A Land Far Away

Waterdeep, 4 years ago

Even in cities that claim never to sleep there are times when silence covers the streets like a velvet blanket and all movement has seemed to halt or, at least, pause. Night and morning still battle over the sky, their struggle turning the heavens an uncertain shade of grey, and, in this time, dreams deepen before reality claims the dreamer. It is the time when bakers rise to start the day's bread and the leeries snuff the lamps as the stars dim one by one. It is also at this time that the taverns empty of men who had nowhere else to go or of those who forgot they did. For most, the day is just starting, but, for the festhalls, it has just ended.

Down a side street in the South Ward, tucked between buildings of varied reputation and reknown, lies the Jade Dancer. It wasn't the only festhall in Waterdeep, and it wasn't the most famous, but, in the last few days, it had been the most raucous. A new client had wandered in from the darkness and, almost immediately, had begun to empty his purse of coin. His appearance had coincided with the Summer Solstice festival so the mood was already at a fever pitch--his generosity only made the party's exuberance elevate and it threatened to spill out into the street. But, now, the partiers were laying in exhausted, inebriated heaps about the Dancer, and, with the exception of a few couples (or, in some cases, groups), there was only the sound of sleep. The only movement was from a few of the more resilient Sharessians pulling covers up over their partners or rising to blow out the lamps and pull the shades.

One of the early risers did not go for these things but carefully, if not slightly wobbly, picked her way through the revelers and swayed out of the back door. She scratched her scarlet locks and half-heartedly tried to straighten her silky lingerie. Failing this, she let out a decidedly unfeminine belch and winced at the predawn gloom. With a groan, she leaned against the wall, forehead on forearm, and, if anyone had been watching, relieved herself by a very unfeminine organ.

How did I wind up here?

She finished her business, straightened the lingerie, moved to the other side of the courtyard and sunk to the ground. A cigarette was fetched from somewhere within the bustier and, within a few very slow moments, was lit. Lazy curls of smoke mingled in the morning fog while its owner tried to clear the fog from her head. Whatever had been in the hookah had made the place brighter and the colors more beautiful and every sensation more...sensational? She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, totally unconcerned with the makeup she was smearing.

How did I wind up here? Gods, who am I?


Evermeet, A year before...

The Major was a stern-faced elf with white-blonde hair and almost coal-black eyes. His uniform was immaculate and his movements were precise. He walked crisply down the hall of cells with an expression of annoyed impatience. This had never happened before because this was unknown to his kind. You expected this sort of thing from lesser races. One of the key things that defined a lesser race was cowardice. Artelquessir were Corellon's descendants--cowardice was unknown to them.

Two guards flanked the Major but kept at a respectful distance. He was known for his temper, and, at this moment, it was permeating every cell of his being. He hit his left hand with a rolled scroll, almost keeping time with the click-click of his boots. There'd been whispers of what had happened, but the guards were sworn to secrecy. These two guards had the honor of knowing the truth about the person in the last cell...and it made them shudder.

The three elves stopped, finally, at the last cell. The Major unrolled the scroll and his eyes roamed over it once before he spoke.

"Captain Sylath Hlaelithar."

The figure in the shadowed corner of the cell didn't budge. The Major's lips pulled down into a deep frown.

"You will stand when addressed by a superior officer!" the Major barked.

The figure exhaled audibly and slowly got to his feet. Seemingly, with some effort, he stood straight and moved no more. The Major's eyebrows lowered significantly. He held the scroll out formally and read the words clearly and firmly.

"The Council of Elders has reviewed your case and decided that, for your unforgivable actions on the battlefield--to whit, abandoning your sword, your unit, your people, and your pride--you are to be stripped of your rank and title."

The shadowed head of the figure dipped slightly. The Major's frown curled into a grim smile.

"And, the Council has also decided, since you chose not to uphold the honor of your people, you shall no longer be welcomed among them. Come dawn, you will be put on a ship and sent away from our Blessed Isle only to return when the ancestors forgive you. Do you understand and accept these verdicts?"

