Reflective thoughts - A Journal of a Wayward Elf

[Blindhamsterman]

“Friendship, a word with many meanings between many different peoples. I must confess to believing it meant something decidedly different in my younger days, on the Blessed Isle I had those I would call friends, those I spoke with, drank with or trained with in my time as an apprentice of the Lynx lodge, most often Nobles of a similar rank to myself, with little desire to look below me. But were they truely friends? At the time I considered them to be. Now I wonder at the concept. There are some that believe a friend is merely someone known to them beyond a single time. But is that not perhaps little more than an acquaintance, perhaps to become a friend if the relationship is preserved and given a chance to grow?

But then, at what point does one decide a person becomes a friend? When an important secret is shared? Or perhaps when they save your life from a horde of Orcs? Or Werewolves? Since arriving here in the Silver Marches, on the frontier of what the humans consider to be civilised I’ve learned much about myself and my failings. I’ve learned that building walls and not allowing people the chance to become friends is a poor decision. Similarly I’ve learned that it is not simply those of the people deserving of the title of friend. There have been those I have met and felt a kinship to, The Knight in Silver Alyra for one, or perhaps Trapper wind and her wild ways? While I did not know it at the time, I look back and consider the advise each of them gave me in our short travels together, at their willingness to talk of things, to share simple honest conversation. Something that for some of the people is simply beyond them…

It took the Feywarden Daertho, whom I had simply respected leaving for the south to make me realise he was more than just a travelling companion, but instead my first true friend in the Marches. Now he has returned and I am glad of his company and sage advice as well as his firm belief in the Seldarine, in Corellon's guidance. With Sywyn it was something different, we travelled together increasingly and in doing so I realised that for all our differences, we shared a similar outlook on life and our place in these lands, even sharing Ideals. With him it was a more dramatic experience that caused me to realise that he was a true friend, being brought low by the foul minions of Malar, only to have him, an archer run between the huge beasts simply to ensure my life was preserved. For that I am eternally grateful and hope that I can ensure his safety in the coming years.

But then, perhaps there was at least one from my past that was a friend, though as with Daertho I did not realise it until I had lost him, Lythandir, fellow apprentice and always so petulant, he died in my arms, such a way to learn someone was a friend? It saddens me that I was too blind to realise sooner, perhaps I would have tried all the harder to defend him when he told me to run? Perhaps I’ll never know…

Friendship, a strange word indeed, one with many meanings, but I believe that my time among the ‘barbaric’ folk of the Silver Marches has taught me much, that friendship is something important, to be preserved above all else. Perhaps there is indeed more to these people and these lands than the elders of my kin would have me believe? For now I shall be thankful to the Seldarine for giving me the opportunity to meet these people that have become true friends, beyond those that I considered friends in my past, exept perhaps one?”

[Blindhamsterman]

Essentially the idea to these entries is relatively simple, they are the reflections of Elenaril, on a theme or topic that becomes apparent through play... Here is the second entry, comments/pointers on writing style is appreciated (It's not something I usually do)

“Home, for some it is a place, others it is a feeling. I sit here now, and I wonder what it truly is to me?

Today I found myself in a place most unexpected, surrounded by reminders of a place I spent lifetimes by human standards in. It was beautiful to behold, though at the same time a little sad; to see how the people have declined in Faerun, regardless of the reasons. But most important of all, It left me and clearly those I travelled with, all of whom I care for, clearly thinking of places we had once spent many years.

I could see it clearly in the Feywarden’s eyes, though I am sure it was a different place to me that he remembered, I could see the slight sadness in his eyes. We both lived on Evermeet though he was not from there originally. The memories this place obviously brought up were perhaps ones he did not truly wish to remember. Perhaps home for him is not entirely a happy thing? As a Wood elf his time with house Elbrar, and in the temple in Leuthilspar can not have been easy. Home is mixed happy and hard memories for him then.

Sywyn, the often stoic ranger I consider to be closest of my companions on the mainland, appeared to be in complete awe of the place we had come to, clearly it brought up memories of a place he had once lived, but more importantly to him, it gave him hope of a place that he might live once more, where he could be around that which he had missed and felt he perhaps has grown away from. So for him Home is Hope? and Salvation?

