Private Tales The Sun and Its Shade in Spring

[Elida]

A symphony of howls and barks resounded all around the Falwood. A dozen or more hounds were chasing after one prey, their parted jaws easily picking up their prey’s scent as they bounded through the verdant green of the forest. Bloodhounds and elkhounds and retrievers were leading the hunt, their masters not far behind them. All of them wore red hoods, all of them were fully prepared with iron and magic to capture their prey. They moved swiftly, runes and spells aiding in their speed and ability to avoid the troublesome overgrowth of gnarled roots and briars.

With magic, they chased their prey who had none at their disposal.

Hiding from the sunshine and running in the shade, their prey continued on with their poor escape. Her blonde hair was knotted with dried blood and mud, no longer looking blonde but gray and green with filth. Fair skin that once shone with a inner radiance that would caused the most spoiled and tended to queens green with envy was translucent and gray. Blue and green veins crisscrossed over her frail and slight body, at least where her skin was visible. Still clad in her tattered and dirty smock of a tunic, stained with things she couldn’t bother to think about, Elida ran like never had before.

Barefoot and unarmed, the only thing she still had, the only thing to still prove that she was fae, was the earth and flora allowing her to pass through without getting in her way. Surely, even without her wings, without her magic, the land she once called home pitied Elida for the pathetic state she found herself in. Elida wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or angry. There was that voice in the back of her head that told her running away as futile and she was only prolonging the inevitable.

All around her, the further she went into the Spring Court territories within the Falwood, she could see others. Fauns and small pixies, little brownies and will-o-wisps. They hid, none of them offering help, but how could they? The dogs were approaching, closer and closer, and with them, the hunters were close on their heels. Elida tried to shout for help, but the iron collar tight around her neck choked her and seared her. It seemed speaking in Iza was the same as using magic, and so Elida could nothing but keep running.

Her body burned despite the cold sweat that dripped down her delicate brow and bony shoulders and back. Her lungs felt trapped by her ribs, every breath was painful just as much as it was life-giving. With blurry vision, Elida moved forward, only narrowly missing trees a second before it was too late. Despite her shaky form and not quite able to trust herself to keep moving forward, somehow the wingless sidhe didn’t falter.

“You can run!” She heard echo around her. “But you can’t hide! You can run! But you can’t hide!” Elida felt her nails digging into her palms as she willed herself to keep going, to run faster. But it seemed with each pounding echo of the taunt— of the threat— that she only ran slower and slower. “You can run!” She could hear the hounds paws behind her, could clearly distinguish all of them as they pounded the ground only feet behind her. “But you can’t hide!”

 

[Razareal]

The lush lands of the Spring Court had been Razareal's home for many years now, longer than was worth remembering. The Sidhe had arrived in the forests of Falwood an outcast whose own kind saw no use for him, had shunned and rejected his existence because of his blood and his heritage. The Spring saw through such superficial traits, took him with open arms, and gave him a reason to be. Razareal was not a Watered to his brothers in Spring, he was a warrior.

Ever since that day when Oberon had pointed him in the direction of his enemies, Razareal defended those lands from any who would even dare entertain the idea of threatening Spring's peace. They began to call him The Sower-- Who tilled the lands touched by violence so that the seeds of new life could be planted in the wake of his destruction.

Oberon was no longer King, however. He was dead. In his place was Nairth San'Seya, a Duanann that Razareal had known very little about, but who'd accepted the Sidhe with arms every bit as open as his predecessor. Indeed, Nairth had quickly promoted Razareal to command the entirety of Spring's army, under only the King himself. It was a tremendous honor, and a duty which he took with the utmost of sincerity.

It was all that he truly had, after all.

Today had been a peaceful one, with none of the rabble brought on by local poachers or lesser Fae in the odd squabble. Raz too was at peace-- The only sounds he made were that of his feet pressing against the soft soil beneath them, his steps in a gentle rhythm that played like the slow beat of a drum in his head. He heard not the birds, the teeming life that made home in every nook and cranny of this vast haven of nature. The coolness of night was slowly giving way to the warmth of day, and the light breeze against his flesh was comforting as if his home swaddled him in comfort.

He always had a talent for falling into peaceful trances. Shame this one was so mercilessly shattered by the commotion of a soul in need, shouts of predatory taunting and the hurried steps of their prey.

Razareal did not take even a fraction of a moment to consider who it was that called out in need. There was a life in danger, a heartbeat drumming too fast, breath coming too short. The slow, gentle walk he'd been taking broke out into a sprint, the blackness of his eyelids raising so that every detail of the world assailed him at once, a cacophony of the purest sort. A mere wave of his hand as he moved, drawing from the Prim to seek out the life of another Fae in distress, and he felt the trail of her panic, saw it in the corners of his vision.

The prim bubbled within him, coursed through his viens and gathered at his palms like the drawing of a violent, magical bow, ready to be loosed on any unlucky enough to face his wrath. Before him he saw her, approaching with fear paining her face.

Razareal stood in her path and raised his palms forward.

The bright white flashes erupted from his flesh, searing bolts of destruction soaring past her head with angry screams of magic as they sought her pursuers' heads. With a booming voice, he called not to her, but beyond her.

"Those who would encroach and harass my kin have no welcome here. Turn and flee, or be silenced."

Elida

 

[Elida]

A hound leapt, and Elida was certain it’s jaws would have wrapped around her arm if it hadn’t been for him. Who he was didn’t matter, and yet it did. She saw the energy shooting from his palm, bright white and blinding like staring up at the sun when she was young. Her arms went up to protect her face as she lamely stopping running, weakly lunging to the side as if it were her he was after.

