The Eldramyth

By Patrick Alan Tuttle

Long have the elves of Takshi-ha held their forest borders, but with the incursion of Orcs, a tragedy drowns the young elvish prince in madness. Seeking answers, he finds only wickedness in his delirium and is set upon a path that resurrects an ancient evil and reveals a carefully hidden part of Elvish history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ink Stained Brain Press
• Release date: Jul 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463831656

Patrick Alan Tuttle

Hello, I'm Patrick. Very nice to meet you.I've been writing and illustrating my stories since I was a very young child. I would like to imagine that I have improved somewhat over the years, as I am ready to begin sharing my works with the world.If you would like to talk over a cup of tea, that would be too bad, as I am shy and terrified of human interaction.

Book preview

The Eldramyth

By Patrick Alan Tuttle

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 Chapter One: The Somber March

Imloth stepped silently through the eternal gloom of the elfin woods. Lambent blossoms from the vines above cast their light through the swaying moss which cast strange and shifting shadows. Such shadows were his shelter, for he was the chiefest among the Moonshadows and the prey he stalked held no hope of seeing him first.

Around trees as thick as homes he wove his path until he came across a still pond which birthed glowing mushrooms and lichen. There sat among the stones, bathed in the warming light of a crystalline flame sat Cildair, the grand hero of the elves. Held balanced across his hand was a great gleaming blade, and beside him slumbered a mass of inky fur - a war wolf. Imloth crouched down and reaching into his belt pouch to free one of several small copper orbs, etched in fine runes. He hefted the orb and threw it with all of his might.

The orb struck one of the jutting stones and released a roaring crack of thunder and blinding light. The wolf bolted upright, it’s sapphire eyes scanning for the source of the commotion, and by that time Cildair was rising to his feet, his blade finding its home in his strong hands.

Imloth struck forward as swift as an owl grabbing its prey, each footfall as silent as the landing of a feather. His twin curved daggers were raised, catching his target’s blade as he turned.          Cildair’s snarl melted into a wicked grin. They circled, locked by steel in a contest of strength.

Who, other than you, would be so bold as to interrupt my meditation? Cildair asked. Tell me, who, other than you, would think that they may best me in combat?

Imloth let out a barking laugh and parried the blade, though Cildair disengaged, letting his blade fall as he grabbed Imloth’s wrist in his faultless grip. He struggled to free himself from his target to no avail.

Cildair began to grapple forward, forcing their way towards the pond.

Don’t you dare! Rasped Imloth, drawing up his deepest reserve of strength. He freed himself and wrapped his arm Cildair’s waist, and slid his foot behind him.

It was a mistake. Cildair used his weight and threw them both forward, pinning him to the loamy earth. Imloth burst with laughter and gave Cildair a gentle bite upon his neck, before they smothered each other gentle kisses.

Alas, I have been thwarted, Imloth said, But it is what I deserve for taking it too easy on you.

Cildair rolled over onto his back and sighed. I’ll let you believe that, he said softly.

The shadow-wolf plodded between them and plopped down, rolling onto his back to mimic them. They gazed into the ancient trees that stretched into the ever-gloam that formed their kingdom.

If you would tell me, why did you seek to disrupt my reflections on the eve of such a great battle? Cildair asked, breaking their silent revery of nature’s beauty.

Imloth turned to face his beloved. I saw the plague of woe upon you, as thick as the morning fog, he said. Am I to leave you to such musings when I fear you may be pained?

Oh dashing rogue, Cildair replied mirthfully. Oh, winsome Moonshadow! You need not fret for me, for you know that I loathe spilling blood, yet I am cursed as the greatest swordsmen of our kind. He pulled his dagger from his belt and stared deep into his reflection. By this time tomorrow, this blade shall be stained red. Is it not more beautiful silver, as to match your hair and eye?

He sheathed his blade and they faced each other once more.

Imloth sighed at his companion’s forlorn musings. Our wicked foes do not have such lofty thoughts, he spoke softly. The Orcs seep into our land, and by their very presence corrupt the trees and poison the earth. We have pleaded for them to leave, and they have murdered our emissaries. It must be done, or our kind will come to perish in time.

The very words I have come here to meditate, Cildair said. It does not make it any easier for me.

May it be that I shall ply my talents to put your mind and flesh at ease? replied Imloth, a smile spilling once more across his soft lips.

They returned, hand in hand, to their outpost where steps grew willingly from the massive trees to bring them to