What In The World...

[John (Zevandir) 80]

Zevandir looks around, at the quiet clearing in the heart of the Elven capital. As he gazes, he remembers Laurelin, the place where he began his life in Aegis, surrounded by the Princes, the Elves a force of nature, their military unmatched, their warriors forged in the mighty crucible, tested in the Gauntlet, proven upon the field of battle. Now, the city in Anthos, the name of which he knows not, gazes back, seemingly empty, a place of sorrowful whispers of the leaves in the wind, the secret power of ancient Malinor apparently lost. 

 

Zevandir is at a loss, arriving on the new continent, his ship hardly holding together, his grip upon life had slipped, and he had awoken to the ministrations of the cloud monks, an unfamiliar experience after so long. His journey to Malinor, guided by faint signs and old lures of the soul, was harsh, he met not a soul and was pursued by hordes of enemies, and only by lucky chance did he succeed in finding his way there. Though the walls and trees were higher, stronger, the city was darker, and empty, doors open and chests unlocked, no guards in sight. He knows not what to do here, there are no familiar faces, to smiling High Prince to welcome him back from the tides of time, no gypsies to shelter him, no Normandorian elves to accept him. The land is empty, or so it seems, and Zevandir seeks kinship, be it of the dark, wood or high kind, or those of rounded ears or rounded stature, tusked or fanged, he seeks.

 

Zevandir sits near the entrance of the city, and waits.

 

((OOC: I've been gone for ages, halp :P))

[Dry Crackers 268]

A shabby Elf dressed in an old faded greatcoat approaches the equally shabby Elf sitting by the gate.

 

"Hallo, friend.  You look a little confused.  Anything I can help you with?"

 

He stands at a polite distance.  Despite his appearance, he looks confident and cheerful, if not happy.

[John (Zevandir) 80]

Zevandir looks up, surprised at the response, but pleased nonetheless.

 

"Hail, friend, I fear I am lost, more so than ever before. If you would, you can help me with much. A start, would be to explain where Asulon has gone, why its inhabitants are now in this new land, and why so many are not..."

 

He looks up, and with a beseeching look, asks another;

 

 

"Why are the humans trying to kill us?"

[Dry Crackers 268]

Emanaf takes a moment to collect his thoughts and launches into the explanation.

 

"No idea of what happened in Asulon, I think there was a volcano or some such nonsense.  We are in a new land because there was nowhere else to go.  And the humans are trying to kill us because they got too organized to kill each other.  A shame.  It's better when the Men fight amongst themselves, because they keep their noses out of Elvish business."

[John (Zevandir) 80]

Zevandir frowns, processing this, before carefully wording his response:

 

"So, if the old worlds are gone, and apparently much of those I once knew, where might I go to settle, for as you see me, is all I am in this world. I possess nothing, and contribute to nothing. If you would, send me to the Hanseti, for I wish to speak with them, and p'haps gain a position, though if the elves themselves can offer ranks in which I may fight, please, show me."

 

As he states the last, Zevandir looks up, and raises his voice, as if directing his words to he with whom he talks, as well as anyone else who might be listening.

 

A puzzled look flashes across his face, 

 

"My friend, I apologize but, who are you?"

[thewhiteknights(rarethorn) 27]

*overhearing them Rarethorn comes closer and says*

Malinor has fallen if that is why you look with troubles eyes on this sight. Im sad to say all mali are gone left a few and me. They live on a island far away...lauemalin is proof that the end of Malins people are upon us.

Oren rules of late.

*he waits to see what the two men say*

[John (Zevandir) 80]

Hail and well met good sir. It is good to see another face, but please, tell me, why are you here but the Mali are gone? I find it troublesome to hear such news, but I thank you nonetheless. 

 

Zevandir pauses for a moment, weighing his words.

 

*He continues to speak loud, as before, his voice beginning to gain an edge of contempt*

 

Friend, I find myself forced to admit a current lust for my axe, and never in my life have I been so torn, for perhaps the absence of it is what keeps me alive, for I will make no secret that it is taking all I am, to refrain from snatching up the nearest weapon, be it branch or rock, axe or sword, and attempting to throw myself at the nearest human invader.

 

Zevandir bows his head, his shoulders sag, and he seems to shrink a little into himself, almost resigning himself to his fate. His tone drops, and he speaks quieter than before.

 

I find myself in need of a journey, tell me, where is nearest harbor in which I may rebuild my ship, and set sail, for the Wolf inside me begs to roam, and I find this current place one which bears no apparent wolves, of four legs or two, and that saddens me, for I come from a place in which all were wolves, ferocious and strong, where my band raided deep and far.

 

A light of hope enters his eyes, his voice returning to its previous volume

 

Sir, do you know of such? 

[Dry Crackers 268]

Emanaf steps back from his Elvish comrade, looking sad.

 

"And so does another pass," he mutters, hardly audible.

 

"This voyaging is surrender, comrade," the tattered Elf says, stepping closer, his voice cold.  "I shall not begrudge you your choice, but every Elf that leaves means there are less to protect those who are left."

 

"I am called Emanaf," he says simply, his voice growing kinder.

 

"And I know how you feel.  But the rampaging lion that is Oren will require more than a clubbing to take down. 

 

"It is that more-than-a-club that I have spent much of my mental energies on of late.  It has been, what, near on a week since I slept."

[John (Zevandir) 80]

Zevandir nods, accepting that it is, indeed a form of surrender. 

 

"Sometimes, though rash and passionate action appeal most, other courses are p'raps wiser, and now it is apparent to me, that another course, may'haps one that will divert me from my goals, has appeared at my feet, and so I follow it, for the path looks like a promise."

 

He stops, and looks around, as if remembering, before continuing.

 

"Though, in this, I realise that, though at the spark of your words, a flame was kindled in me, I realise that this flame was one that burned from long ago, a flame fueled by the desire to avenge the fallen realm, of Old Laurelin, and Aegis. In this realization, I come to a further point, the ways of the Old Elves are lost, and it is with this admission that my heart threatens to break, and I grow weak, but also, my resolve is stronger than ever, and, in the memory of my fallen kin, I leave, to forge anew a place for the Elves, for the Old Ways, as they are in me. And, perhaps, find those of old who still reside in this world."

 

Zevandir rises, a letter in his hand, and strides away, broad shoulders more reminiscent of the men of the North than the elves of Old, heading into the distance with purpose and iron.

 

((Thanks a bunch for the RP dudes, great fun, and it was awesome to hear what was going on, PM me :) ))

[Dry Crackers 268]

Emanaf simply raises a hand in salute to the retreating figure.

 

"Should you ever need me, I am certain we can find each other.

 

"Good luck."

 

Emanaf now turns and goes his own way, hand on the hilt of the broadsword at his side.  He does not look back.

[Moot 1719]

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