Thorniir braced himself as the man looked towards him, their eyes locking, human and elf preparing for the worst. The man opened his mouth, took a breath, and…
“Thorn-air?” he shouted. “Thorn-air?”
Thorn grimaced. The humans had such an unmusical way of murdering elven names. If they really were trying, it was rather pitiful.
“It’s Thurn-ear” He said, smiling brightly. Keep the humans happy, He said to himself. When they’re not happy people die.
“Ok, I’ll try to remember.” The man said, with no real sincerity. “This is for you.” He extended a hand, parchment clasped tightly within. As Thorn reached for it, the man extended his empty hand impatiently.
“I don’t have any gold.” Thurn said apologetically.
“Then I guess you don’t have a letter either.” Said the man. He snickered and turned away sharply. As he reached the height of his stride, the root of a nearby tree jumped up, catching his lower foot. The man stumbled over, his entire satchel of letters pouring out, blowing all over in the breeze. Thorn rushed over and scooped up his letter, turning toward the man as he did so.
“Watch out for the roots, they can be a little…territorial.” He joked, moving quickly to avoid a look that could probably kill him instantly. When he had reached the safety of the hostel, he tore the seal from the letter, knowing full well who it was from. Suddenly, the air was filled with an unmistakable odor of sulfur. Thorniir ran to the window, already certain of what he’d find. In the distance, a great lizard, wings unfurled, levitated towards the building, fire flowing from its agape jaw.
Thorniir awoke in a cold sweat, the hazy morning air nearly reflecting the light of the warm new day. He would never get used to the New Haven heat, of that he was sure. The Windakre had been temperate, but even on the warmest day couldn’t hope to reach these temperatures. The air weighed more than most of the people here, and it made pulling himself from his cot a chore as he untangled the soaked sheets. Around him, his cabin fellows barely stirred, their breathing even. He got to his feet, the cool of the floor sending a shiver up his spine, through to the tips of his ears. He pulled on his shirt, still damp from the day before, and made it a point to remind himself to wash it after watch tonight. The tunic came on over that, and the looking glass aided in the woading before he wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and started on the road to High town.
The woods had always felt like home, even if he didn’t know them. The elven connection to the earth was as natural and simple as breathing; The connection would pull at one’s chest, their heart beating in time to the flap of wings and the whirl of the breeze. The blanket of recognition and mutual respect radiated in full- the woods are where Elves belong.
But not these woods- these woods were hard. There was darkness here; they called out to him, pleading for aid and protection. Someone, something, had upset the balance here long before the first seeds had taken root. Steeped in blood and pain were the grounds upon which the surviving refugees now tread. Part of him wondered if they would have been safer with the dragons.
Even through his boots, Thorniir felt the roots tremble; something was approaching. He had been in New Haven long enough to know that traveling alone meant traveling quickly, so he collected his thoughts and took off at a clip, faster down the road.
Just before the red cabins of 'high town' in the small little grove of trees Theron sits on one of the fallen trunks as a makeshift bench. Very clearly human, most likely in his mid thirties, he wears the red and black tabbard with the symbol of the open book on a badge over his heart. Just at arms length is his staff with iron bandings, and beside him are a few, small, leather bound tomes. His grey streaked hair shows a modicum of brushing.
He is idly scratching away at the book currently in his lap, when he peers up and sees the approaching figure. Squinting a bit at an attempt at recognition, he seems not to mentally make any connections.
When the elf comes closer, Theron speaks up in a conversational tone. "That looks like a tiring pace to be having this early in the morning." he quips as a greeting.
Aleena was near by, but on a quilted blanket enjoying what was left of a sunny day, she felt VERY refreshed after a dip in the lake earlier. Her long lenghten white hair looking clean in the breeze but no elven ears can be seen, the maiden wore a white chemise with a black overlayer skirt with cultural looking embroidery.
Her curled white staff stood idle near by with a propped tiny 'tray' attached to it. It was holding her lemon poppy cakes in a dish. An icey pitcher of lemonaide and tea squeeze was beside her on the blanket, sweating the coolant through it's metallic frame.
Everything had lemon flavor but when her only farming has been citrus, she made the most of it!
Plus after such good recent events, finding her paladin brother, successful peace among guilds, cleansing of abysal fiends....well, she was in a good mood!
There was a chessboard set over the blanket between Theron and herself.
She was studding it, contemplating her next move while casually sipping her iced tea, until she hears the pounding sounds of running?
The petite priestess, peeked up seeking the source?