There was something like a low, sick moan coming from the figure, and the Major looked to the other guards in question. His lips pulled thin.

"I asked you a question! You will answer!" the Major barked. "Do you--"

"What about my betrothed?" the figure croaked. "We...we were to be m-married soon!"

The Major frowned once more, rolled up the scroll slowly, deliberately. "Ah, yes. After the Council's decision was made, your family and fiance was informed of the details. Your...betrothed..well, she was quite vocal about her disappointment and embarressment."

"Verja..was embarressed?" The question was breathed, disbelief etching every syllable.

"She's a proper Artelquessirian woman--of course she was embarressed. And, I quote, she was ashamed to be known as the 'Coward's Bride'," the Major said flatly. He waited a few moments before adding, "Her mother and sisters had to calm her. I dare say she cursed everything about you from birth to bootleather."

From somewhere in the shadows, there came a sob. "Oh, Lady help me!"

The Major's expression flashed from disbelief to fury. "Are you...crying?! Light, man! Bad enough you fled like a woman, must you weep like one-?"

"Verja...Verja wouldn't have fled...she's brave and strong and...and..." The sentence ended in choked sobs.

The Major's face wrenched up in disgust. "What has happened to you, Sylath? You were a man of iron once! What is this? What is this new weakness?"

"My...my Lady does not command us to kill but to love." It was said weakly, quietly.

The whole dungeon rang as the Major's hand contacted the bars. His fair face was red with fury.

"Your Lady--the Lady Celanil--would take dagger against the enemies of the Tel-Quessir to protect those she loves! Don't use her to excuse your own weakness!"

The Major straightened his uniform as he gained his composure. "Either way, you made your choice and the Council has made theirs. I would pray that the Seldarine look upon you kindly because, if I were them, in time, I could forgive your cowardice in battle but not the cowardice in your heart."

The entourage turned sharply and left. After the staccato beats of the retreating boots had faded, the figure sunk to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed quietly.


Waterdeep...

The cigarette had burned to ashes and the sky had lightened to a hazy pink. The light of the morning crept slowly over the buildings and brightened the figure as she sat against the wall. Her hands lay limply at either side of her hips and her expression was that of faint disbelief. The morning fog was rolling back out to sea both figuratively and literally and the pain was returning to her heart. She covered her face with her hands and fought to keep the tears from falling anew.

Soft, lazy footsteps on the marble cobbles approached her. She knew who they belonged to before she looked up. He was young and handsome. They were all young to her--most of them young humans, all of them Sharessians. Like this one. His beauty and skills definitely did his Lady honor.

"Hey, Foxy--why're you out here all alone?" The deep tones of the Sharessian male sent small shudders through the woman on the ground. That voice alone, no matter what it said, always promised more.

The woman folded her hands over her knees and smiled warmly. Then, in a warm, honeyed male tenor, she answered, "Waiting for you, darling."

A hand was extended and she took it, allowing herself to be pulled up into an embrace then a kiss. The Sharessian was wonderfully naked and warm to the touch. They'd make love until they both fell asleep, exhausted, but, for now, the woman was happy just to feel the acceptance, the life in this one. He smiled roguishly.

"C'mon, Foxy. Let's get inside before you catch a cold," the Sharessian purred.

The woman took his hand and led him inside, saying, "Foxy. I love it when you call me that."

! Lovely lovely work!

Evereska, 5 years ago...

Battle smells a certain way. It doesn't smell like fire or blood or even a mixture of those things. It smells like flowers on the air or rain over the horizon. Or like snow.

It smelled of snow.

There shouldn't have been snow. It never snowed here even now in Deepwinter. But, the mythal had been destroyed and things had entered unhindered. Like the snow...

And the phaerimm.