Laniara, the skilled scholar and Arcanist, who has been through so much of late, she was harder to read, what did this place mean to her I wonder? She came from the High Forest, where once the people lived in huge kingdoms, though not in her own lifetime. Perhaps the place simply meant a chance to be away from the ‘N’Tel’? A place to be amongst her own kind, though equally such a thing recently caused her little but pain. For her, home likely means a new beginning, and something to believe in with her life as it has gone.

So what of me then? Not so very long ago, I said to Lady Sylvaine a Knight of Silverymoon, though it’s unlikely many would realise that was what she was without a formal introduction, she doesn’t dress like I’d come to expect human knights to dress, all in their heavy plait mail, shining from a mile away. I told her that I’d come to regard the Marches as home, but I didn’t mean it, not in my heart, to me, home is where the people are. Perhaps it is due to the training I received in the Lynx Lodge, the desire to be around and to protect the people…

So what is Home? Home to me is a concept, a state of mind, Home is where my heart and soul is. Let us pray that I can protect it…”

[Swift]

Love 'em. The diary style is nice

[Blindhamsterman]

He sits down on a hard bed in a shared room at the Inn, that was until recently at least, owned by Trapper Wind, one of the few humans he'd actually found himself enjoying the company of, though she was nowhere to be found when he arrived in the marches.

He removes his magical pack, potion bottles tinkle causing a snoring patron to stir briefly, next he removes his finely wraught Lute, admiring the craftsmanship before setting it beside the bed and then his swords, both fashioned of Alchemical Silver, Made in a time when the Malarites had been causing so much Havock, so very far away. He places them reverently beside the lute and pack.

Next he kicks off his finely made Elven Boots, regarding them, their soles are well worn, minor tears imply their lack of care of late, dirt and grime covers the Elven craftsmanship. This causes him to pause and consider things, are they perhaps in a strange sense a metaphore for himself? Has he already begun to be corrupted by these darker lands? Is he perhaps even turning aside from his true Elven Path?

These dark thoughts stick with him as he regards the scrolls recently traded with the human arcanist, one that was an ally of his remaining friend and companion, but also an enemy of his current employer. Strange how he had ended up here.

His employer, yes, that was all the man was to him, not an ally, certainly not a friend. He did not like the man, he who claimed the need for dictatorship, the need to deny freedom. How dare he imply that such things would have made his peoples past any different! The Priest, a N'Tel, and one currently worthy of no respect...

His thoughts continue to darken as he takes a book from his pack and regards it for some time. His Journal.

Perhaps it's time he began writing again.

[Blindhamsterman]

The elf wakes from his reverie, the same feeling of discontent hanging over him, it had not left him since he’d signed onto the mission to Kressilacc, and he’d enquired about work initially in the hopes of finding new adventure, a hope that had quickly shattered when he first stepped off the ship in the Pirate Isle of Skaug.

Skaug, a den of evil, of thieves, murders, slavers and a lot worse, the place literally reeked of it, the only positive side to this island was that unlike every other human city, this one chose to wear it’s baseness openly, not like so many other places he had been since leaving Evermeet, places he had assumed to be as good as they claimed to be, full of N’tel’quessir that also acted as if they were so very, very good.

This thought gives him pause, he thinks back to the first place he has felt at least close to being at home in since leaving the Blessed Isle. A secret place, hidden in the treetops, a place full of the people, and a place he had sworn to defend. He was not like most of the Elves there, a Sun Elf, nobler stock, less wild and more refined. He was still something of an outsider, though at least some there had come to call him friend. It was this place that his long search for a mentor, one able to teach him the dance of blades that would allow him to better protect his people, his friends.

What was he without his friends? Without their guidance and aid? This question was one he’d hoped travelling so many leagues might have allowed him to avoid. But it came to him again, almost daily he would think about those friends he had made in the Silver Marches, brothers in arms, councillors, companions and it seemed to him now, as he considered his surroundings again, perhaps his grounding. He’d told himself he did not need friends when his fellow apprentices had betrayed him in the far south, leaving Lythandir and him alone – an act that cost Lythandir his life. But that belief was quickly smashed aside when Daertho and later Sywyn had offered him friendship and guidance. Now, they were both gone, and he was once more alone.

