Enoc and Jhonales

[Du]

Edit: Thought I'd put the title up there.

This is the prologue to a series I've been penning for some time now..Some constructive criticism would be great.

Sorry about the form, I lost the paragraphs and indentations bringing it over.

Unaware of his plight, Enoc stumbled through the forest, bleeding from a wound in his belly. He had been ambushed by vagrants on the path to Clear Pond. He had successfully dispatched the three thieves, but had taken a dagger to the stomach during the attack. The loss of blood had sent him into shock, robbing him of his sense of direction and any semblance of coherence. Enoc’s stumbling gait had led him off course and into the depths of the forest, a truly unsafe place for a wounded man to be.
As he pushed through the undergrowth, he tripped over a fallen tree and crashed heavily to the ground, becoming entangled in a patch of brambles in the process. Enoc tried in vain to free himself, but gave up, as his struggles simply entangled him even more. As he looked towards the canopy of the forest, peace washed over him like wave. Suddenly, there was no more pain, and Enoc sighed heavily.
So this is what it’s like to die, he thought. As he lay entangled in the thorns, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision, his thoughts wandered. He thought of his wife, of her beautiful golden hair flowing in the breeze, waving as Enoc departed, her eyes misting with tears. Enoc had departed on his annual trek to the sea to sell his cattle stock some two months before. He and Tashir had taken the vows but a week before he had left from his home settlement of Golden Oaks.
As Enoc thought of home and his beautiful wife, his heart became heavy with regret and self-pity. Lying in the forest, his life’s blood slowly seeping into the ground, these dark thoughts gave birth to more feelings: anger, fear and hatred. Just when Enoc thought he would be overwhelmed by these feelings, his body succumbed to it’s weakness, drowning him in silent, blessed darkness.

* * *

Jhonales had been traveling through the Misty Wood, on the path to Clear Pond when he came across the three men slain on the trail. From the tattered clothes and aging weapons the men had carried, Jhonales concluded they were merely thieves or vagrants. Unfortunately for them, the man they had attempted to accost had apparently been a skilled swordsman, proven by the mortal wounds he had delivered to the trio.
Oddly, one of the men still bore a sword in his chest. Jhonales moved to the slain man, puzzled. For a moment, he kneeled next to the man, admiring the sword which had been the end of him.
The grip had been fashioned from a single piece of ivory, ornately carved to fit the owners hand. The pommel was solid gold, crafted to resemble the All Seeing Eye and flawlessly melded to the grip. The hilt was made of silver, modeled after a dragons claw, the three talons evenly spaced around the ambit of the sword, reaching towards the tip of the blade. The blade, however, was what caught Jhonales’ eye.
At first glance, it appeared to be forged from the purest silver, it’s double edges each sharp enough to split a hair. Jhonales leaned in to closer examine the blade and then noticed the symbols etched down the center, on both sides. As he stared, it seemed that the blade was emitting a pale silver glow. It was then that it dawned on him that this sword had not been born of men.
Jhonales stood and looked around him. He saw a blood trail leading off into the wood a few yards away. He followed the trail and almost immediately found a bloodied dagger among some brush. He picked up the weapon and studied it with an expert eye. The blade was rusted, having been so before entering its victim, that much was obvious. It was poorly crafted and Jhonales deduced that it had belonged to one of the thieves.
He walked back towards the path, looking for further clues. Jhonales determined that the men had laid in wait for someone to pass. The thieves had sprung their poorly planned trap on the passerby, who had undoubtedly been aware of the trap. Two of the men had scarcely stepped onto the path before they were cut down.
Jhonales once more knelt next to the man impaled with the magnificent sword. He noted that the man’s scabbard was empty. He slid the rusted dagger into the sheath, and found that it fit perfectly. Jhonales figured that as the swordsman dispatched his final foe, the thief had snuck the knife under his guard, probably striking in the chest or stomach. Either way, the unknown swordsman was in bad shape, suffering from a punctured lung or belly wound. It would be a miracle if the man was still alive. From what Jhonales could see, the men had been dead for only a few hours.
Jhonales stood and contemplated his next course of action. He thought of simply moving on, taking the sword and perhaps selling it at the next settlement. It would fetch a handsome price.
He banished the thought immediately. That was not the honorable course of action. He would take the sword and attempt to find it’s owner. Jhonales was an expert tracker, and finding a wounded man would be no trouble. He only hoped the man would still be alive.
Jhonales reached for the mysterious sword and grasped the handle. He withdrew the blade from the dead thief and raised the weapon in a two-handed grip, and realized that he could wield the sword just as easily with one hand. He found this odd, because the blade was the same size as a long sword, if not bigger, and weighed a fraction as much.
Jhonales slid the weapon into his bedroll and trudged into the wood, tracking the wounded man’s trail.

