Name?

[someome 2053]

"Hareven Lorenthus"

 

He rubs his head a little, dragging tired legs forward towards the lake surrounding the Silk Grove. Worn, silver eyes shimmering in the early morning light as he planted his staff into loose soil, leaving it up-right on the coast. Coat is dropped, and boots are slung off, before he collapses into the water, turning over and floating out a little. His eyes shut slowly as he lets his own mind wander, not a sound from him as the life of the Grove quietly spreads its own noises about. In his tiredness, memories wash over him...
 

"Hare"

 

He's standing at a small counter in Sutica, back in Axios. A redheaded elf and a tall ker smile at him, next to others. This is a small place, but packed, all of them passing jobs along and working. He steps out, patting his son on the head, a grown man by most peoples opinions but learning none-the-less, as he steps outside. No coat or robes, just leather and half-plate, as he talked with more people of old. He's happy, and turns his head to say something.

"Dwed"

 

Among orcs and others, a beast of living fire and magma hissing and spits. He's of two sons now, both might be adopted but they are his. He's pushing himself forward to scale a hill as molten rock fills a crevasse, his second son being carried by a young lass with scars, perhaps a slave? Regardless, he's rallying with Uruk, with thahnium being fired on the beast as he scooped up his other, salves desperately working to heal terrible burns on his legs from the heat. The son, now on his shoulders, readies a sword of his own, and they begin to rush an approach.

 

"Hareven"

 

He's in a old village, everyone before and more populating it. A tavern once again rests in the middle, and there are even children running around! He's wearing a coat over thick, boiled leathers, watching from the walls as a harsh sun gleams down on the Uzg. A people condoned often, but still willingly allowed a group of misfits full of elves and humans, and himself a dwarf, to settle and live by them. A she-orc would approach the walled village of old, waving to him. He'd head to the gate, and goes to hit the switch.

"Dedicant"

 

A elf with somehow pink hair stares on in a classroom, a masked, tall man, ranting and raving about Cernunnos as puppets of roots assault himself and other students, fighting back with wooden weapon facsimiles. He manages to take the head off of a puppet, but not before another slams him into a wall, the ranting now a lecture on how to counter necromancers. He wipes the blood off of his face, before being given a new task. He heads out, before she stops him, to ask him something.

 

"Bluejay"

 

He's standing in the Solace Grove, staring off of the old, giant stump. His arm is in a sling. The kha, unusually heavy and hard, shattered his shoulder as they took her for trial and unattunement. He's a druid now, but he's out of a teacher. He'd glance up, still adjusting to the Hum, as something soothing it seems to walk into the Grove, a blonde woman. He knows her, a wise old one apparently. This old Owl checks on his former teacher before looking to him. Flowers seem to just spring up from the ground around her. She asks him something, calling out

 

"Brother Bluejay"

 

His old teacher is long gone. He's back to donning armor but wears a longer coat around it, he's learned. To stop being angry at the one with the stripe in her hair. Stop wanting to set the foul mouthed kha on fire. He's actually learned to find family among the Order, rather than be so distrustful. Another best friend, ironically another mali'ker just like his other, whom is now a cleric. They tend to wander together and perform duties. He's still not close with the rest of the druids, but with slow steps he's getting there. He's learning from watching the older ones. The Owl teaches him directly, but not like how to step through the way the Order works, or knowledge of unusual things that exist in their world. He's convinced knowing is how to stay safe. He doesn't want to fail anyone either. He steps in front of Suticas Palace, looking up at it, before over to the new Grove inside the city growing. He makes his approach before someone calls out again.

 

"Lorenthus"

 

He's guiding now. Teaching dedicants to become druids. He's still trying to help the city now hosting a new Circle formed, his old companions scattered and doing their own works now. He's a grandfather with no blood children, a legacy formed on intake only. He finishes giving a lesson, and starts wandering through Sutica, humming. He comes into the square, to a dragon-esque being, one of the new guards, and a quiet man giving off a loud noise. He'd go forward to help, only for a odd fear to strike his head, but it quietly resolves after seeing the lass try and bounce a hammer off the dragonic forms chest, reaching and dragging her away, chastising her after. The being turns out to be an Azdrazi it seems, also being spooked by the now missing man. He gets her name, and goes to say his own.

 

"Har"

 

Archdruid. Of a Circle, at his stage. This isn't something he thought was possible nor does he feel confident, but here he is. He's learned so much more but feels all the smaller sometimes cause of it, ironic of a dwarf. Maybe it's becoming an actual father, not just adopting a child, but forming a family with someone. Maybe it's shouldering more duties. It's not old age, he's not even in his hundreds. He moves forward however. He actually dislikes being called Archdruid. Uneasiness fills him a little, as if an omen towards his mind. The sister with eyes like fresh roses says as much. The longer one of their kin carries the title, the madder they tend to go. He says it's fine however, and moves along, caring for the little one, caring for the fire that made her, and chose him. His head just aches sometimes, and he thinks he hears himself being called on.

 

"Hvaeren? Baeujly?"

 

The strange assaults on the city and Grove get worse. The dead city on Tahn is producing more storms. Another landmass is rumored to be splitting apart. He's trying his hardest to help, while keeping up with all things else, and it's taking a toll. Sometimes he loses himself for a little while, other times too focused on what's ahead of him to remember what's supposed to be by his side. He's constantly trying to stop himself, to live for those still close, but something happens. Something that needs him. Always needing his help. Something, everything? No he's just one person. But he tells himself if he finishes it'll all be done and over with and keeps moving. He keeps listening for anything that needs him.

"Cost"

 

It's damnably cold. It's so quiet. Not just the actual land, the Hum is all about gone. The most he can hear is what comes from the mask he made and the plants he's focusing on keeping alive that grow from the unusual armor he has adorned. The voidal horror he's so fond of made it for him, with pockets of soil somehow holding together for life to be grown for. He merely need care for and switch out the dirt at times. He's been gone for so long, pulling out of these storms long enough to treat who or whatever he's saving, and rest to abate the symptoms of the thahnium. He knows shes mad. That others are worrying and lonely. But he doesn't know what else to do but keep on going forward. Everyone is constructing boats, so he might as well do something that can be useful. He can help. Can he help? He's just, trying to do his duties. He waits to hear his name called for.

 

"[Names]"

 

He's tried and repaired what he can. This new land is different, and he spent too far away from it all. He's managed to pull himself from the fugue, and done what he can. So many people assume that he forgets them, or their names. He's since wondered if maybe this is something others of his kin go through. He remembers. All of them, so carefully, reciting their names sometimes. Wondering how Aerith is handling Eris and their children. If Viltaren got a new hammer, and if Liri still babbles on about bears. Owl, who seemed so distressed, if she still thought him a good student. Renn, who he never really saw alike til piss hit the wind, if she was managing to relax. Zekt'ira, the horror who helped remind him not all unusual was bad, if it was staying safe and learning. If Briar made more jam. If Riv'su would still want to smoke together. Does Aluatis still see him as a father? What about Blossom? Is Elyswens children doing alright? Damien sleeping well? What about Tayna? Taynuel? Lilliana? Everyone.

 

The concerns, the names, the memories, constantly churning through a scrambled head.

 

He still wasn't even a hundred, is this normal for druid?

 

Time to think about it is over. A figure stands on the coast, calling his name. He tilts himself in the water, trying to make it out from a distance who it is, or what they're calling him, as he wades towards land now.

 

But he assumes his own name doesn't matter, just the duty.

 

The name can change.

 

[StarGazzer 287]

The man, the myth, the legend.

[osumanduas 1442]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.