Memories Forgotten: Tales of Azurnoir Anthology

By Anthony Tyrone Clemons

These are the Tales of Azurnoir; a seldom-seen mark on the map in the rustic countryside of the land of Cersiya. For many elds now, the feoff of House Drezel has enjoyed a peace that has allowed the formation of a tight-knit community of hard working vassals, loyal friends, and loving family. A chance to get to know Azurnoir through the eyes and emotions of the folk who dwell there, so that maybe their hopes and dreams and their lives are not simply memories forgotten...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthony Tyrone Clemons
• Release date: Dec 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370362653

Anthony Tyrone Clemons

I am Anthony Tyrone Clemons and I created the realm of Medelvia more or less to escape the mundane mediocrity that is reality as the general populace perceives it. Just an ordinary man trying to see the world in a different perspective. Honesty is what you get here folks. And I offer no refunds on that eh? Embarking on a journey that has been my great desideratum from the advent of my existence. Here I go...

Book preview

Memories Forgotten

Tales of Azurnoir Anthology

Written By

Anthony Tyrone Clemons

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2017 by Anthony Tyrone Clemons

All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents

Longhunter

Unrequitable

Stray Arrow

A Matter of Faith

Vigil

Next of Kin

Wretch

Moggy

Witness from Afar

Longhunter

A meteor shower sent radiant streaks across the clear evening sky. Smells of freshly scythed fescue and of the nearby forest hung in the cool crisp air. The hamlet of Azurnoir with quaint rustic charm seemed to sleep in the gloam of the dying day. With the opening of the worn oaken door to the public-house, sounds of roistering and regalement stole the peace from the quiet little place like a thief with a purse of coin. A haggard fellow wearing the trappings of a seasoned woodsman strode into the modest taproom with his buckskin boots scuffing along the boards of the floor; a limp telling of a recent injury.

Eito ye sorry wolf cur, 'bout the season we be seein' ye this way, came the usual greeting from behind the bar as the man approached. The surly but jovial barkeep had a wide grin on a face that had been inside around drunks far too long and not outside in the sunlight nearly enough. A few other patrons of the public-house, folk of the hamlet all and people the man knew well, laughed in good cheer and warmly lifted their flagons high as Eito slid onto a tall stool beside them at the bar. He sat the heavy pack he carried down on the floor to rest against the knotted legs of the barstool and gladly accepted the drink offered him.

Gamryt the barkeep by name, looked the man over as the flagon was raised and the contents imbibed. Ye had a good run with the pelts I wager?

The man simply held the empty vessel out for a refill with a noncommittal look at the others next to him. Eito needed a shave and a bath yet the others returned his look with ones of conviviality. After a frothy head was once more atop the flagon, the barkeep returned it to Eito who nursed the ale much slower this round now that he had washed the road from his throat.

Longhunters are aplenty through 'ere but not a'one could trap 'em like Eito Calu aye? spoke a stout fellow on a stool beside him and a hearty slap on the back followed.

Longhunters were sanctioned by the Empire to explore the frontier of the lands and maintain a record of any findings of interest throughout their travels. They were free to hunt and live off the land as they needed and as part of their emolument they could profit off of any wares gathered without fear of reproach. Longhunting had been in Eito's family for as far back as anyone could scarcely remember; even the longevous elves could not recount an eld when a Calu did not prowl through the understory like a wolf in search of quarry. Such a legacy some might take pride in, but Eito didn't take pride in what he did; in fact, he didn't take pride in much of anything. For him, life was for just merely getting by, as he would say it.

How's that lurcher of ye's? Ain't had to eat 'im yet 'ave ye? Gamryt gibed wiping a cloth across the wood of the bar drying up any spilled ale. A few of those at the bar chuckled while the longhunter ran a hand through the scruff at his neck and chin.

He's making do, we ran into trouble along the high ridge; the bearded cats gave us a good fight, we're with luck that we made it back to the vale, Eito told them wincing as he recalled the pain in his leg from the close encounter that nearly cost him his life. He shared a few more tales from out in the wilds, drank a few more rounds of ale, then some of the others told their share.

Hears me a tale of goings-on up at the chateau on the 'ill there, came a croaking and sotted blathering from down at the end of the bar, of a group passing through from elsewhere.

The one talking was an ugly bloke with teeth missing and a nose half-bitten clean off. His tone was obstreperous, no doubt influenced by the potent ale served here. A lilting tune had been playing from the plangent cittern in the hands of a capable minstrel but a sour chord had been struck and a quiet seemed to fall over the taproom of the public-house. Light from lanterns fluttered strangely from where they hung above tables and in the high niches of the ceiling; the orange luminance giving everyone an unsavory cast as the drifter took a draught before continuing his inebriated rant. Eito eyed the bloke from