* * *

[Du]

Enoc awoke with a start and opened his eyes. He immediately regretted doing this as a blinding white light seared into his brain. Enoc closed his eyes tight and rubbed his temples. As he became adjusted to his new surroundings, Enoc slowly opened his eyes, shielding them with his hand. The pain in his head slowly receded, so he rose and looked around. This took but a few moments since it appeared that he was completely engulfed in a white mist. He could make out no distinct shapes or judge any distance as the mist roiled around him, changing his perception from moment to moment. At first, it seemed he was staring into infinity, then a moment later he seemed to be completely enclosed by the mist. The constantly changing environment was extremely unsettling and Enoc began to feel dizzy.
It was as he was sitting down that Enoc realized he no longer felt any pain in his stomach. He glanced down and saw that the wound in his gut was gone, no evidence of a scar, or that he had even been wounded. It occurred to him that he was probably dead, having expired in the forest from his wound. This depressed Enoc, as the thought of spending the rest of eternity among this monochrome environment was not very appealing.
“Do not fret my child, for you are not dead,” an ethereal voice suddenly spoke. Enoc jumped up, looking around, for the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Where am I?” he demanded. “What am I doing here?” As he spoke, a figure began to form from the mist in front of him. Enoc stepped back, reaching for his sword, which was obviously not there. As he did this, there came soft laughter, like a breeze as it gently drifted through a forest.
“If I had wanted to harm you Enoc, we would not be having this conversation,” the figure said as it became fully formed. Enoc warily studied the embodiment of the voice. The form it had taken was quite extraordinary, a gorgeous young woman with raven black hair flowing to the ground, or at least what Enoc interpreted as the ground. She had bright, golden eyes, which burned like twin suns. What drew Enoc’s attention was the woman’s lack of clothing. As he gazed at her flawless physique, Enoc felt a longing in the pit of his being. It was then he realized how long he had been away from Tashir. Enoc noticed he had been staring at the woman for some time now, and he looked away suddenly, his face turning red.
The woman laughed. “What is the matter Enoc? Does my form make you uncomfortable?”
“It is not everyday that I see such a...beautiful woman. Unclothed,” he added hastily, not looking directly at her.
“Ah yes, I believe the last time was the night before you left on your trip. Very well.” She waved her hand, and a gown of shimmering white silk materialized over her goddess-like figure. “Does this put you more at ease Enoc?” she asked, smiling.
Enoc looked at her again and relaxed a bit. “Who are you, and how is it you know so much about me?” he demanded.
She sat on a tendril of mist which happened to be passing by, continuing to smile. “I am known by many different name’s by many different peoples.” She gestured for Enoc to join her, and he moved towards her cautiously.
“You have yet to answer my question,” Enoc said, stopping a few feet in front of her.
The woman laughed again. “You humans are quite amusing. I’ve told you once before my dear Enoc, if I were trying to harm you, I would not be wasting my time speaking with you.” This response put Enoc no more at ease than before but he realized he had little choice in the matter, so he sat down next to the woman.
She smiled and patted Enoc on the knee. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Enoc stared into her eyes, quickly becoming uncomfortable. He looked away.
“Still you avoid my questions. Is there a purpose to my being here?”
The woman withdrew her hand. “Straight to the point. I have always admired your strong will, Enoc. As for your first question, most people know me as the Ephilian.”
Enoc looked at the woman skeptically. “The Ephilian,” he said dryly. “The God of mischief? I thought you were male.”
