An Old Grudge

[Mithradites 1168]

 

 

 

"Deep in the trees of wood-elven land, far from anyone or anything, a crumpled figure of a high elf lay in a pool of crimson blood. Not precisely the most poetic introduction to a story, but what do you want? I'm not being paid or nothing."

 

The old story-teller scratched his nose as the gathered and monumentally bored listeners prodded the fire and rolled their eyes. 

 

"What makes some dead high elf interesting, beardo?" One of the younger listeners chirped.

 

Well, it weren't the fact that he was dead. It was in how he died. See, I'm the type of curious fella what takes an interest in that Dragon-Library with the scary hooded bloke in it. Down there, there was these two elves. They was talking for a fair while, you see. From what I heard, their names was 'Looshun' and 'Fadrus.' Dopey elf names. You know.

 

"Scandalous stuff, codger." The young listener would chirp again. "What were they talking about? Pastries?"

 

Nay nay, lad. They was talking about how one of them was going to die, I think. See, they were talking real calm-like for a while, then the dark-skinned one (Fadrus) -he was the scary one- said all sorts of things to the light-skinned one (Looshun). Bad things. Murderous, killy things, aye? Well they just sat for a while there. Not sure why they'd be so polite about it. Maybe because of the scary hooded feller roaming about.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then some other pale-skinned elf came along and spoke something snippy at Looshun. Looshun snipped back for a bit, then offered to go for a walk with Fadrus. Obviously I followed the elfy fellers.

 

They went all the way to Lorrie'lin they did. Big old trees down that way. Lots of shadows for me to keep an eye on things. So they walk all around by themselves, then Fadrus ganks him one! Cuts right down his leg with a nasty looking knife. Pale Looshun falls over screaming something awful. Here's the frightful part, though. Fadrus starts circling around him like a wolf, bonking a big old staff on the ground as he does it. Babbling this gobbledeegook like some kind of witch. Looshun tries to talk, blubbers a bit, then starts weeping. Poor bastard. Finally, the Fadrus feller gets his nasty old knife again, and...

 

The old story-teller smacked his fist into the dirt next to himself for effect. It was suitably effective in surprising his listeners.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whack! Right into the Pale-feller's head. Top of the skull. The sound it made? Think of an axe smacking into a ripe pumpkin. That sound. Kind of like a snappier 'squelch.' 

 

"Well that's just great. You told us about some grotty murder you witnessed, you creepy old bugger." The young one was clearly impatient with the old man, and a number of other listeners murmured in agreement.

 

"You think that's creepy?" The Old Story-Teller interrupted. "Imagine what I felt when the pale feller got up."

The gathered listeners suddenly went silent.

 

"What?" Chirped the younger one.

 

That's right. The pale feller got up. See, after Looshun's head got cleaved, Fadrus McElf picked up his bits and left him where he was. I was planning to go and poke around in the body's keep-sakes, you know. Not like he was going to need them right? But I wasn't going to go down there for a fair bit, just in case that dark one was still about. So I waited. And waited. And then it started raining. And I waited for it to stop, and then I waited some more. But as I started to creep towards him, the feller stirs and pulls himself up. Oh my lad. He did not look good. His head was practically red with his blood, and there was a gash the size of my finger right up in there. Bloody awful. Don't know how anyone could have survived that blow. 

 

But that ain't even the weirdest bit, right? Feller just sits there on his knees for a moment, wobbling back and forth, and then starts laughing. Not sinister or nothing. Just this jolly little chuckle. Like nothing was wrong in the world.

 

"Then what did he do?" The young one chirped.

 

"Well I don't bloody know, I ran off right quick. Don't want to tangle with no ghoulies. That dark feller was probably a necromancer."

 

And with a collective groan, the audience went back to their food.

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

As Lucion crawled, his smashed skull and sliced leg leaving a viscous trail of blood in the grass, he couldn't help but remember something his mother used to chide him with. 

 

"Lucion, your head has the thickness of two wooden planks."

 

And with one more ragged chortle, he dragged his broken body into the woods. Phaedrus had fulfilled the old High Elf's request in a strange, brutal way. Because, now that he was "dead," Lucion was free from fear, free from his enemies, and free from his past.

 

Thus, there was silence once more among the trees.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Though Lucion isn't dead, he will be mostly retired for the rest of the map due to his grievous mauling by a nasty wood elf. 

 

Thanks for the radical RP, Wardog! 

 

 

 

 

 

[Dakirennis 959]

 

 

 

Dak'ir's fingers tap against his staff as he stands at the edge of his settlement's gardens. His eyes turn from his mate as she does her gardening and lay eastward, the direction he swore that the elder high elf had always wandered from when he'd pop up in Raven's forest. He smiled wearily, thinking back to a time when elves lived in relative peace together. Despite constant tensions, he did somewhat miss the old days of enjoying a cup of Iat's tea and conversing with Lucion in Annil'sul.

 

He shakes his head dismissively. "Gone are those days." He mumbles under his breath.

 

Instead he thinks back to a few days earlier, when he caught Lucion skittering through the trees the first time...

 

Dak'ir scoffs. "He actually hissed at me." He chuckles quietly, watching Lielle pull a weed from a patch of orchids.

 

But then yet again just recently he returned, asking Dak'ir to bring a letter to Phaedrus. 'Of course. Out of my respect for you.' And so he did. Then Phaedrus asked to arrange a meeting. 'Of course. For the sake of my honour.'  Dak'ir's eyes turn to the ground as he mulls over the thoughts in his mind over and over again. He jolts as a hand touches his cheek, eye's snapping to Lielle before he sighs and lets out a half-hearted chuckle. 

 

He takes her hand, leading her home for the evening. "Have I ever told you about a high elf named Lucion, love? An interesting and odd fellow. Perhaps you'll meet him if he visits again... I think you'd like him."

 

Spoiler

Well that was a wild read. Now I feel awful.

 

[TeaLulu 1783]

Standing less than attentively at the front desk of the Library of Dragur, a former-but-still-sort-of hobo-storyteller-vagabond would put the final words to her latest book, 'The Siege of Sanjezal', and, signing it with a flourish, set the book aside.

 

She glanced up at the now empty library, giving a firm nod. Reaching for another empty tome to begin on, her thoughts turned briefly to the gentleman with the overactive eyebrow who'd come by to inquire as to the Library's rules. Specifically, whether or not violence was allowed. Specifically moreso, if he had a meeting with someone, they would not be allowed to incite violence on him?

 

"Violence isn't allowed in the library." She had responded, "But if you do have a meeting which may lead to it here, it'd be best to have Orithur or myself around just in case. Preferably Orithur if they're a significant enough threat." 

 

Not necessary, the Mali'aheral had said. The rule alone should be enough to keep him safe.

 

She decided not to tell him that it wasn't keeping him safe she cared about, but moreso keeping bloodstains off the books.

 

When she came to the front desk the next morning, she gave a thorough walk of the library and all it's meeting spaces. No bloodstains. Yet despite that, she still felt the Mali'aheral's naivety wouldn't end well for the man.

[JEEGK 1367]

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