He leaves the dark, dirty Inn, stepping over smashed glasses and avoiding a dark stain, blood most likely. As he steps outside he is once more confronted by the dirty streets, the oppressive atmosphere and the foul sites. A burly looking Orc strides past him, glowering at him from under its too-large brow. Lynx’ hand moves toward his rapier, but as always he does not draw it. This action alone causes him to frown at himself, why did he not draw his blade? Surely he was not afraid of the consequences? No it wasn’t that, it was more a general feeling of Apathy that he felt while on this Isle, his frown deepens at that thought.

His walk continues through the busy streets, he tries to ignore the slaves, some pleading for rescue, thankfully none of them Elven, such an insult he would not be able to overlook. Further he walks, past merchants selling various contraband, even passing Skaugs whores, whom it seemed never took a break. The entire journey toward one of the many piers is one of inward looking, he does not notice a dead human in an alleyway, nor does he pay any heed to a Gnoll arguing with an especially ugly human. None of it matters, it is dawn and he needs to practice.

Eventually he has left the many folk behind, standing on the end of the docks, water lapping below the wood, he draws his Silver Rapier, the early morning sun glinting off of it, catching on words written in Elven script, he reads them and his frown deepens further, standing here in this place, the words seem almost hollow, something is very wrong, he stands there for many minutes before eventually dropping to his knees, sword still in his hands, he begins to pray.

[dergon darkhelm]

.

Eventually he has left the many folk behind, standing on the end of the docks, water lapping below the wood, he draws his Silver Rapier, the early morning sun glinting off of it, catching on words written in Elven script, he reads them and his frown deepens further, standing here in this place, the words seem almost hollow, something is very wrong, he stands there for many minutes before eventually dropping to his knees, sword still in his hands, he begins to pray.

Like it, man.

[Blindhamsterman]

The elf exits the wizards tower, the rest of the mercenary company still inside, their recent misadventure all but forgotten.

As he begins to walk down the steep rocky path toward the Pirate town of Skaug he pauses to look at the sky, they had been inside for some time it seemed, for morning had now come, a clear bright sun shon down on the secluded port town.

He looks from the sky, down to the town below, he can see the figures of Orcs, Gnolls and a multitude of unsavoury characters already wandering through the narrow streets, under most circumstances he'd have charged such creatures without consideration. Indeed, it was something he considered even now. Instead he shakes his head, fingering the golden circlet held in his gloved hands, it bore magic apparently, his reward for aiding the mercenary company in the assault on Kressilacc, he did not know where it originally came from, but it didn't bare the look of some dark artifact.

The Monk of the Old Order by the name of Kallun walked beside him quietly, the monk is a human of dark complexion and an often uncarring attitude. Yet he was better company than the rest of the mercenary group, the so called 'Black Talon'. The elf frowns even thinking of them, his thoughts going back to just a week before when they were deep under the sea, battling for their lives...


**********


...Beside him, charging at what feels like a snails pace along the seabed is the Banite Priest by the name of Barid, for most of the battle so far it has been this way, the Mercenaries using crossbows to soften up targets whilst he and the Black Priest move in to melee range, so far the tactic has worked very well though now his healing is all gone.

Just a short distance ahead are a trio of Large sahuagin, each carries a huge spear and a heavy looking crossbow, beside them are two Huge sharks, the species is unknown to him, but he's fought enough to know how dangerous they are.

The muffled sound of a sahuagin, possibly female can be heard through the water, is she shouting? He cannot tell, and his mind is focused on the nearest of the huge sharks, Barid is shouting denial at the fish as he pummels it repeatedly with his dark Mace, the elf lunges swiftly and gracefully forward, his movements measured and still almost dance like, despite the water all about. He begins to utter the words of a spell.

