Fable - Ask Shadow and Ash | Why We Fight

[Te'leis]

Whispers in the camps.

Stories.

Proclamations of those who, by their own admission, should never had made it back alive.

But she saved them.
​

They could not say who. Her face was covered by the mask of a dark helm, and a shadow cast by her hood. But her sword glimmered as one of the Aerai's did, and it slew even the most terrible foes like lambs to the slaughter. But never so much as a word.

Never any sign of her with the assembled forces...

A spectre. A phantom who taken up the sword of an Aerai against the cursed ones.

And truly, for it seemed that of all the Aerai, for all they said of their telepathy, none could feel the presence of another one of them out there.

They say she dwelt in the ruins of Ilmarin, a lone temple in the forest, just a few kilometers from Nórë Sérë... a place almost hallowed in solemn reverence by the Aerai. Some of the allied forces, however... they say that place is haunted, and so is anywhere near there.

---

One was never safe in the dark. Not this dark. And not even here, in this sacred place. There in the great hall of a long forgotten temple of her people, she found herself met with almost a dozen unwelcome guests. Most of them were monsters, but she could see those cursed brethren of hers - and only for them did she utter a single warning.

"Turn back," she commanded, grasping her sword and drawing it free from its sheath.

At her back, a grand image of Astra stood tall, her arms and eyes beholding above.

They were silent, not so much as a hiss, and they moved upon her.

Steeled was her gaze. Blazing was the magic in her eyes, peeking from behind her helm. Her sword was alight with electric power, unleashed only in brilliant, controlled strikes with every blow. One dark monster fell, and then another. Clashing blades with one of her fallen kin, though sorrowful, was swift. They too, fell.

And nearly as quickly as they had come upon her, the monsters had found their end.

For a moment she looked upon those who had been cursed by the evil in their land, and she bid their souls a peaceful sleep. And then there in the midst of all those she had slain, she knelt. She set her sword there before her. She lifted the helm from her head, and set it there just beside. And then she laced her hands with her index fingers pointed up, and her thumbs as well. Her elbows dropped, her chin lifted, and her eyes became closed.

"To thee, Nykios, I slay these: these servants of the dark,
forgive me, forgive my failure.
Open the gates of your halls -
let my offerings be for those.
Punish not for my failure
for deeds left undone
...
forgive me."​

And quite some time did she remain like this, reciting this plea again and again.

And then she stopped. Her elven ears rarely failed her, and always she trusted them. But in her gut she trusted far more. She hadn't heard anything, but she had felt something. She took in a deep, relaxed breath. Her hands fell onto her lap.

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Whatever her motivation, her reason, her purpose, she had been driven to these ruins, and ‘she’ was more than one woman. Whispers in the camps. Stories. Haunted forests. Blighted environments. Truthfully they were nothing too new to her at least. To either woman, potentially.

Cautious in her trek, Mave was nonetheless brave and adventurous. Danger lurked everywhere, some dangers worse than others, but if this elf turned away from every occasion to discover then she would go nowhere, be nobody, certainly no explorer.

Today, those hauntings were calling her name as much as another’s. In grey green garments, bow and arrows on back and sword at hip, she explored with vigilance. Forest to temple, she moved forth.

Yet when she stepped past the entrance to the ruins, toward the great hall, she sensed death, a recent stench, and heard words as a whisper in the distance. Ever ready to deal with any threat, the elf kept a hand on her scabbard, hood over head, and carefully advanced.

“What is it you seek forgiveness for?”

Her words gave a low echo in the empty quiet, spoken gently so as not to startle the figure who was evidently responsible for the other figures, though why anyone would need forgiveness for killing monsters was beyond her.

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

Though she made no movement, no indication which would betray it, she was indeed startled by the sudden voice behind her. But in it she heard only caution and benevolence. With focus she perceived the faint footfalls of what could only be elf-kin, but it was a presence she did not recognize in any way. Someone foreign to these broken lands.

