Private Tales A Druid's Prayer

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

“Je'ti attolre fon iach fy absendien.” I pray thee, be well in my absence.

It had only been three years since she'd said those words near the edge of the Falwood. Three years gone by since she'd been cursed beneath these trees. A mere three years since she departed to find her fate far across the continent in the Valen Wilds. Yet her words and memories drifted in from another lifetime -- sun-bleached flotsam from the sea of time. She uttered them in remembrance, but she found she didn't care about them. This wasn't a time to light a candle for the bygone days, but to see the colors of the present through newborn eyes.

"Are you ready to see the land of your ancestors, Fie?" She smiled and turned to look down at her daughter, who was kneeling down to feel the grass between her chubby fingers. Next to her, a hillock of moss as tall as Elinyra's hip reached viney arms down to steady the toddler.

Fielyn responded by ripping up a clump of green and stuffing it into her mouth.

"At least you know what the land of your ancestors tastes like. It's a start," Elinyra said with a chuckle before scanning the thin line of road before them. It meandered into the crowded treeline past the sun-dappled meadow they'd stopped to rest on. She thought she remembered a settlement not too far from them; an old druid grove that might welcome them for the night if it was still populated. After all, Elinyra was still a druid in her heart of hearts. Some things just always remained a part of you, no matter how much you change.

"Would you mind carrying her for a while, Fwysog?"

The hillock -- which to outside observers might look very vaguely like a tortoise on two legs if said tortoise was made of stone, wood and plant -- nodded its squat, rounded head with a slow blink of two coal-black eyes. The creature then gently picked up the child, who was still considering if she liked the taste of the grass or not.

"Onward, then!" she said, her voice cheerful despite the old ghosts that prickled the back of her neck.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Upon breaking the tree line ahead there was, sure enough, a grove of resplendent tranquility. A large, weathered stone sat upright in the grove's center and before it, of all things, was... a human? Not just any human but one draped in opulence more fit for a palace. With features depicting a middle-age lifespan. Grey hairs just barely encroached at his temples and hard, deep lines set at the edge of his amber eyes. Perhaps more surprising than finding a human here, nonetheless one dressed like a king, was the fact that with subtle motions of his hands the human was shaping and calming the wild much like one of her kin.

To Elinyra specifically this magic would feel calming, even alluring, almost entrancing due to her Blightborn nature. It plucked, pulled and soothed her elven soul while also exerting a soft, commanding presence to her body so attuned to nature. To her child it would be lessened to a merely bubbly calm and even a sense of gentle happiness brought by the magics the human man wielded. Some obscure or ancient art of her people, perhaps? Or a related tribe?

Regardless of the magic's exact origins the human man would notice the trio approach and gently lower his hands. His severe features perhaps making the twinge of worry that, with how easily he bent the plant-life to his whims in maintaining the grove, he could exert his will onto Elinyra herself. But as he turned to look at the trio his eyes would sweep over Elinyra with interest, then to Fwysog, and would linger for a long, silent moment on Fie. His expression was... inscrutable. Granite. But after a long, tense moment he would raise his bright amber eyes back to Elinyra and give a low ghost of a smile as he motioned with a hand.

"Croeso, fam anrhydeddus." Welcome, Honored Mother.

"Any who bring new life to the groves are always welcome."

It was a... startling traditional greeting for her people. How a human knew of it was a mystery but the man, though not a friendly countenance by any means, had just greeted Elinyra in a fashion that suggested he was assuming the role of keeper of this grove, and welcomed her with honor and reverence besides. Who was this man, bearing an Allirian accent of all things, noble-born but as in-tune with nature as an Arch-Druid of her own people? Would she care to find out?

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Elinyra had been watching the human's ritualistic motions in respectful silence, as an admirer might observe a painter placing strokes of color and shape onto a canvas. In this case, the canvas was alive and filled with colors and scents and sounds that touched more senses than she could describe. The aroma of damp loam melded with the mineral taste of spring water, the chirp of birdsong and bright summer green, all combining into the pure essence of nature.

Some willowy fronds growing from Elinyra's hair began to sprout white, fluffy catkins. She sighed in quiet contentment, letting the familiar sensations wash over her like the welcome warmth of spring sunlight after a bleak winter. It was a bittersweet comfort for her soul, for as she constantly walked between two worlds, she was also vaguely aware of the soundless chorus of decay gnawing on the edges of leaves and working inevitably beneath their feet.