Captain Hlaelithar fell atop his latest victim, sword sinking deeply into its chest. Blood spurted from the wound and gushed from its fanged maw, coating the kintiar armor the Captain wore anew. He couldn't tell which blood was his own or his enemies' at this point. His armor was almost useless pieces of chain and scraps of leather. His blade was slick with grime and gore, and he'd almost lost it numerous times in the past moments alone. His body ached and his lungs burned...

And, still, they came.

He scrabbled to his feet, ducking as a spell exploded overhead. Hot motes of magic rained down around and over him, but he was only vaguely aware of the pain. Another thrall had spotted him and was charging. The Captain growled a curse and surged forward, arcing his blade for a stab to the gut. The thrall responded by swinging its weapon low and back to meet the stab. As planned, the Captain spun, cutting down into the thrall's shoulder, almost severing the arm. Adrenaline coursing like a river, he yanked the longsword from the shuddering body and brutally decapitated the beast.

Time was moving in slow motion. He could hear nothing over his own breathing and heartbeat. There wasn't a patch of ground that wasn't covered in blood and corpses. The Captain looked around, attempted to wipe the blood from his face, and did a quick count of his men.

Was there..?

Three hundred...two-fifty....no...less...much less...

His gaze swivelled and he turned around, his lips mouthing the numbers between gasps. Numbers began to fail him as he saw glazed staring eyes and torn bodies. A few were still grasping the wounds that, quickly, ended them. Many were frozen with their final screams to Arvaundor upon their lips.

Suddenly, the sounds of battle returned, blaring painfully.

The Captain spun to face a roar that sounded deadly close. His boot slipped, sending him crashing into a pile of corpses. He gagged and spat as gore flooded his mouth, and he pushed himself up to stand...and stared into the dead eyes of one of his men. In the chaos of battle, snow had been kicked almost completely over his face, but the Captain could clearly see the arrow that entered the fallen elf's temple and exited out his eye. The Captain gasped for air as he scrabbled backwards. His hands, slick with blood and snow, failed to find purchase for long, and he fell again onto more bodies.

Wounds gaped.

Eyes stared.

At him.

Into his soul.

He'd killed these men. He'd given the order to charge. A few days of planning strategy had done no good. There were too many...too many...

How could the mighty kintiara fall so many so fast?

The sword was still in his hand as he finally got to his feet. He stared at it, at the blood on it, at the men lying dead past the blade...

He looked toward the East. The sun was rising at last and his heart warmed with it. East was home. East was comfort. East was love.

He looked around one more time. Looked to his bloodied hands....

And let the sword fall to the red snow.

Waterdeep, 3 years ago...

Fox opened his eyes. Strangely, he was sober. He looked about at the bodies around him and, still filled with the dream-memories, had a moment of panic. But, no, these bodies were warm and alive. He stretched with a smile. Very alive. A year in this festhall had taught him that, in the morning, you could step on someone and they wouldn't wake.

He rose, stretched again, and pulled the gossamer-thin robe about his shoulders, tied it haphazardly at his waist. The silk felt wonderful, like a million fingers on his skin, and the matching lingerie he wore fit like a second skin. He found his discarded heeled slippers--one nearby, the other under a pile of discarded clothing topped by a ruggedly handsome adventurer snoring happilly--and slipped them on as he fished with his other hand for a cigarette in his bustier.

He smiled as he slipped languidly down a hidden stairway to the kitchen. Cookie and the other kitchen staff were already making breakfast though no one else would probably wake until mid-afternoon. Fox gave the plump, greying woman a quick kiss on the cheek, stole a piece of crisp bacon, and sauntered out the kitchen door onto the small patio that was reserved for employees. In the far corner, in the shade of a tree whose branches were dripping with perfumed flowers, framed by the high back of a wicker chair, sat the exotic beauty Cathalishaera, owner of the Jade Dancer. One beautifully slender leg was crossed over a knee draped in rich emerald satin and upon that leg rested the thick ledger for the Dancer. Long, tapered fingers tipped with perfectly sculptured ruby nails lightly gripped a quill that pirouetted across the page.