"There are many wrongs that must be answered for," she replied, however cryptic.

Up on one knee. The sword on the ground before her lifted from its place. Up now to her feet, her movements passive and obvious. Her hand reached out, grasping the sword, leading it peacefully into its sheath on her hip. Her helmet similarly lifted from its place on the floor, up into Sára'úri's hand, who then tucked it under her arm.

She turned, and faced the newcomer, "these are but offerings."

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

The figure, a woman, elven, mentioned wrongs that must be answered for as an answer to the question of forgiveness sought. Mave repeated those words back to herself in her head, reflecting on them for a second, suddenly feeling like their positions were reversed, and it was this other woman who had beckoned that question to her.

Wrongs that must be answered for… Maybe it was the power shared between them, that of elven grace, splendor, though it could just be this place, these shadowed walls and halls of darkness. Whatever it was, Mave did not sense that her counterpart was a dark elf, but she felt like they may already be on the same page.

An explorer, that’s who the red-haired warrior was, but maybe she had wandered this far for her own pardons in the dark. Yet this moment wasn’t Mave’s but this other person’s who stood with the slain. Her answer may have been cryptic amid whatever ritualistic practice she had performed with her sword and offerings but there was clearly more to it.

The woman’s blade sheathed, Mave’s already, the latter took a moment to study the former figure from face to armor. Both women were naturally about the same height and build, but of purposes undetermined.

“Offerings,” Mave spoke aloud, studying the bodies, her tone as much of a statement as a question. “Sacrifices?” Pointed this time, but not in judgment. These creatures were nothing to her as she carefully began to step forward toward both them and the woman. “Is their blood enough?”

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

"No," came her reply, abrupt and quiet, almost a whisper, "it is not."

Sára'úri remained in place as Mave approached. Her gaze remained on her as she stepped nearer, following her movements with only her head and eyes, studying her all the while. To the Aerai, this other elf looked to be of the western woods, far closer to the kinship in Fal'Addas than her more eastern brethren here in Aeraesar. If this were so, then she had come far from home, and had curiously been found in the most dreadful of places.

"To each their own trials, and to them each their own rewards," she said, though her attention seemed to wander away from the red haired elf, wandering up and across the tall, graven images of timeless gods that stood up along either side of the cathedral.

After she'd seemingly lost herself to her thoughts for a moment, her eyes fell again to Mave, and she said, "why have to come here, cousin-kin?"

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Trials. Rewards. These dead dread beasts, senseless in their sentience, not given to the depravity of sapient creatures, had met clean ends, after a manner. In their ferocity or voracity they had pounced and were put down. Others, however, some in their midst, were those angular elven faces glimpsed; bearded men; tusked orc. Fallen. They fell as before, by the blade of their justice, but they had already long since fallen.

Mave studied them, aware that she was being studied by her contemporary, though there was no animosity in the still air of this repellent pit. A grievous ruin she had yet dared to enter into in order to stand there this moment, staring at those fallen faces, and their kindred fiends who joined their voices in death.

“Why have I come here..?” She repeated the question, neither uncertain nor expectant, shifting her attention from the denizens of the dead to the only other living person in this hall. Elven, both of them, armed or armored with the instruments to answer the call of judgment, but perhaps theirs was different.

“For forgiveness.” Cryptic, but no less specific. “Trials. Rewards.” She stepped forward, closer, and lowered her hood. “Maveriel Valthoras.” No moniker. No titles. “And who are you, vanquisher?”

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

"Sára," she replied, "Sára'úri."

Likewise, she shared no moniker, for in her mind there was only one she held, and it was one of shame, one to be left unspoken.

"If it is forgiveness you seek, Maveriel Valthoras, you will find it a distant thing in these lands. Your rewards will likely be few, but trials are aplenty."

Though there was no lack of stoicism in her voice, one would have to be blind to sense the sorrow in her.

Then, after a quiet moment of contemplation, she said, "come. There are better places for us to dwell."