Fielynn giggled and moved her hands awkwardly to try to mimic the man's motions, her wobbly legs held firm in Fwysog's gentle grasp.

"Croeso, fam anrhydeddus." Welcome, Honored Mother.

"Any who bring new life to the groves are always welcome."

It was nice to hear the words from a by-gone past again, even if the speaker was not of her birthkin.

She cast the man a curious glance before giving him a smile, catching his amber eyes with emerald irises marred with inky black specks. She had expected to find an elvish druid circle here in elvish lands, not a lone human dressed as a man of wealth. She wasn't sure which of them was more out of place in this ancient sacred place.

"Dim diolch. Go heddych síocháin ann sa llwyn hwn," she replied in druidic tradition. Thank you. May there be peace in this grove. Noting the apparent lack of other druids, she feared that had not been the case. Had this been one of the circles Vyr had blighted and abducted to Tir Na Nog? Or one that had simply been whittled away over time to only a few faithful grove tenders?

She crossed her arms and dipped into a respectful bow. When she came back up, she asked in Common,

"Which Circle tends this grove?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

The motions of Elinyra's daughter was one of the few things in recent memory to drudge up the near-dead man Petrus had once been in the form of something approaching a true smile. Though it did not reach his eyes it was more than most had ever seen from the nobleman. As Elinyra spoke and thanked him Petrus would give a somewhat solemn nod, arms lacing behind his back more firmly, before his near-smile fell like the wilting of a flower, slow and purposeful, as she asked which Circle tended the grove.

Inhaling deeply through his nose Petrus would cast a glance up at the large carved stone that sat in the grove's center and, mouth grimacing, would turn back to her with a demeanor that gave the impression they were standing not in a grove of peace any longer, but in the midst of a vast cemetery.

"One whose own blood achieved no new generations."

There was a tenseness in the Allirian nobleman that was seldom seen as he was usually more calm, more collected, and indeed even his voice broke into something shaky as he met her eyes and stated purposefully in words that wouldn't mar the little one's memories as anything but funny words from a strange human.

"One whose seedlings were put to the blade in their mother's soil."

He did not feel the need to spell out that several pregnant, expectant members of the grove had been butchered, mother and child both, as even Petrus did not know who had done this or why. Despite his considerable resources and how much he had devoted to learning of this in his youth.

"Their name is ash now, kept only in one mind, and I humbly ask to be allowed to carry it's memory myself to it's end."

Exhaling slowly, shakily, Petrus would then venture a nod to her daughter.

"But even in ash new life blooms, a welcome sight."

Petrus paused, glancing over Elinyra's shoulder, before giving her a quizzical look and approaching. He would then kneel down between the two, a very rare sight in and of itself to see him kneeling, and with some minor magic produce a small, pink flower and offer it to Fielynn, chubby fingers and all, to put in her hair. The flower was known, tradiitonally, as a sign of good luck and protection. After that he would glance up to Elinyra and ask quietly.

"Does her father not walk with you?"

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

The man's smile did nothing to diminish the deep pain in his eyes. Loss. It poured out in his words, ichor from a wound that refused to heal. Elinyra subconsciously clenched her right hand into a fist as he explained the reason for the circle's disappearance, and for his grief.

She nodded her understanding, although she found that she had no words of sympathy to offer him. She had once lost herself in trying to find some sense, some moral order, to the seemingly endless cycles of grief and rage and violence that blighted the world. She'd asked for the truth from a being far older than she, and his answer had poisoned her mind. To try to assign a reason to whatever bloodshed had occurred here seemed as pointless as counting sand on a beach.

"Their name is ash now, kept only in one mind, and I humbly ask to be allowed to carry it's memory myself to it's end."

"It is noble of you to honor their memory. To be their legacy. I would only ask that you do not deprive yourself of living your own life in doing so."

Of course, he did not need her permission, but it felt right to acknowledge the burden he willingly carried with him.

