I put some of this in the writers club but it was tricky to find and I think I'll get more feedback if i start a new topic in here. Just a warning this is quite long. Comments please!
Chapter 1
The Druid
The council was to sit once again. The five of them had not met for several years and there was much to be discussed. They were all to meet in the same place, the usual place. The Council Room was the highest room of the tower and there were no windows to look upon the endless landscape below. A forest dominated most of the land, its high trees towering above the stonewalls that ran around the circumference of the tower. Below the tower itself there was a huge lake, its dark waters disturbed by neither fish nor wind. It was known as Madugat Lake and the tower was as Aqua Tower, stood above it, a great pillar next to the water’s edge. The tower rose above any tree and was made of a black rock that exuded power and menace. Aqua Tower reached into the starry sky, no lights penetrating the night apart from a small flickering torch in a bracket above the ancient, oak door that lead inside. Only five men had ever entered the tower through that door and they did so rarely.
A hawk flew noiselessly from the depths of the forest towards Aqua Tower. It flew effortlessly and gracefully towards the Lake and then it dived. It was as if it had seen a fish in the dark waters but just before it was about to break the stillness of the water it rose skillfully. The hawk’s talons skimmed the lake’s surface, causing jets of water to stream out behind it. The far bank was getting ever closer and the hawk stopped easily and hovered a metre above the grassy bank. Suddenly the hawk was replaced by a man, robed all in green with a green hood, silhouetted against the full moon behind him. He gazed up at the tower and then rubbed his hands together. A jet of blue flames burst into life in his palms, lighting up the face that was hidden beneath the green hood. The face was young but it was etched with grimness. The eyes were depthless, having seen so much. He quickly made his way towards the small flickering light above the oak doors, his long robes billowing behind him.
The man reached the oak doors, pushed them open and walked inside. At once the doors slammed shut, the noise echoing in the night. A few silent minutes after the doors had shut; an immensely tall man emerged from the forest. He was robed all in blue and a tangled black beard could be seen below is lowered hood. He made his way towards the gate that marked the entrance to Aqua Tower’s grounds and stopped. He touched the portcullis with one long finger and ran it down the cold metal. With a great clanking the portcullis rose and the man strode in and started to follow the dirt track leading around the lake. The man’s strides were twice as long as a man’s and it did not take long for him to reach the stone steps that lead to the front door. Just like the man before him, he pushed open the doors and walked in. The light that was emitted from the tower lasted a few seconds before the doors slammed shut.
The lake surface began to ripple and soon these ripples turned into waves. Right in the centre, a hole appeared in the water and out of this hole rose a single figure. Wearing long black robes, he was indistinguishable in the night. Around his waist was a black belt and from this belt hung a great sword in a jet-black scabbard. On his back hung a black shield with a red and golden dragon encrusted upon it. He rose from the centre of the lake like a great king, proud and magnificent. In one swift movement he wrapped his long cloak around him and was gone. At the foot of Aqua Tower’s steps he emerged from the darkness. He strode up the steps and the doors swung open as if a great wind had forced them open, although the night air was quite still. The man pulled his hood back to let loose long, greasy black hair and a skull white face. But it was his eyes that really made him look like no other human. One was red like blood that has been drawn from a wound. The other was black like a great black hole that had no place for tears or any emotion. The red eye moved constantly while the black one looked forward. Not once did he blink as he made his way up the stairs and through the oak doors.
The doors shut behind Lord Dradona of Druids as he walked into the great room. The noise of his great knee high boots on the stone floor echoed loudly. He looked up and saw two men sitting on eagle winged chairs.
“My fellow druids,” purred Dradona. His red eye fixed on the man robed in green. “Lith, I trust you are well?” The young man stood up and walked over to Dradona. Lith of Wildland fell to his knees and looked at the ground.
“I bear grievous news, my lord Dradona,” he said quietly.
“Please Lith,” said the old man in blue. “Let us go to the Council Room for the meeting our Lord Dradona has summoned us to.”
“Yes,” said Dradona, heading towards a small doorway to the right of the chairs.
