Private Tales Mourning

[Velaeri]

A feeling of peace and contentment settled over Velaeri as she reached gliding altitudes. Though not a practitioner of empathy herself, the filtering of emotions across the mental tether used for her communication was simply a side effect. For those that had gained knowledge of her true name, it came across rather clearly. For those that had not - well, many had alluded to a reckoning of her inner feelings simply by the expression of her presence alone. Velaeri was a poised and prideful creature, rarely did her opinions go unknown in some manner or fashion.

They sailed across a range of mountainous forest, the gleam of the sun reflecting off a speckling of large bodies of water known as the Lakes of Myn. Centuries ago a small Kingdom of shape-shifting elves had resided there, charged with the protection of the Forest Spirit's domain - another of Velaeri's once God-Creature companions and, unfortunately, one of the first to fall to the green of mankind. The elves of Myn no longer existed, so far as she knew. They had perished in the fires that took the Forest Spirit's hallowed lands. She remembered how they looked from high-on, after the flames had ravaged the landscape: charred and blackened like the realm of the Eldyr tree.

It had taken a long time for anything to regrow there and she was both pleased and weary to see them green again, dotted by human farmsteads and towns.

Her attention returned to the elf upon her back as he spoke, a mental smile forming as she felt the exhilaration in his breath.

There are few who have, she replied, Thirians are an unwelcoming people. Though if you help me fix their reported troubles, I suspect they may consider turning a kinder eye upon an elf...

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose. He had forgotten how cold the air rushing over exposed skin was up here.

His fingers still gripped the harness tight. When he started to become more accustomed to flight again he would relax. There was no concept of control here. Velaeri flew where she wanted to go. The only time she'd taken direct instruction was when he had been watching the line of ballista at Hannekbale.

It always struck him how much land there was. Yet orcs and humans insisted on trying to cover every inch of it. Word was that the blight orcs had moved east of the Spine. Perhaps they and the humans could wipe each other out and the dwarves and elves could emerge from their mountains and forests and set the world right again.

"Troubles?" he asked. "It would be nice not to end up staying permanently." Even if there was risk he could take it. It took a lot to genuinely excite him, but visiting an entire floating city - one that most people refused to even believe existed - was enough. In his head he was putting together and then reshuffling a mental picture of how it might appear.

 

[Velaeri]

My contact there reached out for assistance with a recent theft. He didn't go into details...

Veleari could hardly imagine something of such nature that the dwarves of the floating city could not handle on their own. Whatever it was, it must have been important and it must have gotten away from them. She suspected they would welcome an extra set of experienced hands at their aid - at the very least, a little more than they would deign to shackle them, especially if he arrived at her back. There were so very few in this world who were given such honor, after all. To sit astride the Dawnbringer meant to have her favor and her trust.

She hadn't developed this clout with the realm for nothing.

We travel by skystream, the gryphon's wings began to pump again, raising them ever higher. He'd traveled the skystreams with her only once before and, much to both her regret and chagrin, he'd not been prepared for it at all.

She was picking up speed now, so there'd be no declining the route. The only option the elf had was to assure himself a good grip and secure seat for the ride.

 

[Draedamyr]

For the first time the circumstances that had sent him in the hunt before leading him here were truly banished from his mind. At his age he had very few irrational fears. Plenty of rational ones still. He knew that Velaeri could fly a skystream with her eyes closed. He knew that he would survive this. Yet the trepidation clawed at his chest. His jaw was clenched tight and he took handfuls of the reigns and wrapped them about his forearms.

Draedamyr could sense it winding above them. It made him wonder if there was something in the air that he recognised from before or whether there was a magical current that carried the air so swiftly.

Each powerful stroke of her magnificent wings carried them higher, drove them on faster. Yet that strength was little compared to the current she would ride out. The first tremor rocked them from side to side. A brief pause before she carried them higher. He felt the chill up his spine, the wind picking up. Draedamyr pressed himself down flat again Velaeri and hoped she couldn't feel his heart pounding against her.

 

[Velaeri]

The origins of the skystreams high above the realms of Arethil were much a mystery to all, even to herself. Were they remnants of the Gods? Were they natural amalgamations of the magic that saturated the world below? Where they created by an unseen creature?

Velaeri had her own hypothesis.

Long ago, in her fledgling years of entering the mortal planes from the Vale, a memory so clear to her played in her mind at every opportunity she had at altitude. Massive beasts, far grander in scale than herself, defeating all thought of sensical nature, had once roamed the skies with her and all other air-bound creatures. Whales. Sky whales. Floating serenely through the clouds, pushing and pulling the beastly nature of the winds and rains. They commanded the storms, brought floods and caused droughts. In a time eons ago before the days of the people and races that currently inhabited the world, there was technology. Gears and wheels, flying contraptions, and the people making them keen with a drive to bring the command of the skies to their own heel.