Fielynn gave the stranger an uncertain look, but she seemed intrigued by the conjured gift. She blinked her eyes, a strange two-tone ringed with shades of green and grey, at him. As she reached out and touched the flower, its pink-hued petals darkened to red, orange and yellow as if reflecting a far-off sunset before settling back into its original coloration. After placing it in the curls of her deep chestnut hair, she clapped her hands together, clearly very pleased with herself.

Elinyra's face turned rigid at Petrus's question. Over the course of their travels, she had prepared some terse answers for similar questions, but Fielynn's recent penchant for producing magic tricks had made them seem... insufficient. Worse than that, they had forced her to ask her own questions about her miraculous scion.

"No."

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

A stony, rigid and regretful familiarity settled into Petrus's blunt features at the answer Elinyra gave. He felt he knew the pain there and, thus, as he stood he would incline his head gently toward her.

"I shall speak of it no more then. Come, while you are here you are under my aegis."

Turning Petrus would take a step before looking back and down at Elinyra, the tall human's weathered features flitting to her daughter briefly, before he asked.

"Have the two of you eaten recently?"

He would resume walking as he awaited her answer, turning his gaze from her entirely, his stride measured and though not quite elven in it's fluidity for a human it was remarkably measured. Doubly so for one of his age. Not quite 'graceful' but rigorously controlled, in short. Only after he had made it into the shadow of the carved stone would Petrus retrieve a wrapped bundle from around it, having packed food in abundance from the campsite of his House not all that far from the grove itself.

A tiny crumb of levity, of some emotion other than somber duty, tinged his voice as he began to turn and undo the bundle, looking at Fielynn briefly before clearing his throat.

"I have even brought with me soft sweets. That is, of course...."

His gaze moved to Elinyra and the elven blightborn would be the first person, and especially the first woman, in countless years to see and hear something resembling humor in the voice of Petrus Iskandar as he continued.

".... up to your mother."

For a heartbeat he froze, his expression shifting oddly, lines deepening, before he hummed.

"I have forgotten myself. I am Petrus Ritus Iskandar, Keeper of this Grove, my name should have been given to you upon our meeting. My apologies my Lady."

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

"Have the two of you eaten recently?"

"Nothing substantial," she admitted, grateful both for the hospitality and the opportunity to move on to more agreeable topics. "I have some food packed for us, enough to share a bit as well." She reached back and patted the large pack strapped to her back, as dusty and road-worn as her travel clothes. There hadn't been many sizeable towns to restock their provisions west of Alliria, but most of what she had were things that she could forage or make without much trouble.

The odd trio followed their host into the protective embrace of the grove. It was obviously tended to with care, every tree pruned and maintained to a state of vibrant health. To think that he managed this all alone spoke to an impressive dedication.

"My name is Elinyra Derwinthir." She gestured to her daughter, then to Fwysog in turn. "This is Fielynn, and this one I call Fwysog. Well met, Petrus Ritus Iskandar."

"And yes, Fie can certainly have a treat or two," she finished with a smile.

"Gaaaaaa," said Fielynn, her meaning inscrutable to anyone but herself.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would nod subtly at Elinyra's introductions and, his posture becoming a bit more rigid, a bit more like what it usually was in his own court he would draw an acorn from his pocket, bring it to his lips, whisper to it softly before placing it upon the ground and covering it with a hand. In the span of moments would magically smooth bark pierce it's way up through the air, spiraling and contorting to Petrus's will as it formed itself into something vaguely resembling a table.

Beginning to set out quite luxurious food, of both plant and meat, Petrus would sit down slowly before commenting dryly.

"Where once I could sit upon the grass for hours on end I am afraid age has made my spine disagree with such actions."

Leaning over Petrus would unseal a magically preserved small bowl of some sort of cinnamon-mixed sweet. Much like a pudding as he gently dipped the spoon, held it up before Fielynn, before asking Elinyra softly.

"May I?"

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Watching the druid grow them a table made her feel a tad homesick. She hadn't seen such magic, besides her own, since leaving Tir Na Nog.

"You have an impressive grasp of Falwood druidry, even by elven standards," she remarked before adding a touch sheepishly, "Admittedly, I have never met a human trained in our tradition. How long have you studied it?"

She slipped off her heavy pack and set it to the side. Gingerly, she removed a staff carved from a strange, pale lavender wood from a sheath on the pack and set it on top before joining Petrus at the table.