In the distance the sahuagin priestess, for that is certainly what she is reaches a higher pitch, suddenly the elf flouders clutching his throat, if it wasn't for the protective masks they wore it would be clear he is drowning, his body goes limp, his world dark....


**********


...Brought back to the present by the voice of the monk beside him speaking, the elf looks at him a moment, as the monk says in a hushed voice.

"I would ask a favour of you" Kalluns face doesn't give anything away of what this might be, or perhaps it's simply Lynx' poor judge of humans?

He narrows his eyes, trying to judge the human all the same, giving up he simply asks. "What would you ask of me?"

Before the Monk can reply however, the Dark, often imposing figure of the Priest, Barid strides up beside them, he does not look worse for wear after his near death experience, but then, the elf supposed, he likely didn't either. Luck it seemed, or perhaps valuable allies, had been with them both, again he finds his mind racing back to the underwater battle....


**********


... He is wounded dearly, despite a healing potion being used, and being revived by one of the priests in the group, he could not be certain which. His defensive magics had been stripped from him in an encounter with another priestess, before all the sahuagin archers in the area had peppered him with a great many arrows before he could fall back to the rest of the group.

Again he finds himself stood beside the Banite Priest, another of the huge sharks slain, he pauses to consider the meager spells he has left memorised, a minor arcane armour spell and one that should increase his physical prowess, at least for a time. In the distance the sahuagin High Priestess can bee seen, ringed by a group of the largest Sahuagin and sharks.

The elf frowns to himself as he speaks the words of his spells, this is it, the final battle, and he is already half dead, regarding the rest of the group, all except the Banite, less experienced and looking just as ill equipped for this fight as he. He whispers a quiet prayer to the Seldarine to carry him through this final fight, or at least to allow them to defeat the sahaugin, his thoughts sour as he completes the prayer "will they even listen while i am with a company such as this? Not likely".

The priest charges forward, the elf only steps behind, and gaining, his movements are graceful and strong despite the water, they are almost beside the high priestess when she locks her eyes on the elf, uttering a powerful spell he is knocked back through the water, multiple quarrels from both her crossbow and that of her guard slam into him, almost felling him right there, blood oozes from a multitude of old and new wounds. He charges forward once more, the High Priestesses attention is now wholly on the Banite. Lynx makes it count his rapier moving swiftly to score multiple hits on the oversized priestess.

Suddenly, Barid is struck almost to his knees by an unholy spell, even through the mask he wears his face looks pale, he shouts Lynx to run, they both turn, just in time for both he and the Banite priest to be struck down by dark, unholy magic, sucking the life from them....


**********


...He considers what he saw next, from his prone position, the diminutive halfling had appeared as if from nowhere, and struck the priestess low with an electrical bolt through the eye, it would probably be more accurate to say the bolt had taken the sahuagins head off.

The Old Order Monk has walked off at the Banites request for a word with the Elf.

"Spellweaver, your aid was welcome, I know you despise what I am and what I stand for, but it is a shame you will not stay. I wish you luck and hope that you can become the hero your people so desperately needs". His tone is calm, diplomatic.

"I do not despise you priest, I found your actions below the water to be more 'good' than that of many of your companions, but I Hate this Isle, and I could never like one such as you, I cannot abide to remain on this Isle any longer, I feel it corrupting me to even stand here. Should your work ever be the same as my cause, then seek me out, otherwise I'll be glad to be gone from here and your company." The elfs tone, is terse, he wears his dislike for the priest openly.

"Then I will not try to sway you from your path, good luck spellweaver." Again the Banites tone is calm.

"Well, it seems you have found your path" The Elf says harshly and turns to leave, not hearing the Banite Priests quiet words.

"No Elf, this path found me, and I fear it will find you also..."


**********


More than a Day Later the Elf steps off the ship in Alaron, he takes in a deep breath, the air smells better, and the folk look more agreeable, though they are not of the people it is an improvement at least.

He smiles to himself, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes, something has broken inside him, and he can tell it will be long to mend, soon he will have to return to a place he can feel at home, the place he should never have left...

Lynx strides into the city of Caer Callidyr, his body more relaxed than it has been in many weeks, though it is still clear to anyone that sees him that he has been unsettled.