They hunted the skywhales to extinction using their flying contraptions - airships, they called them. Now nature belonged to nothing and no one but itself.

But in those treacherous days of maelstroms and hurricanes as the whales attempted escape, Velaeri believed they created the skystreams to move about more quickly. She had no proof, of course. Her witness to these things had been from a distance as it was not her place to interfere. Not to take sides.

Clouds engulfed them both, a cold wind snatching at feathers and cloth alike. Veleari's ears pinned and swiveled in-tune to the currents of magic high in the heavens. The air currents suddenly shifted, grew warmer, and then seemed to pause and still. The Dawnbringer broke through the clouded fog and crested a rise of brilliant white and gold beneath the gleam of the sun, a sea of clouds beneath them as if Arethil never existed. Then she tucked her wings into an arch, and dove headlong into a mass of roiling grey at the pit of the sea. The still air suddenly blasted around them, sucking outwards into the circular vortex of the skystream.

It was wide enough to swallow even the biggest naval ship, broad enough to welcome the massive expanse of Velaeri's wings. As they cleared the edges, the air stilled save for that which rushed past their figures. The center a quiet realm surrounded by the swirling chaos of air and grey clouds. The gryphon's wings ceased to pump and, instead, remained stretched open and flat to ride the current, dipping and yawing gently from one side to the other as they rode the skystream's bends and turns, rises and falls.

 

[Draedamyr]

Only when Velaeri had settled into the current did he loosen his grip on the straps. His heart was thundering, his lips curled into a rare smile. There was not much left in this world that could do that too him. It wasnt even just the fear of falling. It was putting his life into someone else's control and then hurtling into forces far beyond him.

Draedamyr realised that he had been holding a breath. As he sat back upright he slowly let it go. He reached down and ran his hand across her feathers. It was an affectionate gesture, but he also did it for the amusing thought that she couldn't fuss at that section of feathers until they made it all the way to the dwarven city.

He felt a glimmer of trepedition as he dared lean to one side for a glance down below. It was hard to tell how fast they were moving across the landscape from such a height.

"I wonder...the stars must be high enough that the world looks insignificant and small. Like the people do from here. Yet they all still arrange themselves to look down at us. Is what happens so interesting to them?"

 

[Velaeri]

Talon'd forelimbs folded neatly beneath her, hindlimbs clipped back beneath the features of her tail, Velaeri soared effortlessly within the current of the skystream. Within these channels one could move across vast distances in a fraction of the time and effort as it took to simply fly the lower skies. She could, and had, cross the entirety of Liadain in little more than a day. But up here it was cold and even gliding took its toll on one's energy. Using the skystreams was not without its challenges and dangers - grow too weary and, drift too far in any direction against current, and it could tear you up and spit you out in places unknown.

A keen sense of direction and a good mental map was also necessary to navigate the lanes, especially if they split. She'd seen the giant eagles of Rih'lor lose their way in the streams. Some had even perished.

As for stars. Well. Even a God-Creature had little to say on that subject.

Who knows the nature of stars but the stars themselves, the gryphon remarked, they shine and they twinkle and sometimes they fall. Watching these lives may bring some comfort to them as they are comfort to those below.

Velaeri recalled a religion where those that passed were born anew as a star, and every star in the sky signified a lost soul. The Priests kept maps of the night skies and knew each star and constellation by heart. Where others believed the stars to be the realms of higher Gods, ephemeral and obscure - not for the knowledge of mortals and half-lives.

Tell me friend, a change of conversation due. They had a fair journey ahead of them and time to spare, have you yet managed a wife?

 

[Draedamyr]

Just above the tightly wrapped scarf a slender eyebrow arched upwards. He had started to get lost in a strand of thought and she had certainly caught him off guard with that question.

If the stars seemed to change so rarely, he had been thinking about whether they could even perceive the short lives of the creatures on Arethil. And even greater disparity than the gap between Velaeri and himself, or himself and a human.

He kept that little ribbon of curiosity weaving through his thoughts, but most of his mind turned to the question at hand.

"Not since I lost track Sialla around...three hundred years ago?"

There were many forms of love and connection that could form between two people. He had loved Ythris, even after he had heard what he had done. Even now, after he had died by his own blade.

At one point it had seemed as if he and Sialla had shared many forms of love to hold their bond. Even with three children brought into this world from their love, those bonds had slowly frayed and come apart.

 

[Velaeri]

Sialla...

Not since Sialla? Truly?