With that she turned and started on her way, showing no concern as to whether or not Mave followed her. She made her way through a grand archway and left the cathedral's grand hall, venturing down a wide corridor on deeper into the temple.

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Sára'úri. Sára for short. The name flowed as it curled off the proverbial tip of Maveriel’s tongue, like liquid lyrics in a song, and such a comparison wasn’t wrong; elven names were ever those of grace. Though there’s no grace in this place. Only death. Only darkness. Forgiveness? In a sense, though for both women it would be different.

Yes, there was sorrow in Sára’s visage, as far as it could be detected by eyes naked, eyes amber, eyes of firelight in the right light, but not in this darkness. Mave’s elven companion was right: there were better places to dwell in for conversations than the hell that had taken these creatures by the blade and bane of their vanquisher.

Mave offered no response after her counterpart talked, saving it for later, remaining silent as the pair of elven women navigated their way through a grand archway. There was much and more to see—walls painted, stones paved, sculptures faced—and little and less—for death was at every corner, lingering as a stench.

The woodland elf’s guard was up, walking with fingers shifting between a resting position on sheathed sword or string of bow over her chest. No arrow drawn, no threat witnessed, but who knew what might happen the deeper they ventured?

“What is enough?” The question was spoken just so, with no hesitation, and Mave expected no deception. She inquired after her companion the moment she spied a chamber beside her, speaking again before Sára might answer. “A choir.”

Song, though not of cheer, not anymore. As she entered, the chamber had the furniture fit for a choir to practice within, or perform for an audience, furnished with equipment like bench and podium; but it was quiet, vacant, and as naked as death permeated every element of this forsaken temple.

“How much blood?” Not a question in judgment as Mave wrestled with her own sorrow. A lone finger grazed the bench, greeted the dust, came up black as ash, as eyes glimpsed the rust of a trumpet as silent as all was lifeless.

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She stopped. She turned as Mave did, and came to the chamber's entryway to wait while her newfound companion made herself familiar with where she had found herself.

"A choir," she echoed in affirmation, though she said little else for a few moments. She too took a moment to look into the chamber, dark as it was, and in that moment she remembered.

What is enough? How much blood? Each question fair in its curiosity, but each one without a true answer. It was these very questions that for over a century had plagued her very own mind, and with the felling of each foul beast and the rising above of each new trial, each time the question was remembered.

Will it ever be enough? Could anything?

Sad eyes once again fell upon the woodland elf, and she said, "I do not know."

Then she turned from there and departed from that place, on further down the corridor to a stairway leading up. To the next floor, and a short ways down another hall, they came to a doorway. With the gentle wave of her hand the door was made open. They entered into a chamber that was unlike the rest. It was clear that Sára frequented this place, if she didn't dwell here. There was a bed and a few chairs, there were bookshelves well kept and items placed neatly here and there.

"We will be safe here," she said, confident after many years that her wards were more than enough to mask their presence in this place.

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Spoiler: Music OOC

It was a fair answer. Whether Mave had actually expected a response that would give everything away, that would ascertain the true extent of this warrior elf’s endeavor and the end of her adventure, well, maybe in the end her question was more rhetorical. For Maveriel Valthoras, however, no amount of blood could ever be enough to drown out the voices that called her name night and day—but that was another story for another time and place.

From silent trumpets, choirs absent of song, save for the echoes of dust lost in pitiless memories, the elf from the woodland realm wondered and wandered beside her kindred spirit. Different creatures, they surely were, but similar beyond their flesh and appearance. In essence, they had come to these ruins to discover, and that certainly meant more than treasure and dust, although it just as much meant bones.

While there might have been solace in that choir, there in the quiet of lonely shadow and broken echo, Sára had led the pair to a chamber that was even better. It was clear that she had made a home here, if one could call this grotto a home, but that was no insult. This woman was bold to dwell in a realm of old souls.