Lith rose from his knees and hastened to follow his fellow Druids. He respected both but he never felt that Lord Dradona respected him. Lord Dradona was the Lord of Druids and he was the most powerful of the five. Lith had never seen the full extent of his magic but from what he had heard from Gauther it exceeded all their powers put together. Dradona was the Lord of Aqua Tower but he rarely stayed there and so he was mostly seen in the West. Gauther often travelled around Utopia but he could mostly be found in the city of Cindurin in the North, as he was an honoree councilor of Lord Cinduri II. Lith on the other hand mostly spent his time with the Wildmen of the Forest of Darkness, fighting their wars alongside their great leader, Athenas. He often spied on their enemy in the form of a hawk. Lith was a shape shifter. He could morph into any form he desired but his preferred form was that of a hawk.
At last they reached the top of the spiral staircase. They were facing a wooden door with runes inscribed around it. Gauther stroked the runes with his knobely hand and muttered under his breath. There was a distant click and the door creaked open. The Council Room was round with a long wooden table in the middle. All the way around the walls stood torches in brackets, their light dancing in the shadows cast by statues of Druids and other great lords. Placed at intervals around the table there were five great wooden thrones. In each of these thrones there was a different coloured jewel set into the back. Each druid had his own throne with his own coloured gem. The colour of the jewel reflected the colour of their robes. Sitting at the table were two more men. One was robed in brown, the other in red. They were poring over scrolls and thick books. Occasionally, one of made a note on a scrap of parchment. They did not look up as the three druids walked in but carried on with their work.
“Dinas?” said Gauther. “Iroewth?” The two men looked up at the druid. Both of them had long white beards that had little ink droplets from the quills they had been using. Their eyes were wide and bewildered after reading the tiny letters on the scrolls and in the books.
“Gauther, my old friend,” exclaimed the man robed in brown, Dinas. “It must be at least two summers since we last met.”
“It is indeed Dinas,” replied Gauther. “Studying the Druid Scrolls are we?” He gestured towards the scrolls and the books.
“Enough of this idle talk,” said Dradona, sitting down in his throne at the head of the table. “You have all been summoned to this council for a reason and that is the Flutes of Power.” Gauther and Lith sat down in their thrones and looked towards Dradona. Dinas and Iroewth conjured the books and parchments away and also stared at Dradona. The council had begun, the last council of that age.
“What news from the north, Gauther?” asked Dradona. “Is Lord Cinduri II still foolish enough to fight the ever growing Raven Army?” The council had been going on for quite sometime. Each druid had given their report of various places across Utopia. They had not begun discussing the Flutes of Power.
“I believe that he is not foolish in fighting the Raven Army,” replied Gauther. “As you have mentioned it is ever growing, but if Cindurin defeat them before they grow too strong then their efforts can be directed elsewhere.”
“You are sure of this?” said Dradona, pulling a map from a shelve behind his throne. He laid it on the table and all of the druids leant forward. “Cindurin is sandwiched between the Cindufirg Mountains and Raven Forest. Soon the armies of these two powers will combine and crush Cindurin and the last hope of Utopia will fall.”
“So what do you suggest?” asked Lith.
“I think that Lord Cinduri should desert Cindurin and make towards Pharazon,” replied Dradona, indicating a city near to Cindurin. “There they can set up a new defence and be able to receive aid from the Dwarves of Enervate.” A silence descended on the council. Lith and Gauther gave each other skeptical looks. Then Gauther spoke.
“Do you realise what lies in the halls of Cindurin?” he said. Dradona looked up his red eye fixed on Gauther.
“I am aware of the Fifth Flute,” said Dradona. “But this is the reason why I summoned you here tonight.”
“We are all aware of the Five Flutes of Power and how they disappeared shortly after their making. The Fifth Flute was found not too long ago and placed in Cindurin. It is my belief that the other flutes have appeared once again…”
“They must be found then,” interrupted Iroewth.
“Yes and then used appropriately,” continued Dradona. “To dominate Utopia!” Dradona rose to his feet and strode towards a door, hidden in the shadows of the council room. He opened it and extracted a long black staff with a red eagle placed on its head.
“The staff of the Dark Lord!” gasped Gauther. “How did you come by this Lord Dradona?”
