Scions of the Sun and Moon: Altherion Goldleaf

[thaelis]

His reverie was disturbed again by the sound of the creature's slavering, followed shortly by tearing noises and muffled grunts as it devoured the leg of what he assumed had once been a deer.

An ensuing thump indicated that the current portion had been discarded, and momentarily the noise recommenced as it set upon the next morsel with equal vigor.

The Elf sighed, rising to his feat gracefully, deciding he would get no peace tonight, at least not here. As he walked deliberately slowly around the edge of the firelight, being sure to make no sudden movements, the Orc's head jerked suddenly towards him, sniffing the air wildly like some kind of feral animal, before snorting disinterestedly and returning to its feast.

He frowned, again wondering if the beast was capable of thinking on any level other than that of an animal. Of course, he had spoken to it before, if such could be called conversation, and had gleaned that it was a Druid of sorts, and claimed the Viridale as its territory. How he loathed to speak the tongue of the Ancient Enemy...whose very words to him seemed the antithesis of Elven nature. He tried to avoid conversing with it whenever possible.

For now, it seemed that they shared a common enemy, pockets of Bloodmaim still scattered throughout the Viridale. So their quiet truce continued, with each grudgingly accepting the other's presence in the woods.

But once that enemy was gone, he wondered.... what then?

[thaelis]

The lone Elf stood on the docks of Port Avanthyr and watched as the merchant ship languidly drifted into port. As always a few stray strands of golden hair streamed out behind him, no matter how laboriously he had bound it that morning, and as next the gust of wind hit him he took a deep breath, savouring the strong smell of salt and seaweed that accompanied it. Those that noticed his quiet contemplation might have remarked in what stark contrast he was to the otherwise bustling port. It seemed the recent change of governance had done well for business, with the port enjoying more passage of trade than he had seen in quite some time.

Perhaps they were lucky to lead such short and simple lives, he thought to himself, watching the sailors go about their daily routine, a routine he should know well himself, though he'd all but forgotten his life in Evermeet. That was what happened when one tried to forget, he supposed. A sigh escaped his lips, the sound lost in the wind as his thoughts turned inwards, back to unkind and undesired memories.

“What is it, boy?” the voice was still deep and commanding, despite the smell of wine which wafted towards the young Elf in the doorway. His father's study, like the rest of their family estate, had seen better days. Books lay scattered about the carpeted floor, left where they had fallen, ornaments that had once adorned the finely crafted desk had been carelessly discarded, making more room for a variety of bottles, Kholiast cards and other oddities.

“I am leaving, father” he stated, trying to keep the tremor inside him from showing in his voice “I am going to the mainland to make my own name as a velahrn.”

For a moment the older Elf sat quietly, the information slowly trickling its way through his drunken consciousness, then he stood up. At his full height he stood slightly taller than the younger Elf, and despite being far out of his prime, his frame far more muscular, attesting to a life as both warrior and sea captain.

“Leaving?!” his two fists simultaneously pounded the table, and the bottle nearest the edge teetered for a moment before clattering to the floor. Ilae, the family's hound, raised his head and gave a small whine, sensing the tense atmosphere between the two Elves but unable to fully understand what was happening, “How dare you speak of leaving?” his voice raised into a shout, bloodshot eyes fixing their furious gaze on the young Quessir. “You..who failed to protect you own family, think you can protect Evermeet? You think you can protect even a single Quessir?” he lets out a short mocking laugh. “If it wasn't for you, we would be whole family still! If it wasn't for you, your brother...” the force behind his anger seems to drain away suddenly, and he crumples brokenly into the quilted chair, his head turning downwards to hide tears, one hand reaching unconsciously for the only remaining half-full bottle.

“I am sorry Father,” he hears himself saying, but in truth he is already impassive to his father's despair, which had imprisoned their family for far too long already, “I will restore this family's honour, or I will not return alive.”

Altherion spares one final look for the once proud Elven warrior now sitting before him, burning the memory into his consciousness, then turns and heads purposely for the doorway, making the short distance to the harbour without a single backward glance.


Quessir – Elf
Kholiast – an Elven card game
Velahrn – Warrior

[thaelis]

Belanor Larenthanil, in his time, was known as the greatest swordsman of the Tel'Quessir. Elves from far and wide came to challenge his title, though each would depart alike, nursing injured pride after being defeated in just a few exchanges. Truly, it was whispered, Corellon had smiled on the day of Belanor's birth, for to watch him in battle, cloak swirling behind him as he played out this dance of death, one would think he had been born for no other purpose but to wield a blade. In time he was knighted in recognition for his deeds, and in turn married with the daughter of another noble house. Though the match was not of his choosing, the house was one of Arfaern, masters of the Art, and their union would surely strengthen the People.

One winters day, as he rode idly through the woodland hills that bordered his lands, the distant sound of battle drifted to his ear. Spurring his horse on, he soon came across an Elven caravan under attack by Orcs, close to being overwhelmed. Without hesitation his battle-cry rang out clearly across the field and he charged. The Orcs, though greatly outnumbering the defenders, had never before encountered an Elven warrior so fierce, and as one by one they fell to his glowing sword, the survivors soon fled in disarray.