Fwysog busied itself retrieving their provisions to add to the existing banquet while Elinyra sat herself down with Fielynn on her lap. The latter started drumming the table with her tiny hands while her mother accepted a bottle of dark liquid and set it in the center of the table, out of her daughter's inquisitive reach. A tiny linen sack of sugar was tied around it.

Elinyra was surprised to find that her history as a healer and herbalist-in-training came to mind on hearing Petrus's complaint.

"Have you tried a nettle poultice? If you can bear the initial sting, it can help with aches in aging bones."

"May I?"

It took a moment for Elinyra to overcome the deep maternal instinct to distrust a stranger around her child, but she could sense no malevolence from this man.

"Yes, but--" Before she could finish her statement, Fwysog had bent forward, elongating its green neck as if it could simply grow it at will, and closed a wooden, beaked jaw over the spoon.

"Fwysog can sometimes be a bit over-protective... too.." she finished with a helpless shrug. Fwysog drew back, having only slightly bent the spoon, and made a deep gurgling noise.

"Fwysog seems to approve," Elinyra explained, having accustomed herself to most of the enigmatic creature's mannerisms. Fwysog then settled back into its shell contentedly.

Fielynn, not to be outmatched, leaned forward as much as her mother's grasp would allow, wide eyes completely focused on the spoon.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would consider Elinyra's question before giving her a pointed look. Only to remark dryly after bending the spoon back into shape and procuring another dollop of the pudding for Fielynn.

"How long have I practiced? It is quite rude to ask a man his age you know?"

He was not truly offended and, after only a moment, would indeed answer.

"I have honed this craft for sixty years."

Gently spooning the soft cinnamon pudding into Fielynn's mouth he gave another near-smile before gently scooping up the excess pudding that Fielynn inevitably let spill from the corners of her mouth and then feeding those to her. There was something, in answer to Elinyra's maternal worry, rather steady and paternal to Petrus's motions. Whether he had done these things before or not.... who could say?

But what may have been a more pressing question is that the next spoonful was not offered to Fielynn, or even Fwysog, but instead he held the spoon up before Elinyra's own lips and gave her a level, rather serious look, though she would just be able to make out the amusement smoldering in his amber eyes as he commented in a tone more fit for a courtroom than a grove.

"Even mothers should be pampered on occasion."

He didn't truly expect her to eat the pudding but the look that Fielynn gave to her mother as she seemed to enjoy the pudding made it possible.

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

"How long have I practiced? It is quite rude to ask a man his age you know?"

She merely smirked in response, pleasantly surprised to hear a moment of levity from her hitherto grim host. She'd grown fairly accustomed to humans in her years of traveling across Arethil, and understood that sixty years was a considerable part of their lifespan.

Her thoughts on the matter were interrupted when a spoonful of cinnamon-scented pudding appeared before her lips.

"Even mothers should be pampered on occasion."

At first she could only gape at the offered morsel in sincere surprise. Then she burst out laughing. Her voice gained some supernatural quality as it echoed across the grove, momentarily becoming the bright chattering of birds, then the gentle burbling of a stream before fading into the sunlit forest.

She gently re-directed the spoon towards Fielynn, who accepted it with an excited bounce.

"You flatter me, truly," she replied once the laughter had settled into a more manageable chuckle. "But might I instead offer something I find a special treat?"

Her gaze darted to the bottle of dark liquid sitting on the table. "If memory serves me, your accent is Allirian... Is it not? Perhaps you've heard of a unique place in the market that serves a drink called 'coffee'?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Indeed sixty years was a significant part of a human's lifespan. Much more than Petrus showed in his features despite being undoubtedly older. Whether Elinyra truly recognized the disparity though, well, that was entirely up to her. At her surprised gaping and, even more-so, her laugh Petrus gave pause. He had fallen in love, once upon a time, with a similar laugh. Some fifty years ago he would have done anything to hear a laugh like Elinyra's from his beloved but now? Now all it did was bring a pang of nostalgic remorse to the nobleman's heart. Remorse that he his perfectly behind a stoic facade and gently fed Fielynn again.

At Elinyra's statement that he flattered her he shook his head, slowly, before commenting in a low, contemplative tone.

