Well, your editor will probably force you to have believable motivation.

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If you want to submit a manuscript for critique, please read the guidelines as well as this list of common mistakes to avoid before submitting.

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Prince of Rùn Earth – by Hope

Prologue

It all started in a small village on the North-west side of the Land Turinhimm, which is in the Realm of Rún Earth. The village was secluded from most society, rarely greeting visitors. It was small enough that all the folk knew each other, and half were related. Even though they all knew each other, that is not intended to state that they all liked each other, for that is a separate conclusion altogether. They had their squabbles and dramas, making them seem more like an unhappy family at times. They got right up and corrected themselves when newcomers came, for they dreaded the thought of fighting before a stranger.

In one particularly quaint house lived an Elf by the name of Querinn. When you hear the word ‘Elf’ what probably comes to your mind are adventurous, skilled archers with fine, long hair. Although he had the ears, eyes, and height of an Elf, he was missing all the other things that set Elves apart from the hordes of people and dwarves in the realm. No Elves ever traveled through the region, so he had no idea who he was or why he was there. For a while he sleuthed around for a clue to his heritage, but he soon gave up and settled down in a cottage next door to his adopted parents.

On this particular evening, he was sitting at the edge of a pond in the middle of the town, staring into the depths. For a split second, he almost believed if he stared long enough all his burdens of history and future would slip off his shoulders and plop into the blue-green waters. Reality soon came back to his mind as he heard commotion further down the road. Quickly standing, he picked up the apple he was gnawing on and strolled over to see what was the matter.

A man sat atop a speckled horse, yelling something that sounded like, “Come one and all to see what I have for trade, tonight!” He said more, but Querinn was busy examining two sheep skin bags that were tied together and thrown over the horse’s neck. He made his way to the front of the crowd to get a closer look. “You there!” The man called to him, “Are you interested in my stores?” Querinn nodded ‘yes’ and the man continued, “Fantastic! I have fine silks, silver swords, a bow and arrows- “

“You have a bow?” Querinn interrupted, “I’ve only heard stories of my kin wielding those.”

“Yes!” The man exclaimed, “It was made from Silverwood by the Great Elves of the East, and comes with a quiver full of Elvish arrows.” He was delighted that he had gained the young Elf’s interest so quickly.

“How much are they?” Querinn asked, pulling out a pouch of money from his pocket.

“Ten pieces.” The man stated, holding out his hand greedily. Querinn eagerly handed over the money and grabbed the items from the man’s other hand. Querinn exited the mob and sat on his doorstep. He caressed the wooden bow with his fingers. It seemed ancient, yet the feeling of it’s surface against his skin was familiar. Words were engraved into the wood in Elvish tongue, which was foreign to Querinn’s eyes. He longed to know what they said, but no one in his town knew the language.

He was interrupted from his thoughts yet again by his adopted father. “Where did you get that?” His father asked curiously.

Querinn looked up sharply, “I bought it and some arrows from a tradesman who was travelling through town.”

“Interested in your history again, eh?” His father asked playfully.

“You could tell this was an Elvish bow?” Querinn’s eyes widened.

“I could tell Elvish product a mile away.” His father recalled “We used to have a lot of it here before the western Elves disappeared. I could never understand their odd language…”

“I wonder what happened to them.” Querinn murmured thoughtfully.

After a long pause, Querinn’s father uneasily responded, “Nothing that you should concern yourself with.” His face brightened, “Now, I found something you might like,” He pulled out a bundle and unwrapped it. “It’s- “

“That old portrait of me you used to hang on the wall!” Querinn finished, gently lifting the item from his father’s aged hands. “I remember how I hated it when people would come over and say how cute I was in that picture.”

His father smiled, “Your mother found it stuffed in a corner in your room, I think we both know how it got there.” He chuckled.

Querinn’s smile turned into a mischievous grin, “I was quite fed up with that picture mocking my very steps!” The two laughed and talked for the rest of the evening until heading back to their own houses.

Querinn flopped onto his armchair with the archery tools sitting on the table beside him, the portrait resting in his palm, and a hearty fire crackling in the hearth. For reasons Querinn still doesn’t understand, when he picked up the portrait by the frame, the backing, the picture, and another worn parchment fell into his lap. After scolding himself aloud for his clumsiness, he gathered the picture and the backing, but stopped short as his fingertips touched the parchment. What is this doing in here…? he asked himself. Querinn eagerly yet carefully unfolded the paper to reveal a message hand written on the paper.

Twelve Elven kings ruled over all,

They bickered and fought and lied,

Which led to the great Elven Fall,

Creating a thorn in the land’s side.

They split apart into groups of their own,

All except for one called Elrundall,

Who would make sure his evil seed was sown.

After many months of war, an Elf would prevail,

His name was known as Narunel.

He removed the enemy’s deceptive veil,

And showed the world the true Elrundall.

With a swift blow, Narunel banished Elrundall,

With a prophecy of the Dark One’s return,

Before banishment, Elrundall crumbled Narunel’s wall,

And when Darkness returns, it will be Narunel’s kin’s turn,

To bring peace to all.

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