age had far surpassed the lifetime of the many worlds. Matheu grinned and ran his finger along the edge, being careful not to draw blood. "We should return, Elophane. Take the throne and bring back...." His words died.

What was he thinking? Murder the King!? Just a few days earlier such a thought hadn't crossed his mind, yet now it fluttered like a butterfly in spring. An innocent thought that unknowingly teased him. He wanted it badly, but would not put forth the effort. It would be to hard, both physically and mentally. The King had been to him a caring father if not more. He worshiped him as any loyal knight would his Majesty, only to be left for dead and ignored. Slowly... regrettably... Matheu returned Elophane to its prison.

Now was too soon. He would wait until they had forgotten his name. Maybe then he wouldn't feel as guilty. For now he would travel. Rebuild his strength and revitalize his willpower. Perhaps he would find someone or some place else and forget about his past. The future ahead is a road yet traveled, and he would be a weary wanderer in the end.

[Shamus R. Blackthorne]

King Shamus awoke to the howling night wind, only days ago he had escaped the plot on his life. Escaped by what some could call luck, but even he dare not think to long on it. His people were called the thorne, once called the tuatha de dannan many centuries ago. His people were skilled in the arts of the druid and shamans. As were they skilled in the crafting of artifacts and artificial limbs. Even he bore tribute to this last vocation, his left forearm had been lost during the war of peace. The artifact that was now his forearm was covered in gold, and etched in various mystical runes that gave it power to do it's job.

Nearly four days ago he was abducted while hunting. Those with him were slain by iron tipped arrows. Iron was a poison to a thorne, causing their regeneration abilities to cease. Thorne's blood was filled with magic, they were as much a part of magic as a branch a part of a tree. But even that close connection had limits. He remembered seeing the villains face during his capture, Mythocles. The half-giant and self proclaimed son of a god had been defeated by his people nearly fifty years ago. He was believed to have fled the kingdom, but apparently those reports were nothing more then rumor. The half-giants with him were from the rockcrusher clan, a small tribe on the outskirts of Velusia. Somehow they had penetrated the kingdom's borders unseen and reached the royal forests near Lochland.

Shamus only had also heard the mention of another named Smog, who he had no knowledge of. But apparently a war was once again brewing within the heart of his kingdom. A war that until recent had been unnoticed by any of his council as well as himself. Shamus had luckily escaped four nights into his capture. But not without difficulty, an iron tipped arrow pierced his side. When he removed the arrow however, the tip remained lodged within his side. Even now he was feeling the effects of the iron running through his blood stream. Every step seemed to make him weaker. Shamus could not stop to get the arrow head out however. The trail of blood he left behind gave away every step to his pursuers.

Shamus needed to find safety fast or else it might be the end for him.