Without stopping or looking up, Cathalishaera smiled, "I can tell the hours by who wakes in my house."

Her accent, very much like herself, was exotic. A mixture of Shou and Illuskan that twisted every syllable into music. Fox could listen to her talk for hours while staring at her dark, almond eyes, her full, welcoming lips...

His rouged lips spread slowly in a smile as he insinuated into a chair across from her. A puff of smoke, then, "I had the most beautiful dream then I realized I was looking at you."

To this, the woman looked up, shaking her head slowly. "The gods have given you the most dangerous of gifts, Fox--a silver tongue. Do not let the silver blind you to the gold here."

She pointed to his chest with the quill. Fox exhaled smoke, his smile faltering.

"I've offended you. I'm sorry," he apologized, gathering the robe's belled sleeves into crossed arms. The world had suddenly gone cold despite the warm morning sun.

Cathalishaera shook her head slowly again. "I've have been thinking of you recently, Fox. Every night, you drown yourself in drink and other pleasures. Every morning, you wake and help prepare for another night. You never leave these walls.

Scarlet eyebrows raised, "You want me to leave?" Shock turned to panic. "I-I pay for my stay! Haven't I? I've got some coin left if you want more--"

A gentle hand rested on his as he fumbled about his person for a coin purse that wasn't there. Fearfully, he looked up into the porcelain face that glowed with genuine kindness and concern.

"You have earned your stay. Money isn't an issue. But, you do not wear the keys of an escort, Fox, and I would not have you do so," she smiled kindly.

She looked past him to an indistinct point, saying, "I know why you do what you do, and I cannot blame you. After experiencing such horrors, I, too, would only wish to drown in beauty and pleasure."

"But-?" Fox asked weakly, quietly.

"But, this is not your home." A hand was raised to silence the argument forming on the ruby lips. "I will let you stay as long as you need, Fox. You earn business while salving your wounded soul, and, as my Lady says, I cannot bear to see someone suffer."

A long inhale then the cigarette was dropped and snuffed out under the slipper's heel. Anything to stop himself from looking into her eyes and seeing the truth. He couldn't stay forever. Something in him knew that, one day, he'd have to leave. His anguish was halted by the hand gently lifting his chin. A warm smile washed his sadness away.

"For now, though, eat, drink, and heal. Wash away the nightmares with perfume and--" A chuckle like tinkling bells "--silk and satin and beautiful people." The hand dropped to pat his knee. "Until you can find the strength to face the world the Dancer's arms will embrace you."

Fox smiled faintly, genuinely grateful but unable to find the right words. Guilt twinged his heart. Somewhere in the recesses of his soul, he heard a sword slapping into snow.

It's not running away if you've already run, is it?

Baldur's Gate, Present Day...


The lock of hair glowed like a piece of gold fire in his hands. It was wrapped at both ends with black cord and, usually, was kept in a tiny black purse. But, now, it was held gingerly, lovingly as if its owner feared any harm to the lock of hair would somehow transfer to the original owner.

Elleia...

A whisper. No more than an exhale of breath in the dark. They'd met here at the Elfsong. He'd courted her here. They'd spent many nights curled up on the couch together, comfortable, if not with the couch, with themselves and their current life. But, that wasn't entirely true, was it? Something always ate at Elleia's soul. She seemed fine with being an orphan until the nightmares came. The Marches had done nothing to soothe her disquiet. So, she'd left for Waterdeep to find answers to the questions no one could answer leaving him behind.

It's something I have to do for myself, by myself...you understand, yes?

Of course, he had though every fiber wanted to run after her. Waterdeep was his town, afterall. But, he knew he'd hover and smother her with overprotectiveness. She was only 19 summers--to be her own woman, to truly know herself before she became Mrs. Fox, she had to do this alone, he knew.

It didn't make the loneliness any gentler, any kinder, any better.


Waterdeep, One Year Ago...