She awaited a reply from the running figure to Theron, wondering if there was trouble afoot?
Thorniir had seen the man before, he was certain of that. Perhaps at the tavern, perhaps about town, but the face wasn't entirely unfamiliar. The movement in the ground settled, as if the town limits were beyond it's reach, and Thorniir let out a huff.
"That looks like a tiring pace to be having this early in the morning."
Thorniir let out a troubled laugh, clutching a stitch in his side. "The woods here breathe differently. Haven't quite figured 'em out yet." He said, instantly realizing, as he often did in these situations, just how thick his accent might be. Thorniir looked down, noticing the patch on the man's chest. The elder's voices rang in his ear; "Beware humans in large groups who think the same, for here is true danger."
"Are you a knight?" Thorniir wondered aloud. There were guilds and groups and councils and teams here, all in high number, and he didn't recognize faces well enough yet to pin someone in one or the other. As he finally stood tall, he noticed a woman next to the human, but something about her was not altogether so. He couldn't pinpoint it, but something told him to put his fist over his heart, his hands greeting for non humans. He did so, bow toward her slightly.
"Sorry if I startled you" he said, still out of breathe. "The forest and I aren't speakin' the same tounge just yet."
Theron shrugged, unconcerned. If he took notice of the disparity in Thorniir's greeting between himself and his chess companion, he made no mention. "It'd be rather rude of us to sit at the edge of the road and be startled as people chose to use it and pass by."
"My name is Theron. This is Priestess Aleena Cloudlily, a devout of I'nil."
"And to answer your question... sort of." He says sheepishly. "The Order I belong to call ourselves "Knights" but that is because the term is aspirational and inspirational. More to the point; if you're asking if I am a noble born raised for war, then no. I am a shop keeper's son."
"I know these are very different surroundings than any of us are used to. Takes some time. There's a forest fae that has taken up residence in these woods which seems to have calmed them. But there are all manner of forces loose that play merry harper on them, I suspect."
"We've some water here, by all means have some. That journy always leaves me sweating more out than I take in with this heat. What brings you this way? If you don't mind the question."
Aleena studied the fellow, a faint tilt of her head but not of malice but, curiosity. When he was capable of catching his breath and calmly pressed a fist to the heart and bow. She knew this one carries the old ways of elves. She grins brightly, and returns the gesture with a soft regarding nod and fist to her heart as well very slowly and well mannered.
" Mae govannenith,..vell met! " A mix of elvish and some other frankish-germaic dialect, but cheerful.
"And do not ze mind my informal garments, I am a lil cottage maiden myself, .." she chuckled.
Gesturing a hand to the blanket to sit under the shade of the great tree and towards the pitcher of drinks. "Come ve have sparith cup for you.."
She waves a hand to her staff that was free standing, it's curly white head turns towards her.
"Ne....spare one please?"
As if it ghosted in to place, a goblet in copper appeared on the tray. No sparkles, no light. Just faded in to view.
"Thank you,..." she takes it and began pouring the fresh drink.
"ah,..I know vhat you speakith, I too vas not accustom to these woods. The soundz they made, startled me. I cameith in ze pinacle heat of summer, like now. Hearing screeching beetles in the night, was haunting. The realm here is as tempest as ze ocean. Vone moment tis safe, znother time, it can drown and consume us. " speaking with a dept and seriousness.
" But not to worry, there are many here,...as long ve work together, we can break the darkness that claims dis place, the sunlight always rises everyday. Elders guiding us vith their light and wisdom..."
She leaned over to give him the icey cup with a smile,
"Here you are..um..Monsieur---....??"
She peeked over seeing a chess piece move from Theron and rose a brow.
https://www.chess.com/daily/game/195602414
"I do not like jour horses..." with a narrow of eyes but there's a hint of playfulness. Maybe.
Theron smirks at the aside from his friend. "Knights are hard to like."
Narrows eyes moving pieces in the chess board.
"Joo are getting cocky..."
She shrieks suddenly when he moves one bishop. Giving a high pitch gasp.
"YOU CHECKMATE ME?!"
"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!"
He grins a cheshire smile. "Have to watch out for those religious types." He says pointing to the Bishop.
Pursing her lips into a prune she suddenly tosses a slice of lemon at him.
"Ooooooo!! I demand a rematch! I cannot believe it! You forfeit ze last one, didn't even let me get this far!"
She was upset, but not the kind that warrants worry. It seems like they know each other really well to allow pestering like this and banter.
She turns to the elf with crossed arms, pouting with a knit brow.