[Blindhamsterman]

Just a doodle done at work today, but based on events from the last couple of days

[thinkpig]

Just a doodle done at work today, but based on events from the last couple of days

Thanks for sharing BHM:) That's the first art I've seen of anything I've DM'd in alfa, kind of a cool feeling!

[Blindhamsterman]

A page from Elenaril's Journal



The bit at the bottom reads:

As I Would Think, so Shall Ye; As I Would Feel, so Shall Ye; As I Would Do, so Shall Ye; As I Would Not Harm, Nor Shall Ye; As I Would, so Shall the Clan; As the Clan Would, so Shall I; As We Would, so Shall Ye. The People are as One, and Never Shall I Stray From This, Nor Shall Ye, For to Digress is to Diminish You and Your People

((I drew the sword and journal page at work... decided I liked the sword but not the journal page - my writing sucks, so I did one in paint ))

<edit>
for those interested, the original (slightly larger and easier to see) pic...

[viigas]

nice!

[thinkpig]

beautiful

[Blindhamsterman]

Darkness - I sit here with likely miles of stone and earth above me, I look about and see naught but faint glows in the distance; something I am not used to... being one of the people, I enjoy better sight than my human companions though of course my skill at noting the things about me might be lesser.

So here I am in utter darkness, so dark that it renders even elven eyes all but useless. Oh what an oppressive feeling it is; to not be able to see the sun, the moon the stars! To not be able to see... anything at all. How the dwarves cope with such an existance I'll never understand. Infact I find myself feeling emotions almost close to pitty for the judgement and punishment laid upon my dark kin, the Dhaerow, to bannish an entire people without distinction into these dark and gloomy depths - a fate I do not feel I can wish upon even my peoples greatest enemies. Though I would not, cannot question the judgement of a diety!

That is not to say that I regret making this sojourn beside my companions, while we have been travelling we've already seen things of beauty, things of interest. Large caverns filled with underground rivers passing through them, strange crystal or plant formations that give off inumerous different glows, made all the more beautiful for being the only light sources found in the depths, beavons of light amidst the gloom. we even came across old ruins on the earliest days down here, dwarven in make, though old and barely recognisable for what they were. Beyond this greater wonders still... ancient, but still working dwarven craftsmanship, both in the form of ancient walls, with immovable doors covered in runes that Laniara has explained are Delzoun in origin. Huge open caverns, the ground below so far away that even dropping a torch does not show us the bottom, webs so thick they can catch a human with ease.

None of these things however compare to the room filled with crystaline structures, the very air resonating at a level almost painful to percieve. It is things like that that leave me glad that we made this journey... especially with the losses we have faced.

There is little doubt that the depths are dangerous, already we've faced perils far beyond anything I've encountered in the world above, and already one of our number has been slain... My heart is filled with regret at that, I had told him that i'd provide as much protection for him as any elf while he travelled with us... and yet, he died right beside me, pounded and scorched then frozen by a multitude of spells that I only barely survived myself. For my inability to keep you alive, I am sorry Dahkir.

The majority of the denizens of the underdark that we've met have been undeniably hostile toward us. But not all, the deep Gnomes for instance have proven to be helpful in all regards, such strange little creatures, so willing to aid strangers despite the afformentioned hostile nature of the place they live, and despite our inability to converse at a comfortable level with them.

Interestingly, it seems that perhaps most denizens are a reflection of their home, dark, cruel and unforgiving... the word 'Evil' even springs to mind. It seems somewhat apt however, the darkness without reflects the darkness within their souls, with the deep gnomes being the exception that proves the rule.

Darkness... darkness within and darkness without, it's all about us in this place, my heart aches at the thought that the one we now seek might prove to be just as dark as the inhabitants of this place, but yet... the thought of the one that was slain having fallen far enough that he should need to be slain, it sickens me to the core.

Corellon Guide me, show me the path I must take to bring my remaining friends through this alive. To do what must be done if my fears are proven true...

[NESchampion]

((Very nice stuff))

[Ithildur]

((good stuff BHM))