“I have had it for many years but I decided not to reveal it until the time was right,” replied Dradona. “My friends, our time has come. The Age of the Druids is about to begin. We will ally ourselves with the Raven and Dark Elves and the Goblins shall return to the mountains. I will be the new Dark Lord and you shall be my servants.”
“I will give you four weeks to decide and we shall meet again. I hope that you all choose widely. Now GO!” Dradona slammed the staff to the floor and the council ended.
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The Silver Sword was, as usual, completely packed. The usual crowd was gathered around the bar, telling old jokes and familiar stories. The tables in the middle of the inn were occupied by people who wished to eat out for the night, trying to block out the raucous crowd at the bar. The fire was crackling merrily making the room feel comfortable and welcoming compared to outside where snow was swirling in the wind. It had been a hard winter and the weather was not getting any better. The clock behind the bar told anyone who was interested that it was a quarter past seven. It was early evening and people were going to the inn for a drink after a cold days work. Down by The River in the Jumping Fish, the scene was similar though less crowded.
Back in The Silver Sword, Old Woodman backed into the main room of the inn holding a tray full of bowls of steaming soup. Putting the tray over his wrinkled baldhead he waded through the sea of people towards the tables of wine sipping women and pipe smoking men.
“Soup, my friends,” Old Woodman said handing out he bowls to each of the talking people. “Anything else?” he asked
“Not at the moment Old Woodman,” replied one of the men who was wearing what seemed to be his best waistcoat. “Did I tell you about my catch the other day?” Old Woodman had heard about it form this very man several times but he shook his head anyway.
“Well, it had been a bit of a bad day,” he begun. “I had just dozed off in the old boat as usual. You now how it is? The River always seems to have that affect on me. All of a sudden my line tightened and I…” But he never finished for at that moment the inn door crashed open. A cold breeze swept through the inn making the flames in the large fire place splutter as the flakes melted on their hot tongues. Old Woodman swung around as did most others in the inn, their eyes straining to get a good look at the visitor.
A man, wearing black bearskin furs, shunted into the inn. Snow flakes were caught in his long black beard and his long leather boots were splattered in mud and snow. His wise looking eyes scanned the silent room. Evidently, he was looking for something or someone. Great shouts of laughter broke the silence as someone at the bar fell off their stool. This broke the tension in the room and everyone went back to his or her business, yet they still gave the estranger ominous looks. The stranger removed his furs and hung them on some pegs and looked towards Old Woodman who nodded curtly and made towards him.
“Gauther my old friend,” said Old Woodman as he reached the bar. “It’s been awhile since we last talked. The usual is it?”
“Is he here?” asked Gauther sitting down at the bar. He looked at Old Woodman meanfnully.
“No, he isn’t. He left twenty minutes before you came, with his friends,” replied Old Woodman handing Gauther a glass of whisky. “There you go something to warm you up.”
“Thank you,” said Gauther. “I trust everything is what they should be.”
“Well almost”
“What do you mean?”
“Well Fletcher hasn’t run into trouble,” said Old Woodman. “It’s down at the Rusty Bucket inn where there has been plenty of trouble recently”
“Our good friend Luscious Darstar been stirring things up has he?”
“Well yes,” replied Old Woodman. “I would just like you check out a few things for me.”
“I ask Lith for you,” said Gauther setting down his glass. “So where is Fletcher then?”
“At Chumbles’ Bakery I believe” answered Old Woodman. “It’s good to see you again Gauther.” The two of old friends shook hands and stood up. At that moment a fight broke out near where they stood. A small man with ginger hair had hit a man twice his height in the nose, which was steadily bleeding. The man with the bloody nose had pushed the other off his stool and they were rolling on the floor, grunting and cursing. Gauther stooped down and grasped the back of their shirts and hoisted them into the air.
“And who’d be these two?” enquired Gauther.
“Simon Longlarrous,” grunted the smallest of the pair. “And he’s Roger Dorgle.” He pointed at his cut and bruised opponent.