Three hundred years was a long time to remain alone and she wondered if it had any effect on his relationship with the aforementioned apprentice. Had loneliness grown the fault in his training? Had it turned him blind to the undesirable traits of his pupil? Difficult to say for certain. No one being was really infallible. Least of all immortals and ageless. Mistakes might learn one a lesson, but after so many centuries it was hard to remember them all.

Do you not desire a new companion?

 

[Draedamyr]

"At times" , he replied. Already Draedamyr was concerned that her thoughts - and questions - would turn to exactly what Velaeri was already thinking. It was a place his own mind would have to go, just not yet.

Sometimes he felt a deep pang of loneliness. More often it was more subtle. It was a change in the way it felt to do everything alone, rather than to share experiences with another.

"Not so many elves wondering the world now. Too many clinging to those last places we still hold as our own."

There was a brief pause before he added: "I am glad you were not so far away."

 

[Velaeri]

Wings plying gently at the skystream as she followed a rolling dip along the channel, Velaeri fell silent at the elf's words for a long stretch of moments.

Though often times regarded as cold and detached from the lives of those upon the walking realm, she was not without some semblance of compassion for them. A God-creature knew the pang of loneliness all too well, what with how few of them left there were. They never took a mate for they were unique, but they kept companions in their charges and their following. The true gryphons of the lands may have regarded her as their Queen at one point, but over the centuries they had grown dumb and she had grown distant.

Velaeri wasn't sure which preceded the other.

Various relations with the mortals came and went as quickly in her life as the seasons in their own. Aside from Almaarin, Drae was by far her longest-lasting and dearest friend. And to think she once scoffed at the ego of elves.

I am never too far away for you, my friend.

He had become the exception to most. The first of only a very select few to have received a golden feather from the Dawnbringer.

A pale, silver light peered in through the swirling vortex of clouds and mist and air around them. The great gryphon craned her head towards it: the moon. Nearly there.

I encountered your daughter Desmene a few years back in the ruins of Elas'Mar. Seems she inherited your wanderlust.

 

[Draedamyr]

That drew him out of his contemplative mood very sharply. Whilst he hadn't seen any of his children for years it was not for lack of interest on his part. The world was large and they did not cross paths often.

"Did you speak? How was she? Was she alone?" he asked in quick succession.

One corner of his lips quirked upwards. Desmene had always been sceptical of things she was told. She trusted her own eyes and ears, something she had learned from her mother. He was fairly certain Desmene hadn't believed a word about Velaeri.

 

[Velaeri]

The great beast made an audible sound but the sensation of chuckling crossed their telepathic link.

She was well, Velaeri replied, and alone. Much like her father...

However, unlike her father - We did not speak, per say. She does not know my name.

The magic therein of learning the God-creature's name was the gift of communication. Or, at times as Drae had described before, the curse, after receiving plenty of chastising feedback in his day. Desmene knew her only as the Dawnbringer, for it was not Drae's place to share her name with others.

But she did recognize me and spoke at length of the stories told by her father, of which you skimped on the details.

 

[Draedamyr]

Elas'Mar. If she wasn't avoiding people then it was likely some would remember her passing through. He resolved to do so when his heart was in order. It wasn't the responsibility of the children to bear the weight of the parent's burdens.

Draedamyr followed where her gaze had been moments before. He tried to pick out the little shards of moonlight as they cut through the clouds. Sometimes he wondered if Velaeri could really comprehend how impossible it seemed to creatures like him to see the world this way. It would be like him understanding how an ant saw the world.

"She might have been too young for some details..." he tried rather meekly. He knew that it might have been the case for some stories. For other stories it might just have been a case of embellishment or painting himself in a different light.

"Did I not do you justice?" he asked. If anything, he figured that was probably the thing that would irk the immortal gryphon the most.

 

[Velaeri]

Of course you did, a placating response. I was fully smitten with the way she retold the story of our harrowing bid against Mithraak the Terrible. Though I don't recall cutting off his head with a slice of wind...

Amusement now.

Or turning his trolls to stone.

Another rumbling chuckle followed.

Seems you embellished your accomplishments by telling them as my own.

 

[Draedamyr]

"I..."

Not that she would hear over the wind but he started to speak verbally before his voice faded. That emotional well at the centre of his being that had been so empty, now seemed to break as so many different feelings tried to rise at once.

"I am glad she remembers the fanciful version," he replied. "She was once a young girl with a head full of fantasies, but she became a very serious young woman. Which does make sense, given her parents."

Elves wrapped up their memories in layer upon layer. They weren't the forgetful creatures that humans were. Sometimes it took time to unfold a very old memory, but it would be just as vivid as the day after the event. Perhaps his daughter had delved into those old memories on that day and seen them in a different light.