He found himself drinking less and less. The booze failed to calm his soul. And the herb only gave him a headache. His nightly companions, no less fervent in their loving, noted a lack of interest in him. He was going through the motions, doing what was expected. He'd even stopped smoking. Some saw this as a good thing while others worried for the flame-haired elf.

Cathalishaera tilted her head as she leaned in the doorway. The party was in full-swing but he was out here on the employee patio alone, gazing up at the sky. She'd grown fond of the elf. He'd become one of her favorite girlfriends and confidants, but she'd started feeling selfish. She knew he'd stay as long as she said he could, and she knew she would for his unconditional love and friendship. It wasn't fair to him.

"I had a dream the other night," she said softly, approaching where he sat.

Faint, warm smile. That statement had become their joke, usually ending with 'then I realized I was looking at you'. Cathalishaera felt a pang in her breast. No jokes tonight.

"I was holding a wounded kit, and, the more I loved it, the worse its wounds got."

He looked down. The shadows hid his eyes, but she could tell by his voice that he already knew the answer.

"What did you do?" he asked quietly.

"I put the kit down and pointed him towards the forest, but he wouldn't go though his wounds healed the closer I edged him to the trees," she replied, stroking his hair slowly.

He nodded, "Then, what happened-?"

"I woke up," she admitted. "What do you think this dream means?"

A faint sigh. Was he crying-? No, not yet, but she knew the tears would come.

"It means I'm not happy here anymore." He looked up at her with his amber-gold eyes apologetically, sadly. "I've had so much fun. Everyone--gods--I love everyone so much!"

"But, your heart is being called away," she said softly, nodding.

He turned, caught her waist in an embrace, burying his face in her stomach. "I don't want to leave! I know what's out there--"

Cathalishaera lifted his chin with both hands, smoothed his bangs from his face. "No, you don't. You know there's pain, but you can't know what else awaits you. What if...what if you find your heart out there? What if he...or she...is out there waiting, unconsciously, to find you?"

Tears streamed down his colored cheeks. "If we're meant to meet, it won't matter where I am, yes?"

The woman shook her head slowly. "Such a romantic thought. I wish I could believe it completely. But, the gods can only do so much."

He lay his head against her stomach again, faint nod. Cathalishaera swallowed her own tears. How she wanted to cradle this poor man in her arms and whisper soothing reassurrances for as long as she lived-! He was so easy to love, and that was the problem. It was like keeping his namesake as a pet--you could almost forget that this was something better off uncaged or, at least, kept by someone who knew how to handle such a creature. Someone who could love him without taming him. Cathalishaera knew she'd collar and cage him, and this realization saddened her.

She took a few steps back and was about to speak her mind when he spoke, wiping his eyes.

"I'm leaving in three days," he said firmly. "I'll settle my account with you before then, of course--" He plunged onward, silencing her protests. "--and I'll try to write as often as I can. You deserve as much."

Cathalishaera nodded slowly, pulling her robe about her. There was so much to say. Three years and it seemed like nothing of import was said. Now, there wasn't enough time to say it all.

She sighed softly, "When you find yourself, if you find yourself, write me. Until then, don't worry about us. I'll take your silence as a good sign."

Fox looked at her, momentarilly confused, then smiled faintly, nodded.


Baldur's Gate, Present Day...

Fox kissed the lock of hair and stowed it gently in the purse, which was reverently tucked into his pack. The pack, in turn, was used as his pillow. He stared up at the thick wooden beams that comprised the ceiling of the Elfsong's second story.

When you find yourself, if you find yourself, write me...I'll take your silence as a good sign...

Sweet Cathalishaera, I found something better than myself...if you see her, let her know I love her and miss her like crazy...Her name is Elleia Navarro....

Auvendell, a year ago...

Fox stood with Olaf, staring out towards the mountains. Another adventure was winding down and everyone had paired off or gone to do what people do when they're alone. The two men had wandered outside and had drawn unconsciously to each other. Now, they stood silently, watching the night. A pang of sadness rippled through Fox's heart and words bubbled slowly to his mouth.