Once the last Orc had either fled or was slain, the carriage door opened cautiously and a beautiful young Elven girl emerged. The silken dress of deepest azure and silver circlet framing her white-gold hair marked her as a priestess of Corellon Larethian. The girl's large green eyes grew wide with apprehension as she surveyed the bodies of fallen Orcs and Elves. No sooner had those eyes fallen upon her apparent saviour however, than she seemed to forget all thoughts of danger, her gaze unable or unwilling to part with the warrior.

The leader, thankful to Belanor for saving them, invited him to return with them for a feast in his honour. Although usually he would refuse such trivialities, there was something about the girl which made it difficult to refuse, and so he returned with them to their tree city. Alianna, the priestess whom he had rescued, seemed determined to ride next to him, and the more time he spent with her, the more he could not deny to himself how drawn he felt to her.

[thaelis]

The night of the feast passed merrily, with Belanor receiving the same adoration to which he had long since become accustomed. Throughout the night, he could feel Alianna's eyes upon him, and he cursed his own weakness at having returned with them. When the revelry finally came to an end, he hastily made his excuses and headed for the stairs to his bedchamber, footsteps which had walked a hundred battlefields with certainty now unsure in their stride.

Somehow, on the landing the priestess was waiting for him, her feet making little sound on the wooden platform as she ran to throw her arms around him.

“My duty...” he said in barely whisper, but the protest sounded weak even to him. Her warmth seeped into him, defying the chill winter air, the scent of perfume and the sweet wine of the feast still clinging to her. It seemed impossible to still his arms as they moved to encircle her, one hand running tenderly through long golden hair. Alianna lifted her head from his chest, tilting it upwards until her eyes met his.

“Let your duty rest this night, my Lord”, she whispered, and with that she took his hand and led him towards the dimly lit room.

The next morning Alianna sat on the small balcony and silently wept as she watched her lover sleep. She had been granted a vision during her reverie, clearer than any such visions before. Belanor, wracked with guilt over his actions, would leave that very day, and what was worse, not long afterwards he would walk the great halls of Arvanaith, his own foolish pride having brought about his demise.

“Corellon, protect him...I beg you...” she whispered brokenly, tears still rolling down her cheeks as she clutched the silver crescent-moon pendant “...keep him by my side. Let no harm come to him.” With every ounce of her soul the priestess prayed to her God, promising anything in return, if only he see fit to spare the man she loved.

When Belanor awoke finally, he found the bedchamber empty save for himself. As he recalled the previous night's events, his heart seemed heavier, and his thoughts turned inevitably to his family. Standing up, he reached for his clothing and armor, determined to seek out the priestess and inform her that last night was a mistake, and that he must return home. As his gaze found his mithral shirt resting upon the chair he stopped suddenly, something catching his eye.

Atop the shirt of mail now rested what seemed to be a golden circlet of willow leaves, each golden leaf overlapping the next to form a rough circle, and between the tips of the two final leaves, was set a large emerald. He watched in fascination as shimmers that looked like silver lightning played teasingly over its surface, and promptly rubbed his eyes as if suspecting he was still dreaming. Despite his trepidation, there was something about the crown that called to him, and as he picked it up, he almost felt he could indeed hear a voice, though barely a whisper heard at great distance.

Of Alianna, he could find no trace, nor could any of the guards or attendants recall seeing her since the previous night. Though he searched the city from top to bottom and enquired everywhere he could think to, it seemed she had left no word for him before she left. And so he departed, the crown now resting on his brow the only evidence he had that she had even existed.


((Sorry it takes me so long to write this...I am no pro writer!!))

[thaelis]

Altherion sat in his unexceptional room above the Menacing Mariner, his gaze fixed steadily on the gem held in the palm of his hand. Occasionally the gem would give off a flash in the luminescence of the light spell over his shoulder, but even this did not seem to stir his contemplative mood.

The hooded man claiming to be a priest of Lathander had entrusted him with the gem, and with a great deal more...his faith. But he couldn't help but ask himself, was he deserving of such faith? He didn't know, anymore than he knew if he possessed the greatness the man had spoken of, the strength to stand steadfast against an evil that seemed to creep insidiously across the valley, ever closer to engulfing it.

Faith in the Seldarine, in both their strength and wisdom, of course he did not lack. But as for himself, the demons of his past still held their sway over him. Those demons came in many forms, some born of himself, yet others born of the shadows of his family's past. 'Family'...he pondered the word. Would any Ar'Tel'Quessir look now upon their family's crest, the crown of golden leaves, and feel even a glimmer of pride, he thought bitterly. The answer was too obvious and too painful for him to dwell on.

The King's Tear he placed back in the velvet lined box from which he had taken it, then locked the trunk securely. Taking up his sword belt, along with a few scrolls and other arcane ingredients, he set off with what he hoped was a determined stride.

His destination this time was not the chapel of darkened windows and forgotten souls from which he had come, but its shining counterpart.