Melain Renther
Member
- Messages
- 6
"It's your last night here, then? End all?" Kal asked Melain, as he hunched over, elbows on his thighs with a cup of spirits in his hand.
Mel sighed and put his hand on Kal's shoulder," Yeah..."
Kal leaned up and gave Mel a deep long nod, eyes closing the end to prevent tears and somehow give permission. Kal had been Mel's closest friend for so long now, that they forgot where they met. When Mel was in the academy, Kal would visit him and bring books and nice things they wouldn't allow during training. Mel was afraid. He was afraid that Kal would struggle without him, and Mel was afraid he wouldn't be able to get him out of trouble every time. The two friends sat in silence outside the pub, simply enjoying each other's presence. One more night of drinking to send Mel away, and the two would have to part.
Mel was upset, but his path was greater, or rather, necessary. He couldn't live in the city anymore, the so called Elven paradise. Mel had become so disconnected to the city he grew up in that all he wanted to do was leave. Long nights of staring at the walls in his home and watching some horrible unrecognizable sickness take his parents, he was at his wits end. Uninspired and damaged, he was leaving. The bitter of the liquor and the sweet of the inebriation was more a celebration of all that he'd done in the city, and the friends he'd made, although all soon-to-be left behind.
Mel looked down at his feet, and suddenly memories flooded. He remembered being a young man, adolescent, even, and ducking through the side streets and alleys from city guard not knowing he’d don the uniform one day. He remembered practicing elven martial arts with master Teap. The academy where his mind for warfare was sharpened, and his sword arm strengthened flashed through his mind, and was reminded of the rivals of the academy. He chuckled thinking how arbitrary that was. He thought about his parents getting sick, and their freak illness. How easily his fantasy of his home crumbled watching them die. He looked back up to his friend. He remembered teaching Kal how to talk to elven girls properly. Mel felt as if he’d lived more than his fair share. He needed to change, maybe that’s why elves lived so long, he thought.
“I’ll come back at some point,” Mel said.
“If you don’t decide to drown chasing underwater treasure or something out of a story book,” Kal laughed, and Mel joined him.
“That’s a little extreme, isn’t it, Kal? I just need to get see some things and be away from here.” Mel reflected. How much violence and pain must a man see before he tires of a place? Mel thought, perhaps I’ve done it to myself, and civil protection only begets trauma.
Either way, he went back inside with Kal and the two caroused to their fullest abilities.
The next morning was oddly cold, and Mel rolled out of bed, his hair disheveled and his bowels aching from the night of heavy drinking beforehand. Taking his time and moving slowly to re-acclimate to being sober, the guardsman sat down in a chair within his home overlooking the city on a balcony. He sipped scalding hot coffee and took the nip of the air in, breathing deeply. He thought maybe he would be sad, but he tired of pining over his own sadness. He was ready to leave, and discover... something. To him, it didn't matter what. Not now, anyway.
He readied his horse at the stables early, rising before anybody could wake up and be forced to make a second goodbye. "There, now, girl..." he muttered to Ruth.
Upon her saddle was a finely made longsword, a parting gift from the city guard, a small survival hatchet, camping supplies as condensed as Mel could, a few cloaks rolled up, a lantern, and the small purple pouch that contained the ashes of his parents. He was lightly packed, with just a few outfits of clothing, but he was flush with gold, taking his savings for the journey. Convinced he was prepared, he jumped atop his mountain of a horse, and started down out the main gate of Fal'Addas.
--
A crossroads inn would do Melain just fine after a week's worth of travel camping. He pulled his horse slowly into the stable and tossed the stable hand a coin for his troubles. With his grey wool cloak draped over his shoulders, he walked into the inn just at the edge of the thickest part of the Faywood. Strapped on his back was a rucksack with a few items he'd need to create his portal key. It was a brisk day with no humidity for once in the forest. Mel ducked into the door of the tavern, and nodded to the barkeep, who greeted him. Mel noticed he was the only one there. He also realized he had no idea what time it was.
"How do you do?" Mel said, his voice a smooth, low tone. His friends say his voice sounds like black coffee.
"Good, sir, come on in," barkeep poured a drink and slid it over to the edge of the bar as Mel walked in and examined the place," First on the house since you're here first, you know how it goes."
Mel chuckled, and confusedly nodded. He made himself a seat nearing the fire, tucked away in a corner, and got himself something to drink and eat. The barkeep seemed to be intimidated by him. Mel laughed about it in his head as he ate. It felt wonderful for him to have a hot and home cooked meal. Eating on the road was fine, but by no means true luxury. The bar began to fill in not long after he was served his meal, and miscreants began to pour in like the mead in Mel's pint. He kept his sack strapped to him tightly.