"No. No I don't believe I can flatter one who has given me what you have today."

Raising his gaze at the mention of coffee he would idly think to himself of all the coffee houses, inns and taverns that he held stake in, owned or had driven into bankruptcy over his life. But he could not bring himself to let her see just how used to what she offered he was and, thus, he told a white lie shielded by the truth.

"Despite appearances I have heard of it but not tasted it. My house deals in wines by and large and the two drinks tend to serve different purposes."

A small part of him, deep, deep down felt a stab of guilt and self-disgust at this otherwise cheery scene. He had loved and lost once already and to use this woman and her daughter to live a brief facsimile of the life he had never gotten to experience left a bitter, selfish taste in his mouth.

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Elinyra hadn't quite considered the discrepancy between Petrus's physical age and his apparent one. Given the characters she'd met in recent years and the very nature of her home, she was almost more used to things and people not being what they appeared to be. She assumed that he had been honest with her so far, but the fact that Petrus appeared human at all was less important to her than his motivations.

Which, judging from his manner, he seemed to be genuinely lonely. A condition she understood very well.

She smiled and handed Fielynn back to Fwysog, who had cut and arranged bite-sized morsels of cheese, meat and various vegetables for her with surprising skill for a creature with some mix of vines and webbed fingers for hands.

Elinyra picked up the coffee bottle with one hand and held the other beneath it, calling upon her pact-given magic to summon a small fire in her palm. It felt almost disappointingly bland without the aspect of ritual most druidic magics required. Practical, but lacking in that basic connection to the spiritual that gave life meaning.

"It is a drink better served warm. And best shared with friends, in my humble opinion," she explained cheerfully while she watched the pink, green and orange tongues of fairie fire lick at the bottom of the glassware.

Fielynn stopped between bites of her dinner to rub her eyes, prompting Elinyra to ask,

"Would it be all right if we rested here for the night? It's a long road yet to Fal'Addas."

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would watch this otherwise beautiful, if odd, woman begin to heat the coffee. The insinuation that he was any sort of friend earning a slow, stoic nod from him in turn. It was not an expression of true acceptance, not really, but more tacit approval that he would share the drink with her even while lost within his own thoughts. As Fielynn rubbed her eyes he would pause for a brief, tense moment at Elinyra's question. A quick, instinctive dismissal rising to sit like a coiled serpent upon his tongue.

This place was for he and he alone, joined only by the memories of what he had lost, but.... his eyes softened as he watched the small child. The serpent's fangs were retracted, it's ire lulled, and he would answer by way of standing and turning to the great marking stone. With whispered words and magic unbound would soft moss and vines begin to creep down the ancient, weathered surface to form a small cradling hammock lined with nature's softest moss at knee height to himself, but perfect height for Feilynn to sleep within.

Idly adjusting the amber ring upon his finger he would turn, meet Elinyra's eyes, and nod. Now a sincere, whole motion as he murmured.

"I would be honored for this grove to see life again, even if only for one night, Elinyra Derwinthir."

Walking back to Elinyra and her daughter Petrus would kneel down to Fielynn and motion to the cradling hammock gently, whispering softly to her.

"This is for you to sleep in and you will be safe here with your mother and I all night."

He was never good at speaking to children, he perhaps expected too much understanding from them, but he stood and stepped aside to let Fielynn go to the hammock whenever she wishes as he returned to sitting across from Elinyra.

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

"Thank you," she said with a curt bow of her head. She set the hot coffee down and clenched her fist to extinguish the fire before getting up to tend to Fielynn.

The child just stared up at Petrus, oblivious to what he was saying or why. She fussed in protest when her mother came to carry her to the hammock, but soon settled in when Elinyra hummed a lullaby. Elinyra remained at her side for a while, stroking her head until she fell asleep. Only then did she return to sit with Petrus. Fwysog took her place, sitting near the hammock and rocking it gently.

Elinyra realized that she hadn't yet had anything to eat, so she took some portions of the food set before her. Then she poured the coffee for both of them, adding some sugar for herself. The smell and taste of it brought her back to a strange little library in Alliria. To people she once knew. Then to other memories of places where she had come and gone. Her memories, which were often difficult to sort out from many she now carried within her.

Her mood turned somber as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, darkening the trees and turning the sky ochre hues.