“Do Old Woodman a favour here and get out,” said Gauther. He dropped the pair of them and they scuttled through the door of the inn. Gauther nodded to Old Woodman and followed the fleeing men out of the inn.
As soon as Gauther left The Silver Sword, he was hit by a cold wind which whipped down the narrow street. Pulling his furs around him he trudged along the deserted street, bent double against the blizzard. He knew where he was heading for he had visited Donday the year before, though the weather was quite different then. A statue loomed out from the darkness and swirling snow told Gauther that he had reached the centre of the town. The statue was of a tall man in armour holding a great sword. A shaggy looking dog sheltering from the snow at its feet. It looked at Gauther who stared back. Suddenly there was snow swirling around the statue hiding the dog from view. When Gauther looked again the dog had gone. Evidently it had trudged off to a find a warmer and drier spot to shelter.
Gauther turned down a side road and made towards the lights of a bakery. Above the bun packed windows were the words Chumbles’ Bakery. The bakery was closed for the night but Gauther didn’t worry about that. He walked up the small flight of stairs and pushed at the door but it didn’t budge. Smiling to himself, Gauther muttered a few words and the door opened with a click. He slipped in and shut the door quietly. Glancing around he saw a plate of cheese scones on a three legged table. A small sign read “Free Samples”. He pondered over them for a bit and then he picked the largest and put it into his mouth. The walls of the bakery looked as if they were made out of bread. The different colours and varieties were catergorised. There were ladders leading to the ceiling and behind the counter there were shelves of sausage rolls, sandwiches and other pastries. Next to the counter was a small door where several voices were issuing from.
Gauther made towards the door but before he got there a young man emerged from it. He had shoulder length blond hair and the eyes that looked up at Gauther were of a shocking blue colour. He was wearing a grubby white shirt with patched trousers.
“Gauther!” he cried. “You’re early.” Two more men had come through the door, coming to investigate the reason for their friends cry.
“I’m glad to see you are well, Fletcher.” Replied Gauther scanning the young man from head to toe. “Yes I am early for circumstances have changed since our last meeting.” He looked over Fletcher’s shoulder at the other two men in the door way.
“Hello Tom,” he said looking at the man with brown hair. “And I know Matthew Chumbles here.” The short plump man with blond hair started at the mention of his name from a complete stranger.
“Yes,” continued Gauther. “I knew your grandfather Barga. I often visited him when my visits in Donday were that of leisure and not of great importance.” He walked towards the door and the two men moved out the way to let him through.
Inside the room there were several roaring ovens as they cooked the next day’s bread, bread shovels were propped up against the wall and a small table in the middle with fours chairs around it. On the table itself there were three pint glasses of beer and a few half full bottles. Gauther pulled off his furs and threw them onto the back of one of the chairs. He sat down and pulled a mug out of the depths of his cloak and a bottle of gin. He poured himself a drink and gulped it down. The other three sat down at the table and looked at Gauther expectantly. Gauther pulled himself another drink and leaned back with a sigh of contention. Fletcher coughed and Gauther looked at him as if he had just woken up from a good nap. At last he spoke.
“I suppose you are wondering why I am here?” Gauther said.
“When we last saw you…” began Fletcher.
“I said war was brewing in the east of Utopia,” interrupted Gauther. He looked darkly at the three of them. “And it seems my fellow druids agree with me.”
“What is the council going to do Gauther?” asked Tom.
“The council is no more,” explained Gauther. Tom and Fletcher gasped. “We met last June where we discussed many things about the Five Flutes of Power which I believe you know nothing of.” The three of them shook their heads. “You are all aware that in the beginning of Utopia’s history, there were very few races in the world. The Druid Scrolls only report of men at that time. They were a savage lot and some of the tribes still exist to this day.”
“The scrolls then go into great detail about the arrival of dwarves, elves and men from the south and how the dwarves awoke the Goblins, dragons and giants from their mountain homes. At this time there were very few alliances and so the six druids took it as their task to unite dwarves, men and elves against a common foe.”
“Six druids? I thought there were only five,” said Tom looking confused.
“If you wouldn’t make mindless interruptions, then I can get to the point,” Gauther said fiercely, giving Tom a stormy look.