"I miss Virja," he said softly. "Or, rather, I miss what I thought we had."

Olaf nodded, allowing his friend to vent the pain. Olaf was good in that way, and Fox loved him for his patience and understanding.

"She was my sunrise, Olaf. She had hair the color of dawn and skin that glowed with an inner fire, like the clouds slowly brightening with the sun..."

The gnome patted his friend gently on the arm. "You'll find someone," he assured.

Fox nodded slowly and turned his face to the rising sun.


Baldur's Gate, a few months ago...

The goodbye had almost killed him. Elleia had been reluctant to let him go when they hugged. And, honestly, he had cried. Horribly. Told himself a thousand reasons he should go...but kept coming up with one to stay.

Her. Elleia.

He loved her.

But, she needed to be herself. And the Gate was driving him crazy. And he missed the Marches. And there was duty. And...and...and...

The ship lurched as the wind caught its sails and Fox swallowed as the dock began to shrink. Elleia smiled a sad, resolved smile and turned to leave. Fox looked back as Olaf and Honey disappeared below deck. He looked back to Elle's slowly retreating form. It was too late. Too late.

He turned to head belowdeck, walked a few paces...

Then turned back to the railing of the ship, running full speed. He arced over the railing and hit the waters of the bay a few seconds later, laughing, spluttering. He shimmied up a dock piling without really noticing the effort and only rested a few moments to catch his breath before racing to Elleia.

"You lovesick fool!" she laughed, hugging him, kissing him.

And they'd stood there, dripping wet, laughing about how silly he was, and he had reaffirmed multiple times that he couldn't leave her, ever.

Waterdeep...

It'd been hard to leave the Marches. He'd broken his promise to Alyra--he wouldn't be there when she got back. He knew she'd forgive him, probably had expected it. Walking away from Olaf was the most difficult thing. Hard to leave family, his brother. Olaf had a good life now, though. Had chosen a good path. Now, if the Lady would see fit to find him a mate who'd love him as much as he deserved.

Fox smile as he packed his pack. A week of questioning had finally gotten him answers. Not too many blondes whose eyes glowed red and voice sounded like the doors of the Abyss opening when mad around town. Fox chuckled to himself. Elle had an interesting definition of diplomacy. Either way, the last person he'd talked to had been a caravan captain. Someone fitting Elle's description had inquired about trips East three days before. Unfortunately, the caravan was not heading East, so, according to the captain, she'd set out on foot.

The elf hefted the pack and started off at a good pace. That'd been two days ago. He'd set out immediately, not sleeping at night and only stopping now because weariness had overcome him. But, he'd come out of Reverie feeling good. Very good. He was following the Black Road more or less, following the river...

Following her.

The sun broke over the horizon as he topped a hill.

And his breath caught in his throat.

There, crouched down by the river, washing her face, was Elleia. He stood there quietly, just watching as she washed her arms and neck. Then, she stood and the sun caught her hair, setting it ablaze like molten gold, and he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

Walking as casually as he could (because startling her would result in an eldritch blast to the chest), he approached her. She bent to pick up her pack, then started seeing him. She wiped the water from her eyes, blinking.

"Fox?" she asked, straightening up.

Her next words were lost as he swept her up and kissed her for all the moments they'd missed. When they finally separated, both were laughing and breathing hard. She traced the lines of his face as the dawn spilled over them both and he let the tears of joy slip from his eyes. She shook her head slowly, wiped away the tears.

"What took you so long, handsome?" she whispered.

As the two slipped from each other's arms and picked up their packs, as the dawn brightened into day, Hanali smiled to herself, looped an arm over Sune and Sharess.

"Margaritas?" she smiled, looking to her friends.

The other two nodded with musical laughter, then the three friends left to party.

((Sorry, couldn't end this story too sappy or too serious. ))

The scene of our discussion, Auvendell:






See you in your next character.

Very very nice.