"We've nearly come full circle, haven't we?" she said to no one in particular, her gaze turned up as if to search the heavens.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would wait as Elinyra carried her daughter to the hammock, busying himself with slicing a piece of cheese to consume before raising his amber-eyed gaze back to the not-quite-elven woman as she returned. Now, it seemed, was Elinyra's turn to become lost in her own thoughts. Under normal circumstances Petrus would scrutinize anyone ignoring him for their own internal ruminations much more harshly but.... not here, not tonight.

Tonight he simply studied Elinyra passively, his magic lingering amongst the grove and now that he wasn't so lost in his own thoughts he would feel something.... off about her. Obviously she was not just an elf but that creeping, entwining sensation that seemed to snake it's way into her very being? It was familiar, but different, and so it took him few moments after her musings to hum in reply.

"One's journey need only be a circle if that is the shape they choose for it to take."

His eyes met her's as recognition clicked into place and he continued bluntly.

"A Fae's influence has marked you.... deeply. I cannot help but wonder what was worth such a price...."

Elinyra Derwinthir​

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

She held his gaze evenly and finished her sip of coffee before she replied.

"Three years ago, I lived here in the Falwood. I practiced as a healer in a druid circle until I was cursed by a corrupted duanann, who attacked me with a dagger." She held up her right hand, which looked to have been grown from wood rather than flesh. "I thought it just an odd wound at the time, but not even the arch-druid could heal it, so I went searching for a cure. Of the many different sentient beings I came across, none could truly offer one.

"Eventually the fae stole me away to his realm, then stole my memories -- as he had done with other mortals who were either interesting to him somehow or just unlucky enough to cross his path. Most of us eventually went mad, but those of us who didn't... we survive still, though no longer under his rule.

"Unfortunately for us, the power that blighted us and transformed us also kept us alive. For good for for ill, we are now tied to the fae realm until our end."

She finally broke his gaze to glance over at her slumbering daughter. "To one fae or another. Yes, I made a pact with a different fae in exchange for the power to protect my people. To protect my daughter."

Her voice did not sound like a victim retelling a tragedy, but rather a storyteller describing a myth from a distant time. When she glanced back at Petrus, her expression was one of curiosity.

"How is it that you can tell that I have some relation with the fae?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would listen to Elinyra's story with a sort of stone-faced sobriety. Idly sipping his own coffee, black as night, on occasion before she finished her tale. He did not disrespect her by interjecting or interrupting, her story was her own to tell, and it was only when she pointedly asked him how he knew what he did that he would finally answer.

"Many of the more advanced rites of this Circle involved dealing with Fae and other spirits of nature. Venturing into more esoteric applications than other groves may have ventured to explore. While the simpler arts, of course, focused on the physical manipulation of air, flame, earth and water one who had the potential to call themselves Arch-Druid here learned to identify, influence and barter with Fae. As you have no doubt felt my magic can calm and even, with enough and prolonged exposure, enthrall weaker Fae, Elves of weak will, and those of their descent by mere exposure."

He considered for a long moment, his magical senses reaching out to Elinyra intently, before he exhaled slowly out of his nose. Evidently displeased by what he felt.

"I was born with enough potential for magic to be regarded as a prodigy in my youth. Some ventured to say they had never seen a human with such potential, others only a few, but...."

He shook his head, his expression grim and focused.

".... whatever has bound you would require much, much preparation, favorable circumstances and, likely even then, assistance for me to confront. A rite possessed by this Circle used for dealing with most Fae would be detected well ahead of time by your.... benefactor and, if not avoided outright, worked against. It is quite effective against weak or even moderately powerful Fae due to the simple fact they are used to being the ones to set the pace of the meeting. Which the rite inverts and I have never known a Fae to recover very well from being put on the back foot when it comes to their games. But..... I can perhaps offer something worthwhile tonight."

Gently extending his hand bearing the amber ring it would glow a dull, gentle light that lit their faces from below as the evening sun began to settle below the trees, and as his hand laid upon Elinyra's wooden hand wherever the warmth of his hand touched it would feel.... alive again. It, of course, remained wooden but if Elinyra did not look she would not be able to tell his touch had not simply given her her old hand back.

Elinyra Derwinthir​