The Wolves Descended

[Watyll 1104]

 

 

 

((Previous entries can be found here: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/118429-the-war-of-the-tyrants/ ))

 

It had been two days since the strife of the battle with the Chirr. Caeldir of the Beloun Seed shouldered his quiver and exited his little house in the trees, heading down a well established wooden pathway to the forest floor. Unlike some seeds, the Beloun were not nomadic. This little establishment, known as Taliame’lin, had been the Beloun’s home for as long as the Seed had been in existence, formed by his father Iodir after the death of Celebor. Within the treetops, scores of other little huts and pathways wound, with other Mali’ame such as himself going about their business. He saw a group of Harvesters pray before an apple tree before plucking some of its fruit. Taliame’lin was more than just the home of the Seed: it was their food source.

Caeldir saw his brother practicing his spear forms and waved to him. Aelchon waved back with that excited grin he always bore and went back to practicing. Caeldir laughed and continued on his way. When he reached the ground, his footsteps crunching the leaves beneath him, Caeldir found his way to the ame’lie of the Beloun Seed. Others were already there, hacking away at the tree limbs. Caeldir picked up a two-and-a-half-hand axe and looked for a suitable branch. The Zenith of Spring was coming soon, and it was important that he had a present ready for his younger brother. Aelchon did not yet possess a suitable bow.

A sudden shout interrupted his thoughts.

“Caeldir, come over here!”

Caeldir turned. It was a friend of his, Balchel. She waved to him from a yew tree, already with a branch chopped off of it. Caeldir made his way over, smiling at her. Once he had harbored romantic feelings towards Balchel, but after getting to know her better it was obvious nothing would come of it.

“Karin’ayla, Balchel.” Caeldir said. She returned the greeting, getting to work on the branch she had downed. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Making a new spear.” she replied. “My last one has half of it embedded in a Chirr’s gut. It was a good spear too.” her facial expression became agitated. Obviously she had not forgiven the dead elf for being killed by her. She looked up at Caeldir as he began to chop at a different branch of the yew. “And you? What are you doing here?”

“Spring Zenith is soon. My brother needs a proper bow, yes?”

Balchel nodded approvingly. “That he does. I kept an eye on him the other day. That bow he has nearly snapped on him a few times!” Of course, she exaggerated. Wood Elven bows were of the finest make, and very few had ever been known to break. Caeldir finished chopping down the branch. Some visitors to the Wood Elves wondered why the Ame took such offense to some forest trees being chopped down, and didn’t care at all when others were cut. What visitors didn’t know is that each Seed possessed an ame’lie, a manufactured grove. There were no clearly defined boundaries that could be seen by the eyes of other races, but to the Wood Elves it was quite obvious. Every tree in the ame’lie was planted by the Seed that owned it, not like the ‘wild’ trees that the Ame revered with a passion. Caeldir took a seat next to Balchel, beginning to strip the wood down to the size of a bow.

“I never got to ask you how many you killed.” he said nonchalantly. Balchel raised her eyebrows.

“You first.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty-three.” she said with a wicked grin.

“Elor.” he muttered under his breath, continuing to carve.

“Don’t be bitter, Caeldir. It doesn’t suit the Second Son.”

Caeldir grunted. He was all too aware of what he was supposed to act like, as heir to the Seed. “Don’t you start on me too, Balchel. I already get enough of that from my father.” She chuckled, finishing the carving of her spear.

“I’ll see you tonight. I’m going to go through the forms with this new spear.”

Caeldir nodded. “See you tonight.” he said as she departed. The next few hours flew by as Caeldir continued to work on the bow. He made sure the recurve was not too much, for this was a longbow, and stretched the hempen rope just enough to make sure it was taught. Finally, the bow was finished. Caeldir carved a series of spirals into the wood that were uniquely Wood Elven, and walked away, placing the two-and-a-half-hand axe at the entrance to the ame’lie. He carefully proceeded up the walkway, looking around to make sure his brother was not in view. When Caeldir was positive Aelchon was no longer there, he continued on the path to his home. He pulled open the flap to his hut and, making sure Aelchon was not inside, ducked in. Caeldir wrapped the bow in a leather hide and stuffed it under his bed as his father stepped out. Iodir raised a brow.

“A Zenith present for your brother?” he asked. Caeldir nodded.

“Good.” his father said simply, before stepping out. The First Son was a busy man, and there was likely work to do. Caeldir stretched his arms out. The work had been tiring, and he was hungry. The young elf walked to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, biting into it. He grabbed an orange or two as well. Caeldir loved the sweet fruit, and it would tide him over until the evening fire. He went outside and spent the rest of the day practicing archery with his own bow. True, Wood Elves were talented in the ways of arrow, but talent alone was not enough.

The sun began to set, and on wide platform in the very center of the little town, a fire was lit. The platform, unlike most around it, was cut from stone, so that the fire would not consume the homes of the Wood Elves. Caeldir made his way over to the flickering light and sat next to his brother. He nodded to Balchel, who was across from him. Darkness came, and the entire Seed gathered around the platform. Food was served, fruits and vegetables of all kinds, some roasted over the flames. There was meat as well- a fresh deer. The whole Beloun Seed was welcome to this tradition, as well as the members of the seeds that had sworn under the Beloun. It was a nightly affair. First Son Iodir stepped up to the fire.

“Karin’ayla, brothers and sisters.” he said.

“Karin’ayla, First Son.” chorused the assembled Wood Elves, quieting down. Iodir smiled lightly, before gesturing to a figure at his side. “This is Archdruid Garthon Morncalaq. He would like to say a few words before going on his way.” Iodir stepped aside, allowing the elderly Druid to step forward. Many in the audience exchanged hushed whispers. Caeldir was greatly surprised. Archdruids almost never left the grove, and it had been years since the Seed had been visited by one. Druids didn’t come to you. You came to them.

“Greetings, my children.” began Garthon in a soothing voice. “I trust you are enjoying the feast?” The Seed members all nodded. The Archdruid smiled. “It is good to see such a flourishing Seed in this era of distrust and war. It was not always this way, you know. Once the Elves were all united under one Elf. Malin. I am one of the few to remember him, you know. People speak of him now in a reverence that was well earned.” Caeldir raised an eyebrow. He wondered what the Archdruid was getting at. “Of course,” continued the Archdruid, “When he disappeared, we were left helpless. Our brothers the Mali’ker went with their Velulaei, and the High Elves with their Larihei, and we were forgotten. We, the only ones who dared to stay with what our father had taught us.” Garthon looked around the fire, into each Wood Elf’s eyes. “But we are fractured. Elvenkind is fractured. The time for a new King of the Elves is come.” Caeldir’s eyebrows shot up. Was the Archdruid mad? Who would dare crown themselves King in Malin’s stead? The Druid sighed, rubbing his temple. “However,” he said with a note of deep regret, “Like a snake shedding its skin, this new age must arise from the decay which covered it. Sacrifices… Must be made.” There was a silence for a moment as the Archdruid closed his eyes, taking a breath.

A shrill scream split the night. Caeldir looked for the source of the noise, and across the fire, his eyes alit upon a young Ame maiden, her gaze transfixed upon the heavens. She had a look of absolute terror on her face as she wailed in an unceasing screech. Unsteadily, the maiden raised a hand and pointed a single finger to the sky. Caeldir looked up, and felt fear shake his core. Scores of arrows, flaming, descended from the heavens.

“Sacrifices… Must be made.” the Archdruid said regretfully, before whipping his cloak about, and vanishing.

[Lita 677]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.