Prompt: Week 1: Write a haunting description of the eldritch beauty of an abandoned elf kingdom. (Inspired by The Lord of the Rings)
Story:
“We’ve arrived.” Alexander glanced up to see the blessed end of the pass, his guide smiled “Welcome to the Lost Valley, the once great homeland of the elves.”
The valley floor spread out below them, barren and windswept mountain hills passing into emerald pines that were interrupted only by a meandering river and the remnants of fields. Everything they’d seen so far from small village, abandon and destitute, to the ancient imposing fortress that one guarded this pass failed to meet the wonder this valley held. Everything paled in light of this. An old road, detectable only by its unnatural flatness, wounded down the mountain side. As the party followed it, they passed piles of marble and stone. Statues that would have welcomed visitors into the valley were merely odd, disfigured boulders. Here and there, a stone hand could be seen, thrust towards the sky as if begging for salivation. A stunning example of elven craftsmanship rose from a bluff that interrupted the road, an elf whose spear would have jutted over the road. Its details long worn away, the breathtaking beauty of its creators’ faces was still visible in the faded face though his weapon lay shattered across the road. From this windswept mountainside, the travelers descended into this most ancient of forests. Here the bright midday sun dared not tread, an ancient twilight wrapped them in its cloaking silence. These trees had not heard the tread of man in many a decade and them seemed to rebuff the attempts to break the silence. Hands strayed to their swords as if hostile elves lurked in every shadow waiting to ambush them. None dared light a torch to disturb this ancient shadow. Here, the forest had done more to erase its former inhabitants than the mountainside had. Statues that lined the road were entombed in moss, strange caricatures of their former grace.
The party rounded a twilight bend and passed into a dark tunnel of vines and moss. Animals skittered down the tunnel, fleeing these noisy two-legs and their horses. When they finally broke through, they found themselves in the city itself. The bright midday sun seemed faded somehow, as if the twilight of the forest hadn’t been broken completely. In fact, it seemed as if the whole city had been frozen in place and left to rot slowly. The streets seemed to whisper with the memories of ancient sounds, while the buildings that still stood seemed to flicker with memories of those who had lived their before. The river stone roads were choked with weeds and grass. Time had long since worn away the furnishings but many buildings still stood, crowded with debris and refuse. Though marble walls of some homes had caved in and wild flowers grew like weeds, entire streets that looked almost exactly as they had been left. More disturbingly, body-sized mounds of moss littered the streets. Statues, the party was sure, left lying as if the plants had reach out to entomb them in their sleep. One could almost imagine them screaming in their eternal imprisonment. As the party worked their way toward the heart of the city, debris filled the roads while the buildings grew less destitute.
The Great Spires that rose from the city-center were the shinning wonder of the elven kingdom, built with forgotten magic by a long-dead people. Solid yet somehow spindly, they gave the impression that they had been built with the greatest of ease and only their beauty in mind. In their hay day, they would’ve shown with white, gold and silver, and gay colours would’ve hung from every balcony. In the by-gone era, elves would’ve filled the spires and crossed between them by the countless bridges that had branched out from each. Even this wonder had not escape the ravages of time for all their splendor. Storms had left the spires ragged, clawing at the sky like a great skeletal hand frozen in time. Their skin and trappings filled the streets near the city center, several buildings had been crushed when entire stone bridges had broken free. While they retained their graceful elegance, their peaceful beauty of a spring day had been replaced by the cold peace of death. Memories of what it had been warred with the pallor of its current existence in an almost tangible fashion.