Velaeri was a magnificent creature from legend. It was difficult not to feel awe in her presence, especially on the first meeting.

 

[Velaeri]

If not for the elves who would be left to take this world seriously...

Difficult to say if that was a jab or a sharp form of flattery, but they both knew the value of a human's short-sighted perception. Flat feathers of broad wings skated along the edges of the skystream, catching raindrops and dew, disturbing the swirling, turbulent clouds. A spray spat upwards from the left at the elf, dissipating as it splattered across his form and floundering into sprawling mists as it lanced back along the coiling gryphon's tail.

No daughter has ever spoken so fondly of her father.

A shred of warmth for him at the squeeze of emotion in his chest - reassuring like a hand on a shoulder. Draedamyr was a good father, of this she was certain. Perhaps a better father than a mentor.

Pale blue orbs scoped in the twisting vortex of the stream ahead, pinning at an upcoming split just beyond a roiling loop in the stream. Take hold, our exit approaches.

 

[Draedamyr]

It was impossible to see the single tear that rolled down the side of his face, swallowed by the spray of mist. He knew it was there. Draedamyr was definitely quite alone in this world during most of his travels. Perhaps because he did not spend much time among his own people he had not formed many bonds in the latter centuries of his life.

Most elves didn't pass three centuries of life. Regardless of their longevity the world was a dangerous place. Each century was a very long time to avoid the dangers of the world. But humans lived such fleeting lives. Few of them passed even half a century. He had acquaintances but no friends among their kind.

Draedamyr didn't belong with his woodland cousins either. His birthplace had been one of the last elven cities built out in the open. He was an urban elf, passing through towns as he wandered between civilisations.

As he hunkered down and prepared to leave the sky stream he resolved to track Desmene down once more. It seemed he had underestimated the influence he had left upon his children. It would be good to hear of their exploits first hand. Velaeri would feel just a faint tremor of appreciation before he mentally closed up to match his physical preparation. Even having passed into the stream so recently, he still felt another cold flash of fear.

It was over as soon as it had begun. The world below suddenly a static portrait. He traced the shapes of great lakes with his gaze until he finally saw it. The rising sun caught etched out the far edges of its Isles, made its towers gleam.

There were few sights in the world that could have drawn him entirely away from his mourning. This wonder, it turned out, was one of them. Until it was before him and very much real to him he would not have believed it more than legend. They said the dwarves that inhabited the floating city didn't even know how they had put it in the sky any more.

For the first time since they had met once more, his mind was stunned into absolute silence.

 

[Velaeri]

Velaeri eased into a glide from on-high, gilded feathers catching in the gleam of dawn. Thiria was a city scattered throughout the sky, twelve pieces to a whole interconnected by arched bridges. Though her own visits were a rare thing, they were not easily forgotten. The cityfolk recognized her silhouette in the sky and often caused a stir. She sought to avoid this, lingering at an elevation that obscured them with clouds and cut off the line of sight as they drifted beyond Areth'Al'Sella. Great spires passed beneath them, peaking out of the cloud cover and skating by the broad edges of her wings.

Banking in an arch as they rounded a bellfry, the pair plunged back through the sea of white, sailing down towards a smaller platform that hung in the air just above the larger Market. It was here, in a broad veranda, that the god-creature alighted.

We will wait for them here. Stay at my back until they arrive, it is imperative that they see you there first.

And Draedamyr... Vela twisted her head to look back at the elf, quiet your elven pride. There is a trinket in the left saddlebag, you will present it to the attending council members as a gift.

 

[Draedamyr]

Another time and there might have been a protest. Several factors combined such that Velaeri only received a curt nod in response. That she took the time to meet his eye sat there on the surface, a barrier to his pride. The wonder at the floating islands was just below, a field of calm. Deeper still was the emptiness that drained his pride from his very core. The knowledge that his pride had blinded him to his failings with Ythris lurked down there. It would for a very long time.

They did not have to wait long. He had barely pulled open the flap of the saddle bag when a group of dwarves marched towards them with purpose. Their garb immediately caught his eye. They mostly wore heavy coats, dyed in deep colours with a slight sheen. Waxed leather, he supposed. Shelter from the clouds that could easily engulf the entire city. He could see that most had hoods down and gloves at their belts.

The dwarves had not floated another city in known history. It made him wonder if they had truly put it up here, or claimed some ancient magic of the portal stone builders and passed it off as their own. Not a line of questions he would risk Velaeri's ire by starring.

A glint of colour caught his eye from the saddle bag. Some form of device covered in etchings he didn't recognise. It looked exactly like the kind of treasure a dwarven lord would fawn over.

They don't look happy. They look surprised to see me here, but that's not why.