As the patrons, all of which seemed to be friendly at least, started to carouse more intensely and the working girls came around, Mel retired to his room for the night. He stripped naked, relieved to be undressed for the first time in days. He laid out the contents of his sack and sat down in meditation in his small clothes after taking what can only be called a "whore's bath" with a washcloth. He sat, resigned himself to comfort, and laid out the components he'd need to attempt a ritual.
Mel laid out the chain, the gemstone, the vial of blood, and the yellow powder his master had insisted on being the key to the whole affair. He'd never performed this ritual, but his master Teap taught him how to make a portal key using the basic magic principles of elven martial arts. Although Mel's natural affinity for magic was... less than impressive, he'd maintain some light control through his discipline. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, the spiritual dedication of his discipline guiding the magical force surrounding the components, lifting them into the air as manifest of Mel's meditation.
He reached into his mind and his memories, and pulled the teachings of his master. Meditating like this was strange for Mel, and fragmented, as if he saw his own reflections through broken glass and had to put the pieces together by associating. To an untrained mind, reaching the subconscious was frightening and difficult, and only through years of mental and physical discipline was Mel able to meditate to manifest energy.
Reflection on the topic alone brought his portal key together, and the components buzzed and when he opened his eyes, it was a small red gem locket, pulsating with a dim blue light inside. He smiled, knowing it was a success. Before he could put it away, he heard some noise from downstairs. He groaned, and reminded himself it would be better not to investigate. He sat in his room for a few more minutes, and time moved slowly. As soon as another slam came from downstairs, he dressed himself plainly and opened the door.
He peeked down the stairs, and made eye contact with the barkeep, who seemed visibly worried.
"Nothing to worry about, sir! Your boys here are just a bit drunk," a nervous laugh passed.
Mel walked down the steps slowly and nodded, taking a spot at the bar next to some otherworldly drunk patrons. The group ruling the bar seemed to be highwaymen supposedly "off duty". He leaned on the bar and gestured for the bartender, who hurried over from dealing with arguing men and working girls.
"Yes, sir?"
"Can I just get a sweet roll or something?"
"I have sugar bread with banana, sir."
"That's fine, thank you."
He avoided eye contact with the others as best he could, but he had a sweet tooth, or so he told himself.
Mel sighed and put his hand on Kal's shoulder," Yeah..."
Kal leaned up and gave Mel a deep long nod, eyes closing the end to prevent tears and somehow give permission. Kal had been Mel's closest friend for so long now, that they forgot where they met. When Mel was in the academy, Kal would visit him and bring books and nice things they wouldn't allow during training. Mel was afraid. He was afraid that Kal would struggle without him, and Mel was afraid he wouldn't be able to get him out of trouble every time. The two friends sat in silence outside the pub, simply enjoying each other's presence. One more night of drinking to send Mel away, and the two would have to part.
Mel was upset, but his path was greater, or rather, necessary. He couldn't live in the city anymore, the so called Elven paradise. Mel had become so disconnected to the city he grew up in that all he wanted to do was leave. Long nights of staring at the walls in his home and watching some horrible unrecognizable sickness take his parents, he was at his wits end. Uninspired and damaged, he was leaving. The bitter of the liquor and the sweet of the inebriation was more a celebration of all that he'd done in the city, and the friends he'd made, although all soon-to-be left behind.
Mel looked down at his feet, and suddenly memories flooded. He remembered being a young man, adolescent, even, and ducking through the side streets and alleys from city guard not knowing he’d don the uniform one day. He remembered practicing elven martial arts with master Teap. The academy where his mind for warfare was sharpened, and his sword arm strengthened flashed through his mind, and was reminded of the rivals of the academy. He chuckled thinking how arbitrary that was. He thought about his parents getting sick, and their freak illness. How easily his fantasy of his home crumbled watching them die. He looked back up to his friend. He remembered teaching Kal how to talk to elven girls properly. Mel felt as if he’d lived more than his fair share. He needed to change, maybe that’s why elves lived so long, he thought.
“I’ll come back at some point,” Mel said.
“If you don’t decide to drown chasing underwater treasure or something out of a story book,” Kal laughed, and Mel joined him.
“That’s a little extreme, isn’t it, Kal? I just need to get see some things and be away from here.” Mel reflected. How much violence and pain must a man see before he tires of a place? Mel thought, perhaps I’ve done it to myself, and civil protection only begets trauma.
Either way, he went back inside with Kal and the two caroused to their fullest abilities.