Saying nothing at first, Mave leisurely explored the room, moving toward a bookshelf. Whether it was added to the collection or already present, she grasped the spine, burgundy leather with edges declined by time, and turned to the elf.

“Glass Princess,” she read but did not open it yet. A lone finger stroked the edge, golden letters etched, and finally flipped to a page that held her gaze. “Call me Iris. However, I am not your princess in a tower waiting for you to save me. I am your death. I am your enemy.” Mave didn’t know why she spoke. Like a warrior who does not know how much blood it takes for the voices to go away…

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She stepped in and gestured for Mave to make herself comfortable, gently closing the door behind her. She set her helm on the table just by her, and then stepped over toward the window, pulling a tattered drape over it. She cast a glance and a soft smile to Mave as she read aloud, and then moved closer to the fireplace where a few pieces of wood lay ready.

She knelt there, and a fire was lit with the snap of her fingers, starting first as a small flame. She focused on it for a moment, fed it, allowed it to grow and then finally take hold for its self. As it snapped and crackled, she stood up and started unbuckling her armour.

"A story you and I both know?" she asked with a half smile, but it was not a question that she expected a ready answer for.

Her black cloak dropped. Her breast plate fell to the floor almost like a feather as she dropped it, its decent softened by her magic. Gauntlet, vambrace, and pauldron too. At one point it seemed as though all sorts of little parts and pieces floated about her, all slowly finding their place on or around the table she stood near.

She sat, and began unbuckling her boots, "do you know where you are, my friend?"

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

In the cold, in the ruins, in an instant there was warmth, for the fireplace was lit by the fingers of an elven companion. Two elves. Two women in a chamber. They didn’t know each other but already they were learning, discovering, as much by words as by movements.

Magic was something that Maveriel Valthoras was not unversed in. Sára'úri, on the other hand, seemed to be familiar with it beyond mere nature, though maybe that was simply this chamber and Mave’s imagination getting the better of her.

As if this other woman all but owned these ruins, and this room of hers, whether repurposed and refitted, was merely a bedroom within her house. She had certainly owned her opponents, but was she the owner of the book in the other elf’s hands? Mave read no further, closing it, before setting it back on the shelf.

Surely there was a story to explore within those words written, with this glass princess not so fragile, not so broken, but this wasn’t the time to find it. A story we both know? Mave could only marvel at the question but did not answer it. She just watched her counterpart as her armor was peeled from her person like garments.

For her part, Mave kept her own armor on with her cloak and bow and quiver. If Sara was getting ready for bed then maybe this was the time and place for it, maybe it was safe in this environment, but Mave wasn’t tired just yet. Sara sat and began unbuckling her boots. There her guest stands, watching her too, but as she gazed at if past her face she remembered the past in the embers of the present.

The fireplace suddenly gave rise to memories as Sara’s other question lingered in Mave’s brain. She knew she was in ruins, a lone temple in the forest, just a few kilometers from Nórë Sérë, but she did not know the specifics or the lore. Haunted went the rumor, but not for naught had the woodland elf come to the rock.

Friend. It wasn’t unusual for elven kin to refer to others with that term even at first encounter. All for the better, perhaps, given that friendship certainly seemed to be a thing of the past within these haunted ruins. Forsaken. Not forgotten. There was a difference.

“I am in a dream,” Mave gave vaguely as she found a seat. Studying her companion, crossing one leg over the other in her chair, she crossed her arms and stared, barely blinking. “Ever since my birth. Waiting to wake.” She stifled a chuckle. “Yet reality is all around me. Where am I? You tell me.”

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She stopped. Straightened up in her seat some, leaving her boot half undone. Her eyes drifted to the fire, now burning quite healthily, and there her gaze lingered for a moment.

"A dream," she echoed quietly, hardly a whisper and more of a breath.

Her eyes turned back to Mave and her head canted some, "then you have stumbled into a nightmare."

She leaned down and continued to undo her boots, "this is Aeraesar. We were once a great nation, and now we have been reduced to living in ruins under ceaseless shadow."