She waved her hand, dismissing the Enoc’s comment. “Male, female, god, goddess. These are but words used by men to try and understand things beyond their comprehension. I chose this form for you Enoc. I knew it would please you.” She smiled again and suddenly Enoc found himself becoming entranced by her beauty. He quickly regained his composure and moved away from the god. The Ephilian giggled.
“Oh, you men are so easily tempted. If your wife only new the thoughts running through your head right now.”
Enoc flushed bright red, his eyes flashing with anger. “Thought is fleeting, and without action, means nothing. A true man has control of himself, and acts not on a whim.”
“Very true Enoc,” the Ephilian said. “You are of strong character, and keep yourself under rigid control. But, you are a man, therefore you falter from time to time. Tell me, how is it that a mere thief was able to sneak a dagger through your guard?”
Enoc bowed his head in shame. “I became angry, enraged even. It clouded my head, and all I could focus on was killing those men.”
“There is much anger buried beneath your calm, calculating demeanor,” the Ephilian stated bluntly. “It has puzzled me for some time. I was hoping that perhaps you could assist me in understanding the source of this rage.”
Enoc sat in silence and thought of the Ephilian’s words. He tried, many times, to understand the reason behind his sometimes violent outbursts.
In his twenty years, Enoc had seen his fair share of battles and skirmishes. He had, in fact, made quite a name for himself amongst his people, being one of the finest swordsman to ever grace Tarac’nor. He was widely known for the magnificent sword he carried, some saying it was crafted by the God’s for Enoc’s hand alone.
In truth, Enoc himself did not truly know the origin of the sword, or why he had been chosen to carry it. He only knew it had mystical powers, and no armor, bronze nor iron, could weather an attack from its silver blade.
Despite his popularity throughout the land, Enoc did not feel complete. Even his marriage to Tashir had not seemed to fulfill him. He had believed that once he had found his soul mate, it would complete him, making him whole. Yet, there was still a void deep inside his soul. He had not a clue what else he could possibly do to quench this need. Enoc felt that his thirst for gratification was somehow connected to his anger. This frightened him, and he pushed the fear down and out of his consciousness. Fear led to anger and hatred, which led to recklessness, which in turn would eventually lead to an untimely death. This, Enoc could not afford, for he knew he must live on. For what purpose he could not say at this time.
Enoc looked up, realizing he had been silent for some time. “I honestly do not know the cause of my anger,” he said softly. “I do know, however, that it was my fear which sparked it this time.”
“The fear of never seeing Tashir again,” the Ephilian said. “You humans are puzzling, to say the least. Men can march into battle, knowing death is but a sword-stroke away and not even flinch. Yet a trio of bandits, their combined skill no where near to your own, sparked the fear that you may never see your wife again. Curious.”
“Yes, it confuses me as well,” Enoc replied. “Ever since my first battle, I knew death could come for me in a heartbeat. For the first time in my life, I feared dying. I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing Tashir again.” Enoc looked around him, lost in thought.
The Ephilian stared at him for a moment, then said, “Do not worry Enoc, you will see her again.”
Enoc looked at the Ephilian sharply. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I do not take kindly to your prying into my mind.”
The Ephilian was taken aback. “Forgive me. It was not my intention to intrude, but to reassure.”
Enoc’s face softened. “I apologize as well. I am still confused as to why I am in...this place.”
“I merely wanted to meet you face to face Enoc.” She smiled. “Also, your spirit had fled your body, so I thought to keep it here until your body could once again sustain your body.”
“I do not understand,” Enoc said, confused. “Without treatment, my body is as good as dead.”
“Yes, but at this very moment, your body is already healing.”
“How can this be?” he asked.
“I have my ways,” the Ephilian said coyly. “Come Enoc, I will show you.” Suddenly, the world around him disappeared and he was once again plunged into darkness.

