You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
Aywin grips his sleeve and wipes some sweat from his brow, kneeling down before taking a cross-legged position on the cushion. He sets his belt, sheathed sword and all, to one side.
“Well…” he mutters. “Would you like to hear my story, or should I start with the one that a similar man might have told some time ago?”.
“Both, if it pleases you”, the hag replies. Aywin nods, quietly snickering.
“He wasn’t always an interesting man so I can’t promise that it’ll be an interesting story but I can make it relatively quick.” After a short but deep inhale, Aywin continues, “he was born 351 years ago, as best I recall, in the land of Axios to a family of lowly Mali’ame nobles. His father was an accomplished military officer and so did he become an accomplished warrior under his father’s tutelage. A first and very direct experience of war came as he followed this father into battle, defending the homeland against the armies of the Silver State.”
“And what was ‘his’ name?” she asked.
“Aywin”.
“Aywin…?”, she muttered with an upward inflection.
“I don’t know. I’ve made a point not to use the name for a very long time and so it has been forgotten,” Aywin stated.
The hag frowns, not out of anger or frustration but out of curiosity. “Do continue.”
“After those wars and the many that followed throughout Axios, especially nearing its end, he became disillusioned with life as a professional soldier and so, upon landing in Atlas, moved to Sutica where he would live occasionally as an individual sellsword to make ends meet. It was there that he befriended a high elf working in the local library and it was this man that introduced him to some of the newly emerging works of Druii and Aspecticist philosophy and theology, taking time to read these works. Skipping ahead somewhat, he slowly reconnected - although, perhaps had only truly connected for the first time - with his Mali’ame kin’s culture. After the fall of the Dominion of Malin, therefore, he again settled with the Mali’ame in the hopes of helping their refugees build a new home.”
The hag interjects, perhaps losing patience, asking “When is it that this turns into your story, then?”
“Very soon.” Awyin continues, “It was eventually revealed to his father that he was in fact not his real son but was rather the product of an affair between his mother and another Mali back in Axios. His illegitimate father thus rejected him and forced him to break most of the remaining ties he had with his existing family. At the same time he watched as his kin, wandering and without a nation to call home, were persecuted amongst the neighboring towns and cities of, then, Arcas for their culture and traditions. After the founding of Irrinor as a new home for his people and the eventual migration of all peoples from Arcas to Almaris, no family nor close friends tied him to any one place and so he, or perhaps now I, decided to undertake a long journey of renunciation in order to contemplate and better understand the traditions and thought of my people.”
“And what traditions were those?” the hag interjected.
“Those of the ancient seeds - the nomadic ancestors of all Mali’ame as well as the spiritual traditions of the Wild Path. My studies were solemn, making use of various libraries dotted around Almaris and semi-regular conversation with the Druii. Of course, I didn’t spend much time in any one place, living and sleeping rough primarily in the realm’s wilderness. The point was to renounce all of the things that separated me from the traditions of my people and from contact with the divine, allowing space only for thought and meditation. It was difficult but the monks of the cloud temple and their farmers were very kind to me ss were many of the other wanderers I encountered on my travels, donating food and occasionally clothing to me. This journey went on for a whole 130 years, from the moment peoples landed in Almaris to almost the very moment they landed again, here, in Aevos. I have now only just began to readjust to a settled life outside of the wilds.”
“And so now that we are finally talking about ‘you’, what is your name, exactly?” asked the hag.
“To those who don’t speak the ancient Elven tongue, I often go by ‘Aywin Ael’Avern’, else just ‘Aywin’”.
She furrows a brow, “And where does ‘Ael’Avern’ come from, exactly? Since I presume it is not your-” she stops and quickly corrects herself, “I mean his birth name.”
Aywin, with a wide grin, replies “It was sort of given to me by a lovely Canonist lady that I met during my travels in Almaris. I encountered her on a journey through a forest as I made my way to a nearby village, a ways off the beaten path, as she had been out collecting firewood. I clearly frightened her at first since I was still carrying my sword but, after assuring her that she was safe, we got to talking and she invited me into her home for bread and tea as well as to bathe. As we drank at her table she asked me questions about the purpose of my journey and my background, hence I explained to her some of my goals, thought, and discussed with her some of the texts that I had been carrying. She obviously didn’t agree with or perhaps even understand a lot of what I was saying but she humored me. The conversation was a long one and very interesting, at least for me, but as I was packing up she kindly wished me well before remarking that I was pleasant though ‘awfully confused’ company. In the Elven language, ‘Ael’Avern’ translates roughly to ‘awfully confused’, though carries the second possible meaning ‘foul wanderer’ which I suspected would have been an apt description of me when I first encountered this woman. My robes were torn and stained, my hair long and unkempt. I hadn’t seen a river for some time and so likely smelled of death. At least enough that she’d felt compelled to invite me in to bathe.”
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