Myst Revir This is a progressive bio of Myst Revir, it also jumps from different points in time to others. You can email myst at firstname.lastname@example.org
Four years had passed since the battle of Shalderon Forge. Myst was no longer a soldier and he had time to wander the land as an adventurer. He now looked out at the vast expanses of the elven empire, those who had defeated the humans at Shalderon. Myst was the soul survivor of that battle. The future had looked bleak, the elves were not the only enemy at hand and Myst was wounded, but he had recovered since then and moved on. He could remember the battle clearly. Men fell to the ground as arrows hit their corpses, others tried to help, but they were dead before they even made contact with the stone floor. The men were not as skilled as the elves, that is the simple fact that blocked everyone psycologically from even trying to fight the battle. There were some that fought valiantly, but others just had a dull look in their eyes. They were dead where they stood, they might as well have not even fought. Myst saw a bright light out of the corner of his eye, the elves had set yet another building on fire. The battle was hopeless, fighting was hopeless, so Myst ran. He ran to the west wall of the city, elves were climbing over on ladders. One of them aimed his bow on Myst, but just as he was about to fire, Myst dissappeared. He had put on his black mask that had been given to him by his father before the battle started, and ran. Myst didn't stopped running, he ran until he could no longer even see the Shaderon empire. The flames were no longer visible and they seemed surreal to him, but he knew he would not be able to return to Shalderon, to his home. As he looked into the valley now, he saw an elven brigand approaching. He turned and walked away, his black cloak floating behind him. Myst sat feeling the old banner of Shalderon. He had taken it with him when he escaped the battle. His friend was the banner bearer. One of his only friends. No other had been as true or loyal with him, and he was now just a memory. Myst looked into the campfire and saw his memory of the battle once more. Matteo ran through the streets and into Myst’s house. Myst was asleep when he came, but he was easily awakened by the door opening. Myst always slept lightly. “The armies of the elves are here.” Matteo said as Myst lept from his bed and strapped on his sword. The two friend burst out of the small house and ran down the street to fight. Only an hour later the elves had taken most of the city and Myst and Matteo stood on the ramparts of the castle. Myst looked down at the vast numbers of elves while watching for fire from the elven archers. Arrows flew all around, but very few came from the humans. The arrows were running out and the moral just as quickly. Myst took a bow from a fallen ally and strung an arrow. He flexed the bow back in his hands and a roar came from deep within him as he loosed the arrow. “SHALDEEEEEROOON!” the battle cry was picked up by the other men and sustained by Matteo as he waved the banner high. The men started to fight more fiercely, and a barrage of arrows came from the humans. Things were looking up, and Myst turned smiling to his friend just in time to see an arrow fly into his chest. The cry instantly died out. Myst lept over to his friend and caught him while he was falling. He was too late already, Matteo had died. His eyes slowly clouded over, and Myst closed the lids. The banner had rested against the wall, it flailed weakly and floated gently to the ground. The banner, tattered and torn with an image of a fist on it rested on Matteo’s chest. Myst took the banner and folded it slowly and solemnly, and placed it in his bag. He then removed his cloak and layed it over his fallen friend I will add more to this as I write it.