For over a century they had lived like this, she explained. She spoke of how her people dwelt now in only one city, whereas once they dwelt in many, and how once they were as plentiful as any other great nation of Arethil. Now, they were far fewer. But while she spoke of others, it was clear that she was very much alone here.

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

The moment Sara spoke, Mave just sat there, quiet as ever, face frozen neither in terror nor in a grimace. However, those words struck close to home, as if she had been thinking them forever only to hear them out loud by another.

A dream. She had said that only a moment ago, in jest as much as being serious. A nightmare. An apt comparison, given the conditions of these ruins, but the way this other woman had spoken so simply, so subtly, made her words worth a million images.

Aeraesar. Mave tasted the name, chewed on each syllable, drew out the spelling in her mind, every vowel and consonant, as if each letter offered its own silent promise, its own quiet lie. Its own dream. Its own nightmare. Meaningless and silly, maybe, but sometimes she simply thought with feeling, felt by thinking.

So she did think, and she did wonder whether this room once thrived in a number with Sara smiling by the light of the fire beside her neighbors, others who shared the promise of a brighter future. Only to learn that peace is a lie, there is only darkness. Bleak, maybe, but Maveriel Valthoras had certainly seen things that Sára'úri might in turn only dream.

“So,” the wood elf spoke low, gaze to the firelight, a gentle sigh, but not like a woman who has found warmth from a frozen ruin. More like a princess whose glass had cracked, and she could not feel warm or cold, because she was trapped in between life and death, and there was no solace in such depths. “This really is your home…”

No sorrow. No tone of sympathy. Simply acknowledgment of a long lost promise but, to be honest, Mave's imagination really did get the better of her, so she turned her gaze to her companion and kept the Glass Princess behind her.

"Nation. Shadow." She leaned back in her seat, suddenly wishing for tea if not mead. "Tell me more." They had the time, right? Lest they get up and explore, but evidently Sara already knew these floors. "Tell me everything."

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She set her boots aside.

"I have dwelt here for some time now, but this... place," she gestured around them, "no, this is not my home."

As though she perceived Mave's desire for something comforting, Sára'úri stood from where she was seated, and now barefoot, made her way close to the fire again. From a place near there, she opened a cupboard and withdrew a handled pot, and from the same place drew out a pitcher with a large cork in it. She popped the cork, and poured the water within into the pot and then hung it over the fire, reaching again into the cupboard to withdraw a small wooden box which she set on the table.

As she went about the task, she spoke, sharing the occasional look with her guest as she did, "the war we are in the midst of now first started over a century ago. For years we fought them, these heralds of darkness, but for every victory we suffered thrice the defeat."

She ducked down again to gather a couple of mugs from the cupboard before she eased it shut with the gentle push of her mind. She set the mugs down on the table and then flipped open the lid of the wooden box. Within were three segments, each with different dried leaf therein.

"I am from the city just west of here. We are in the temple Ilmarin, and I have dwelt here since the city fell."

She took hold of the box, then she approached Mave and presented it to her. She pointed to each segment within and said, "this one is an earthy flavour, this one more minty. And this one is my favourite, it has a rosy scent... which one would you like?"

She offered what could be described as an admirable attempt at a smile. Sára'úri was not at all an unkind person, but it had been quite some time since she had any company.

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

So, this was not Sara’s home per se but a dwelling place. That did make sense. Yet Mave could not recollect any mention of this civilization; the ruins of a great nation where Sara's remnants lived, in a sense, though such were semantics, for these walls were silent except for the two of them.

Whatever the case, this tomb that had become her bedroom now had two within it. In truth, one could slumber in a catacomb, even under the canopy of verdant green trees, without it necessarily being one’s home. Though if there was poetry in a forest, well, it did not dwell within these frozen ruins. No, not even song did; only broken instruments, like that forsaken trumpet.