* * *

[Du]

Enoc’s eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into a small campfire. He attempted to sit up, but a stabbing pain in his stomach forced him back down onto the bed roll, gasping for breath. He lay on the ground and waited for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings. As he rested, he became more aware of the damage to his body.
Someone had expertly stitched the wound to his belly. There were numerous cuts and abrasions on his arms and legs from the brambles he had fallen into. His mouth had the consistency of wool, and he had dried blood on the side of his face. Enoc gingerly touched his cheek. There was also a gash on the upper portion of his cheek bone which had also needed some stitching.
Enoc suddenly heard someone or something approaching on the opposite side of the fire. In his current condition, he would never be able to fend off an attack. Enoc lie very still, and watched a silhouette approach from beyond the light of the fire.
As the figure came closer, Enoc saw that the individual was fairly tall, at least six feet tall. The man had a lithe build, characteristic of someone who was constantly on the move. He moved gracefully, in perfect balance at all times. The man reached the campsite and dropped a stack of wood by the fire. Enoc relaxed, for the man exuded no malice, and he was obviously the same person who had stitched him up and set up camp.
The man kneeled and picked up a flask of water then moved to Enoc’s side. It was then he noticed the man’s dark skin.
“You are quite strong, my friend,” the stranger said in an unfamiliar accent. He spoke flawless Tarac. The man helped Enoc sit up, and handed him the flask. Enoc drank deeply, relishing the coolness of the water as it slid down his scratchy throat and eased the fire in his stomach. He wiped his mouth on his tunic and stared at the man who had saved him.
“You are a long way from home,” Enoc said hoarsely.
“Yes, but lucky for you, I’m not there,” the man said, smiling. He had brilliant white teeth, which contrasted sharply with his dark skin, the light from the fire glimmering on his bald head. “I am Jhonales,” he said, extending his arm. Enoc copied the movement and Jhonales grasped Enoc’s arm at the wrist. Enoc did the same, with a somewhat puzzled look on his face.
“A greeting of my people,” Jhonales explained, still smiling. “I was on the path when I came across the men that attacked you. I followed your trail and found you tangled in a thorn bush. Oh, and I also found this.” Jhonales went to his bedroll and picked something up. He brought it over to Enoc.
Enoc’s eyes lit up as Jhonales handed him his sword, now back in its sheath. “Thank you so much,” he said happily. “I don’t recall where I lost it.”
“I found it impaled in the chest of one of the men.” Jhonales stoked the fire and then hung a battered copper pot above it. He turned back to Enoc and said, “So, my friend, you have yet to tell me your name.”
“Forgive me, I am Enoc.”
Jhonales raised an eyebrow. “Enoc, the Swordsman?” It was Enoc’s turn to be surprised.
“You...know of me?” He didn’t think anyone knew of his nickname outside of Golden Oaks.
“Yes, your reputation precedes you,” Jhonales said. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“Thank you, but it is I that should be honored. I am indebted to you for saving my life,” Enoc said gratefully. “How exactly did you come to be in this land?”
“It is a long story, and I do not wish to bore you with the details,” Jhonales said. “Though I will say, there came some...difficult circumstances which warranted my hasty departure.”
“Where is home for you?” Enoc queried.
“I come from the land of Ethelon,” Jhonales replied as he dropped vegetables into the pot. “It is far to the east, across the water.”
“I have heard stories of your land. Indeed, I recently purchased a dress for my wife, made of the finest silk, from a trader who hailed from across the water. It is the finest fabric I have ever seen.”
Ethelon is renowned for its trade in exotic items,” Jhonales said proudly. He turned to Enoc. “Which reminds me, where did you get that magnificent sword?”
Enoc picked up his sword and partially pulled it out of the scabbard. Its silver blade glowed faintly.
“In truth, I do not exactly know. I had been in a battle at ---------------, some six years ago. Afterwards, I had walked into the nearby forest, lost in thought, for it had been my first battle. I was not paying attention, and had tripped, hitting my head my head on a rock. When I came to, this sword was leaning on a nearby tree. It seemed to...beckon me. The sword fit my hand perfectly, as though it had been crafted specifically for me. I was fourteen. Since then, there has not been a man that could stand against me.” Enoc sighed heavily, the stitches pulling. “I do not know whether it is my own skill, or the sword, which has aided me throughout the years.”
“Do not sell yourself short Enoc,” Jhonales said. “A sword alone cannot give one the skill needed to survive in battle.” He spooned some stew into a bowl and handed it to Enoc. Enoc took the food and thanked Jhonales. He took a bite, chewing slowly. Enoc looked at Jhonales in confusion.
“No meat?” he asked as he swallowed.
Jhonales grinned between bites. “I do not eat red meat. It is part of my faith.”
“Enoc shrugged and took another bite. “No wonder you are so skinny,” he said with a mouthful.
Jhonales laughed. “Indeed, you are right Swordsman. Most of my people are of the same build. But what we lack in size and strength, we make up for in speed and agility.”
Enoc finished his stew and set down his bowl. “I don’t think I could survive on vegetables alone. I need my meat.”
“Yes, that is most likely why your people are a bit wider in the shoulders than my own,” Jhonales replied.
Enoc laughed. “We are a race of warriors and farmers, no strangers to physical labor. I myself breed cattle.”
Jhonales shuddered. “I am not one to pas judgement, but I cannot understand how you can eat the flesh of a dead animal. Especially a cow.” Jhonales touched his forehead with index and middle finger of his right hand, bowing his head as he did so. Enoc watched this curiously.
“I have heard that your people consider cattle...sacred.”
“It is true, but it is also late, and I am too tired to discuss religion. Perhaps tomorrow when I am rested.” Jhonales spread out his bedroll and lay down.
“Good idea,” Enoc said, and he too lay down once again, being careful not to pull his stitches too tight. He stared into the dying flames of the fire, his thoughts once again drifting to Tashir. In his minds eye, Enoc saw his wife, smiling at him. As he drifted into sleep, he realized how good it was to be alive.

[Mara]

Wow.... that's awesome...

[Du]

Seriously? I mean, I need to know if there's anything missing, anything I can do...anything. Obviously, I'm very critical of my own work.