The next morning was oddly cold, and Mel rolled out of bed, his hair disheveled and his bowels aching from the night of heavy drinking beforehand. Taking his time and moving slowly to re-acclimate to being sober, the guardsman sat down in a chair within his home overlooking the city on a balcony. He sipped scalding hot coffee and took the nip of the air in, breathing deeply. He thought maybe he would be sad, but he tired of pining over his own sadness. He was ready to leave, and discover... something. To him, it didn't matter what. Not now, anyway.
He readied his horse at the stables early, rising before anybody could wake up and be forced to make a second goodbye. "There, now, girl..." he muttered to Ruth.
Upon her saddle was a finely made longsword, a parting gift from the city guard, a small survival hatchet, camping supplies as condensed as Mel could, a few cloaks rolled up, a lantern, and the small purple pouch that contained the ashes of his parents. He was lightly packed, with just a few outfits of clothing, but he was flush with gold, taking his savings for the journey. Convinced he was prepared, he jumped atop his mountain of a horse, and started down out the main gate of Fal'Addas.
--
A crossroads inn would do Melain just fine after a week's worth of travel camping. He pulled his horse slowly into the stable and tossed the stable hand a coin for his troubles. With his grey wool cloak draped over his shoulders, he walked into the inn just at the edge of the thickest part of the Faywood. Strapped on his back was a rucksack with a few items he'd need to create his portal key. It was a brisk day with no humidity for once in the forest. Mel ducked into the door of the tavern, and nodded to the barkeep, who greeted him. Mel noticed he was the only one there. He also realized he had no idea what time it was.
"How do you do?" Mel said, his voice a smooth, low tone. His friends say his voice sounds like black coffee.
"Good, sir, come on in," barkeep poured a drink and slid it over to the edge of the bar as Mel walked in and examined the place," First on the house since you're here first, you know how it goes."
Mel chuckled, and confusedly nodded. He made himself a seat nearing the fire, tucked away in a corner, and got himself something to drink and eat. The barkeep seemed to be intimidated by him. Mel laughed about it in his head as he ate. It felt wonderful for him to have a hot and home cooked meal. Eating on the road was fine, but by no means true luxury. The bar began to fill in not long after he was served his meal, and miscreants began to pour in like the mead in Mel's pint. He kept his sack strapped to him tightly.
As the patrons, all of which seemed to be friendly at least, started to carouse more intensely and the working girls came around, Mel retired to his room for the night. He stripped naked, relieved to be undressed for the first time in days. He laid out the contents of his sack and sat down in meditation in his small clothes after taking what can only be called a "whore's bath" with a washcloth. He sat, resigned himself to comfort, and laid out the components he'd need to attempt a ritual.
Mel laid out the chain, the gemstone, the vial of blood, and the yellow powder his master had insisted on being the key to the whole affair. He'd never performed this ritual, but his master Teap taught him how to make a portal key using the basic magic principles of elven martial arts. Although Mel's natural affinity for magic was... less than impressive, he'd maintain some light control through his discipline. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, the spiritual dedication of his discipline guiding the magical force surrounding the components, lifting them into the air as manifest of Mel's meditation.
He reached into his mind and his memories, and pulled the teachings of his master. Meditating like this was strange for Mel, and fragmented, as if he saw his own reflections through broken glass and had to put the pieces together by associating. To an untrained mind, reaching the subconscious was frightening and difficult, and only through years of mental and physical discipline was Mel able to meditate to manifest energy.
Reflection on the topic alone brought his portal key together, and the components buzzed and when he opened his eyes, it was a small red gem locket, pulsating with a dim blue light inside. He smiled, knowing it was a success. Before he could put it away, he heard some noise from downstairs. He groaned, and reminded himself it would be better not to investigate. He sat in his room for a few more minutes, and time moved slowly. As soon as another slam came from downstairs, he dressed himself plainly and opened the door.
He peeked down the stairs, and made eye contact with the barkeep, who seemed visibly worried.
"Nothing to worry about, sir! Your boys here are just a bit drunk," a nervous laugh passed.
Mel walked down the steps slowly and nodded, taking a spot at the bar next to some otherworldly drunk patrons. The group ruling the bar seemed to be highwaymen supposedly "off duty". He leaned on the bar and gestured for the bartender, who hurried over from dealing with arguing men and working girls.
"Yes, sir?"
"Can I just get a sweet roll or something?"
"I have sugar bread with banana, sir."
"That's fine, thank you."
He avoided eye contact with the others as best he could, but he had a sweet tooth, or so he told himself.