Mave watched Sara move, brew the pot, withdraw the box. The woodland elf sat in silence, ever still, and listened as she reminisced of tales in resemblance. True, many began with fighting enemies over centuries, heralds of darkness, victory or defeat, but that didn’t mean they weren’t different. This war was clearly unique as the shadow fell; it rang with the bells of odes and history.

Ilmarin. Again, Mave tasted the word in her head, but could conjure no recollection of its existence. Perhaps it simply wasn’t in the archives nearby but, more importantly, it existed. They both knew it, yes, the one who had experienced it and the one who listened, for Mave saw no lies or deception in the eyes of her companion. Yet she did sniff the scent of earthen grace, flavored mint, though rosy was not her favorite.

“The first,” she nodded, glancing around shelf and chair and bench; stone floor and ceiling and wall. “I suddenly have a yearning for the earth of mine own homeland, though it is no city but forest.”

Having made her choice, in more ways than one, Mave waited for her tea to be brewed, being treated no less than a guest, though she was more. They were both warriors, both wanderers. “So what is it you seek?” She beckoned honestly, never in judgment, for it was not hers to pass. “Within these ruins or beyond these walls, what do you want at the end of it all?”

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She nodded, moving back then to prepare them each the same chosen flavour. Hot water rose then near to the rim of each mug, one soon finding its place in Mave's grasp.

"I have been to the western woods. It is very beautiful," she said as she took her seat. She lifted the steaming cup to her nose, and for the first time a truly genuine, although small smile found her lips, "this was a good choice."

She sipped.

"I..."

She pondered the question deeply, having asked it of herself many, many times before. Each time she'd been able to give herself an answer, but each time it was a little different, a little uncertain but a little less so each time. Still, even now, she was unsure if the answer she could give was the truth of the matter, for she did not know if she knew her own truth.

"I suppose what I seek is not so different from you. I was once a great leader among my people, and a teacher to many youths. When the dark host of Arkhivom fell upon the city..." her eyes fell, and they moved from one place to another, clearly reliving events as she passed through her memory, "I was unable to save them, and I could only wish to be able to tell you that their lives ended there."

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Mave took the cup to her hands in quiet, nodding her thanks, letting the heat from within emanate into her grip as the scent of earthen remembrance permeated her presence. It made sense, given her woodland environment she was born in, though this tea was borne with the incense of stone as much as tree. Though, maybe that was just Mave’s memories yet again slipping into her being like a breeze.

Two women. Two elves. Two seats. Two cups of tea. Maybe that’s where their similarity ended, in the end, but not really. Mave sensed that Sara and her could journey together for eternity as warriors and adventurers, as friends.

Maybe that is the ending to the story. Maybe the Glass Princess is not fractured but made whole again, not by a significant other, but by another version of her…

O how thoughts and musings and dreams could oft get the better of her.

“It is indeed,” she agreed simply. Truly, many forests were beautiful. However, there were some woodland realms, or the edges of them, as within the Valen Wilds, that offered only the memories of misery. Was there a message in there somewhere like poetry? Mave would leave it for the poets. She was simply a woman sipping tea at this moment.

Great leader. She sighed gently as she listened without interruption. Teacher. She was neither. Clearly, however, Sara was experiencing her memories the same way Mave had done only moments earlier. Unable to save them. Like a village before the flames take it away…

“Whether absolute monsters we contend with,” she took another sip, leveled her gaze. “Or rebels in opposition of doctrine.” She hesitated, indifferent, suddenly wondering where her thoughts were going. Then, as if in contention within her own mind, reflective of why she was in these ruins to begin with, she offered her companion a grin.

“I wish we could just be two women having a tea party, forgetting about our woes and wars so…let us be thus…and drink our tea…” She did no less than just.

Queen of Thorns. Glass Princess. I will be bold, like the breath of the forest, as much as a resting soul…

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

Her eyes lifted up, meeting with Mave's, and for a moment there was a glimmer. For so long she had dwelt in this once sacred place, only ever alone, only ever dwelling on the dire failure of the past.