Elida wasn’t sure if he was a enemy or a friend, but enemy seemed far more likely. She went to her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder to see if this was part of their plan to trap her.

All she saw were the hounds. Some were standing upright and snarling at the fae. Some were laying down and headless. The tang of blood, a smell so familiar by now, filled Elida’s nostrils and she gasped. The echoing taunts that had once been resounding throughout the forest were silenced.

She looked forward, her green eyes finding the one who was saving her. Suddenly, she remembered his words. She had heard them, hadn’t she? She just hadn’t been able to process them, running away from her pursuers was the only thing on her mind. It still was on her mind, and so she stood up. She was slow and shaky, her thighs quivering from exertion.

She took a step forward but yelped. The moment she had fully put weight on her right leg, she felt a flash of pain that debilitated her, almost having Elida lose her balance. Gritting her teeth, she prepared herself for it, and took another step. Her left leg was fine, but when it was time to place her weight on her right leg, she felt her ankle protest.

Elida hunched over, clutching at her midsection. It hurt, and she couldn’t even scream her favorite curses in Iza to express this pain. She bit her bottom lip, whimpering to herself, feeling the iron collar burn against her throat.

A arrow flew past, narrowly missing Elida’s head by barely a inch. It hit a tree, and Elida heard a sizzle of flame. The arrow had something attached to it, and smoke was rising out of it. Elida focused on it, willing her blurry vision to straighten up and make sense.

Was it a pouch? It was red, that she was sure of. Another flew whistled through the air, landing right before Razareal’s feet, only a foot or two away. Just like the first arrow, the same dark smoke began to seep out from the red pouch. A second too late, Elida realized what it was: iron.

She wasn’t sure how Suntory Market was able to do it, but they had figured out a way to weaken the fae. This iron mist made all the fae weak, and it was what they often used to make their wares more compliant. Panicked, Elida looked at Razareal, trying to explain with her hands alone that he should avoid it. She pointed at the arrow (or at least she thought she did) and then pointed at the Sidhe (or at least she thought she did) and tried to gesture for him to back away.

It must have looked like she was just flailing about, but unable to speak, it was all she could do.

Razareal

 

[Razareal]

The Sidhe's expression was stoic, unchanging as his bolts of magic collided with several pursuing hounds, leaving them only a moment to howl before their skulls combusted from the sheer destructive force that he'd just hit them with. He took no pleasure in claiming their lives, especially when their actions were taught, and not natural instinct.

There was no alternative, however. Razareal had only just come upon this situation and already it was well out of control. Such blatant hunting was never to be tolerated within his lands, and his blood boiled at the mere thought of it-- They had clearly done great harm to the Fae who now struggled to move towards him, and while he was concerned for her safety his gaze went through her, focused solely on those who chased her, now idling in the distance at the sound of his warning.

One would hope the fact they had ceased pressing forward meant that they would take his words of caution to heart.

One would apparently be wrong.

If they thought they were being clever, these unwelcome interlopers, by quieting down, calling off their remaining hounds and attempting to hide the fact that they were readying their bows, they were sorely mistaken. The Sower of Spring narrowed his eyes at the distant figures, more light building in his palms as he readied himself to silence the remainder of the fools. What good did they think arrows would do against him? Such weapons would only promise their demise.

It wasn't until they loosed those arrows not at him, but at his surroundings that he realized his foes were perhaps less foolish than they appeared. He felt the tug at his energy even before one of the strange projectiles buried itself at his feet, sapping away his connection to the trees and plants that surrounded them. Razareal felt his teeth clench and his legs move to retreat on instinct. He only allowed himself to backpedal a few steps. They were trying to keep him from the woman who now urged him away.

To run would be defeat, and this devilry was not enough to contain his fury.

Despite his resolve, The Sower did drop to a knee as his strength was drained, any window he had to walk away passing as the feeling began to leave the muscles in his legs. The Iron before him did its job well, and while it would not be enough for them to keep him contained for long, it would be more than enough for them to make off with their prize and flee to safety before he could squirm out of the bewitching metal's range.

Razareal aimed not to give them the satisfaction, and there was one last chance to free himself. The collected magic in his hand had not dissipated as the power inside him had, and with the last of his strength he brought his arm back and hurled it at the arrow in front of him, aiming to either destroy it altogether, or blow it away far enough to free himself from its effects.

 

[Elida]

Elida rose her hands before her head, for a second thinking that the fae before her was going to throw that ball of power at her, but instead it hit the mark. She had never seen any fae still move with such intention and force when weakened. She herself was hardly able to stand, and if she walked she knew she would be tripping all over herself.

So she stayed still and watched in fractured segments of the arrow being destroyed, and with it, the iron. It dispersed into the air as if it had never existed in the first place and Elida gaped in awe. She heard shouts, commands being given in the special language that the Hunters used amongst themselves. The dogs were barking, and even with the commands being given to them, they didn’t move forward to attack the fae.

“Run.” Elida said, using trade tongue, her dulcet voice completely ruined with the iron around her neck. It was raspy and rough, as if she had spent these last couple of years only smoking cigars. Once more, she tried to gesture with her hands for the fae to get out of here. There was no way that he would be able to face off the Suntory Market hunters, and when she looked back to their direction, she could see the approaching red cloaks.

An incantation was shouted from the shadows and all the dogs before them became still as something overcame them. Their eyes glowed red and in unison they all showed their teeth and growled. There was another shout and then all the dogs were bounding towards the two fae, no longer fearing for their life.

Fear-stricken yet still wanting to live, Elida turned to run away, hobbling and limping with her arms spread out to keep her balance.

Razareal