“Yes, there were once six of us. Before Dradona was our leader, the mighty Druid Vathek was the head druid. He was always seeking more power and it was not to long until he turned to the study of Necromancy. He delved into magic that no man should. He delved so deep that his sole became corrupted and only his will to study more kept him alive. Barely alive.”
Gauther had been talking for a long time, and a faint light was pouring through the window. Matthew’s head was drooping onto his chest and Tom’s eyes kept on slowly closing and then opening again. Fletcher, however, was wide awake and was hanging onto every one of Gauther's words. Gauther took a sip of his drink and continued.
“He was so weak that he couldn’t stand without support and so he got a black staff and to mark his authority he got the Read Eagle of Druids to be placed at its head. I remember the last few councils I attended with him. He sat low in his throne, a mere shadow of his former self. His filthy black robes hung loosely on his bony and pale body. Councils became less and less frequent and then word came to me in Cindurin that Vathek had vanished.”
“I rode to Aqua Tower where I met my fellow Druids in the Council Room. I had been in Cindurin for a long time as at that time they had no king. The Great Plague of 1607 killed Lord Cinduri III and his adopted son, Ashik was too young to rule such a great kingdom. I was his guardian, for the rest of his family had died, until he came of age and became Lord Cinduri IV.”
“Anyway where was I? Ahh yes Vathek. It was Lord Dradona who had called the council in Vathek’s absence. Though Lord Dradona was never appointed Head Druid, it was presumed so there after. Dradona was sitting in his throne at the head of the table. Vathek’s throne had vanished meaning only one thing. He was no longer one of the order. At that time we knew very little of what had become of him but later that year the plague ridden Cindurin was attacked as was the Sea Elf harbors of Liquairia. I felt that these two assaults were bold for two armies, the Raven and Hob-Goblins, which were still weak.”
“Then news came to me that Vathek had been spotted in the Northern Peaks, the mountain range that Aqua Tower is set before. The Druid Lith ventured into the Peaks in the form of a wolf and acted as a spy for the council. From his reports we found that Vathek had mastered those that were dead and was forming a huge army to take over the land of Utopia. I knew that we had to act swiftly. I looked towards the dwarves as I knew that we had to destroy Vathek’s stronghold in the Northern Peaks. With the assistance of the Wildmen of the Wilderness, the dwarves be-sieged the Peaks and eventually after five years defeated Vathek’s Legions of Death. He could not be killed however as he had studied Necromancy so deeply that he was immortal. Using our combined power, the five druids enslaved him within five flutes. In doing so we made our most feared enemy into our most powerful weapon. As long as those five flutes stayed within the chamber in the Northern Peaks then no other dark lord could rise. No man, dwarf, druid, elf or any other creature could remove them from there without being killed.”
“It is our great miss-fortune that all five of the flutes have been taken and so a new dark lord has been able to take the helm that Vathek had left two hundred years ago. Lord Dradona is that new Dark Lord.”
Fletcher and Tom gasped. Matthew toppled backwards off his chair with an almighty crash.
“Who removed the flutes Gauther?” asked Fletcher.
“A Dark Elf from the kingdom of Nasrat,” replied Gauther “I believe that he had been working for Dradona for quite some time.”
“But you said that not even an elf could remove the flutes,” pointed out Fletcher.
“He was not a pure elf but half-elf so the flutes’ curse had no effect on him. I have only just found out since the council tow months ago when Dradona revealed to us his true self. It seems that Dradona promised this Dark Elf, who went by the name of Suroh, a huge amount of power if he retrieved the flutes. Evidently Dradona did not keep his promise for Suroh went against him and hid the flutes across Utopia. As you can imagine Dradona was not too pleased with this and ordered for Suroh to be killed. It is many people’s belief that before he died Suroh made a prophecy and in doing so put an incantation onto the flutes.”
“What was the prophecy?” asked Tom.
“The one who betrayed me shall be defeated by those that he wanted most. Only one can use the power that they display. Though not in direct line from kings he is still royal in thy eyes but not in those of his friends,” said Gather fiercely looking at Fletcher.
Well what do ya think?!
Keep it up, I would like to read more 