Only in battle had she lived in the moment. Until now.

"Let us be thus," she responded, and like her, she drank.

In the far distance there was an otherworldly howl, a sound which hardly heard through the windows nearby. It did little to move Sara from the comfort of the moment. It was clearly a common thing, a sad reality in this now tortured place.

"Tell me. You have asked much of this place, but you have said little of where you come from."

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Two women in a chamber. Simply. No more or less at this moment. If much and more in the sense of their individual nature. They may drink their fill of tea but, ever the warrior, ever the wanderer, they both knew that they would eventually leave these ruins and go forth.

Whether to explore and expand, exploit or exterminate, like four X’s carved across a wall with a blade. Maybe that was just another memory for Mave, brought on by the earthen taste of her tea, no less welcomed as she sat and reflected on history in the presence of her companion.

Neither person knew much of the other, and that was okay. Sometimes strangers had a way of understanding beyond being acquainted; that underlining, even elven, recognition. They would finish this meet and greet, they would exit, neither exalted nor exiled, and would exist the same way they came in, assuming their entrance and their encounter made no difference in the end.

For the moment, they were just thus.

At the howl, however, Maveriel looked up the way one does as if they could see behind a wall, though she saw only stone. Whatever the source of the roar was, she felt safe and sound at the moment and, if she wasn’t, Mave had a blade, a bow and arrows—and a companion whose fighting prowess had since been proven.

Then again, maybe Mave was just finding a way to be distracted and evade the question.

“I come from the forest.” She sipped. “Falwood.” Cryptic. Vague. It was a big woodland place, with forests woven within forests. “Lithrim is the name of my village. A modest settlement toward the southwestern edges of the forest.” Mave spoke to Sara but her gaze was on the wall. It did not waver. Lost in thought.

“As the village sits beside the river, with a fountain beneath the cedar. Smoke rises, and the children sing. Between the chimneys thin as birch trees, as the bird finds purchase on the spire of our tower, there you will find our woodland grace. There you may taste our sylvan grace like the finest wine, golden white, or red as redwood nectar…”

The elf sighed, and in her breath was the scent of mint, the taste of earthy tea on her tongue, as much as the hint of memory that could never be undone.

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She hummed in tandem with her cousin-kin's sigh, and she sipped from her tea as though to taste of the spoken memory.

She had been in the western woods, she could see those lands in her mind, but she had never been to this place called Lithrim. But though Mave remained somewhat illusive in her speaking of it, there was something unmistakable in the way she spoke.

"It seems you and I are less different, as you seem to miss your home as much as I yearn for what mine used to be," her eyes wandered away listlessly for a moment, and then drew back to Mave with a smile as she daintily raised her cup, saying, "to home."

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Lost in thought. Memories just go on and on. In retrospect, yes, who would know of Mave’s home? Lithrim was but a plain village in comparison to the greater depths of the forest. In elven realms gilded, wherein the canopy of Falwood’s trees becomes its own crown, hers was a settlement surrounded by the tree and the creek.

The bird did find purchase in the wood, nestled on the tower, there where a child, a girl, stood at its tip like some knight on the parapet. Did not dare to take it, for to frighten the wing was to be bitten by the beak. She stared, she watched with her naked eye, fiery ambers, as Maveriel Valthoras and that bird were one in that moment.

She cradled the morning wind, dewdrops on the eyelid, virid mirth in the iris of frozen firelight, wherein the child knew she must one day become a woman, an adult, as the hatchling must one day take flight and take to the sky. The elf of woodland embers had no wings to fly with, but she flew, through the growth of oaken view, proven true, under the sylvan welkin that beckoned the woman to venture beyond the verdant edges, to take her adventures beyond the forest.

And here I am. Mave smiled, near a snicker, eyes on her cup, suddenly wishing it was wine. Her companion mentioned the pair of them being less different. She listened. Listless. A shared sentiment between both women. Like their environment. Their objectives. Their purpose for existence.