"...don't mindith me...he's been a bane of my existance on ze chess board.." narrowing a gaze at Theron again.
Thorn watched as the two bantered, the cheerful play of old friends. This was something he hadn't seen in a long time, something he wasn't sure could exist here. It was heartwarming to say the least. He graciously accepted the cup, the cool liquid inside tempting him.
"Thank you, Lady..." he realized he didn't know her name, and smiled widely. "I am Thorniir Heartmender of the Ravenswood Clan. A pleasure."
"Thorniir, I am Aleena Cloudlily, Priestess of Inil. " she smiles with a nod, "....care to sit and chat vith us? You are free to challenge Theron here in chess if you like. But we are mostly relaxing in ze shade ...."
Pouting Theron's way, "Perhaps joo vill have better luck then I..."
Theron gives her a quick wink. "Chess is one of the few games that involves no luck on the game board."
Turning to their new guest, he inquires. "What were the woodlands of your origin like, Thurniir?" he asks getting the name mostly correct.
"No thank you, Lady Aleena." Thorn said, "I know how the game works in theory, but follow through has never been my strong suit."
"What were the woodlands of your origin like?"
Thorn turned to the man, a wistful look in his eye. "I'm from a northern tundra known as the Windakre. For large parts of the year we didn't even see the sun. My clan were known for our collection of eons worth of elven knowledge."
He exhaled.
"Next to nothing seems to have survived. "
Theron nods with sympathetic mournfulness, but his eyes still seem wide and interested. "An isolated tundra with a collection of learning built up over that long? Wish I had a brother or sister from there. Sounds like quite a tale. Never heard of it, other than in passing myself. Sadly."
"Are you a scholar?" he says, leaning in with interest. Then raises a hand apologetically. "I understand if you do not wish to talk about it, sorry."
"It's alright. The memory is a blessing. I'm a scholar of sorts. I never finished my training to become a full member of the Molostroi so I was never permitted to partake in the knowledge they had saved away. "
The images came in flashes- a hide tent with a stone staircase in the center, leading to a barrier that radiated magik. Torches moving through the darkness, and coming into view just outside the tent. The postulants asleep on pine mats, dreaming of the day they could one day venture beyond the barrier.
"My people valued knowledge above all things. It was our job to keep the old ways. I've heard whispers that some of that knowledge may have survived. I can only hope we were so lucky."
"It's certainly possible." Theron says. "There have been some High Elf scholars salvaging what knowledge they can. Both of what they can find of their old libraries, and in general. Their archives were said to be vast. At the very least, if anyone was to know more of the Windakre, they would be my bet."
"Other members of the Order have had good working relations with them so far over a matter of recovering an enchantment artifact. Though from what Zyvian and Carro tell me they have been very forthcoming and cordial about information."
Theron takes a quick drought of his own drink. "Aside from that, you never know what will follow us ashore."
"If you wish though, I can ask my brother or sister and get those names for you."
Aleena listened in sipping her cup, "Ze books are the light of our world. I can see how you lament their lost. Cultures, language, even the lives of people are forgotten in those burned pages. Those are memories, discoveries and so much more. I treasure my only copy of ze Book of Light, scriptures of Inilian ways...."
Looking to Theron, "The Scholars you speak of Theron? They have mostly mythical stories? I was expecting research or some kind of history? I like ze stories none di less, especially ze Bunner Castle..."
She closed her eyes, "I am partial to artwork though,....there are many who can not read or le write. Artwork and statues are real physical evidence of the values of ze past, with just a glance, one can feel it's message of hope or valor. Hand in hand vith scriptures and retelling their past, you have history. There are relics and paintings I am requesting from ze old world. It vill take time. They have no value to ze naked eye. But....to others, they are reminders of who ve are, and what ve stand for...."
She smiles looking to Thorniir. "So, joo said a tundra vith little sun at certain seasons? That soundz like ze northeastern side? Close to ze Zilberan lands, west of Arduin and the White Elven artic kingdom? I believe that is vhere ze Dire Grey Moose live and mirgrate..?"
Aleena looked at Theron, "It can take weeks seeking them, but their meat and size is enough to feed a family of six for an entire year, difficult to capture. The tundra has very little trees for stealth, just spansive plains and meadows, ideal to graze grass and not allowing predators to hide. Any trees there are very tall and old, scarce along ze tundra borders. My Popa was planning to go there to hunt,..." a frown crosses her features briefly
"But during ze summer it is blistering ne? Open and vast, many fields, very fast wild deer there. Am I correct Monsiuer Thorniir...?"