For, no matter how many are slain by the blade, Sara will never reclaim what was lost and gone, and neither would Mave. Yet, maybe, that was okay, as much as the mindless musings of a woodland woman who won’t yet go home.

“To home,” Mave raised her cup, less somber, more in a gesture of acceptance for the future, whatever the expression. She lifted the rim to her lips, ready to draw back its contents, but didn’t. “And to those so far from home.” And drank.

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

Spoiler: Rainfall

---

When morning come, only their routines would be what told them. There was no change with the rising of the Sun, the sky was too thick with clouds that now thundered and rained upon the broken land. But it would yield no crop, it would bring no life. Even the rain in this place worked to poison the land.

Once the two were both well awake, Sára made her way near to and stood by the window, looking out. In the presence of her latest friend she was comfortable to wear only her most casual garb, remaining far from quite ready for whatever tasks the day might hold.

It was hardly even grey with the daylight, and even when the storm that covered them now move on this would not abate. She lamented this with a quiet sigh as her eyes danced over the surround. There was little else but the rainfall and thunder in their ears, and small crackle of what remained of the fire.

"I have only a little to eat, but it is yours if you wish it. I will not need for anything for another day or so," she said after a time, "and then, if you wish, you may join me. There is someplace I must go. It is not far from here, and I plan to return shortly."

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​

 

[Maveriel Valthoras]

Spoiler: Ambience (Recurring)

When morning came, Mave struggled to come awake. Her mind was troubled. Starlight was in her vision; stars so far from home. You could see them on a clear sky in an open plain or beneath the canopy of the woodland. All the same, you could know one twinkle from another if you had the skill, and an elf like her did.

Perhaps she was simply trapped between a dream and reality like a leaf within rubble. Whatever it was, amid the pitter-patter of raindrops on rock, Mave braved herself awake a moment later. Reality, unfortunately, had no time to delay; it was ever there whether you wanted it to be or not.

The first thing Mave saw was her own feet. Boots still clad those toes that had known leaf and rock both. Her legs had walked the woodland breadth and the stone of this forsaken fortress. Then they rested beneath the welkin overnight amid the odor of death.

Overhead came the storm; thunder that rumbled deep as dwarven drums and lightning that flickered bright as the staves of mages. Distant, yet; a pinprick amid the window. Though, the downpour was close; echoes of the ocean as it wrapped around this temple caught in a drought; monumental if lost like a corpse to a ghost.

Mave decided to think no further on sentiments and semblances. She simply shifted her head to witness her newfound friend, such as she was, and definitely her host if she was the guest. Sara stood by the window and spoke. The other elf listened just so.

“If you have little to eat then it is best to keep it for when we need it,” Mave answered as she shifted upward. She was dressed in her same attire as before, of course, and that would suffice as much as the contents in her stomach overnight.

“Women like us can survive days and nights in the rough, as they say,” she said casually and approached the window. She did not look at her companion though, instead gazing into the rain; each blade was like a storm of swords from gods of conquest.

“Here or there,” the woodland elf mused as she straightened her hair, though she needed no comb. “Tell me where it is you are going,” Mave met Sara’s gaze. “Though I will go with you either way. You have my bow and my blade.”

Sára'úri

 

[Te'leis]

She bowed her head, and then turned her eyes back out the window.

"Though I do not fight alongside my people or their allies against their foes, I do fight in this war along with them all the same. I have heard them speak, whispers of a great monster nearby, greater than most you would find in this place, for they are many.

They say it attacks from hidden places, catching them unaware. We should be cautious."

She turned away from the window then, moving close to her gear and beginning to don that darkened garb.

"It is said to dwell on the outskirts of the city I spoke of... my home. I will slay it, and rid them of this... nuisance."

Sára displayed then, perhaps for the first time since their meeting, the most honest emotion, subtle as it was. Irritation. Though she'd done well to hide it until now, there was more than mourning in her heart for what had become of these lands.

---

Maveriel Valthoras ​