3. Tales of a Hawkeye

Tales of a Hawkeye


  • I have random stuff floating around the place which I'm going to post up as I come across it. Mostly wasn't meant for public consumption so the writing won't be great.

    First, Eluriel's home which is a village I created for a pnp game 10 years ago or so.

    Archwell (Iolantirril)
    A twenty mile walk just north of due East from Essembra.

    History
    In times long past when elves tended the woods after a forest fire, they replanted to smooth the edges of the clearing. Seedlings planted in the centre were guided to form a sanctuary of living trees. A walkway of fruit trees leads to each of its four entrances.

    The settlement doesn't appear to have been built with a mind for defense and it's safe to assume it hasn't been troubled by the problems deeper in the woods.

    Herbalism
    Beds of plants for medicinal and cooking purposes, and spell components surround the sanctuary. It's planted entirely for beauty and without any concern for practicality.

    Stone Buildings
    To the north are workshops and a storage and cooking area.

    To the south a fair sized ground dwelling, leatherworking area, and stables, surround a small courtyard. More often not there are humans staying here, hunters feeding Essembra. It doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to work out that's the primary reason this building was constructed. The elves' horses tend to be left to roam, though they might be stabled overnight before an early morning journey.

    Housing
    Tree houses ring the clearing. While a few come to the edge of the clearing they tend to be spaced out. There are a few bridges between the houses, but for the most part access is from the ground. It seems the elves take a fluid attitude to whose house is whose since in general the larger the house the more people it contains.

    The Sanctuary
    The sanctuary is a single chamber of living trees, the space magically warm, dry, and bright. It is large enough to accommodate every one of the 50-60 adults (though they’ll only ever be that many there at once for some special occasion arranged well in advance) their children, and a fair number of guests. In each corner stand storage and display units which contain variously instruments, games, sculptures, blankets, decorative glassware and crockery. The floor is covered with a layer of chipped bark so that it never gets muddy. Side tables and seating in groupings around the edges seem somewhat mismatched, but regardless of material they are all things of beauty crafted with love. Seat and scatter cushions are the only fabric decorations in the sanctuary.

    The Elves
    Most of the adults are fairly well travelled, with a decent number having adventured themselves at some time or another. Patrons are varied and in many cases wouldn’t be easy to match outside of the divine casters.

    There is a strong sense of possession of treasured personal items but anything placed the public areas is free for any to use, which they do. The elves do what best pleases them and share their choice of work with the others, for the good of all.

    Places of Interest (canon)

    Essembra
    This town serves as a market centre for her worldly wealth and achievements to the folk of Battledale and a supply waystop for the heavy traffic between Sembia and the Moonsea lands that passes along Rauthauvyr’s Road. Visitors usually find Essembra pleasant but curiously unimpressive: Except for its walled center, whose ramparts are cloaked by maple trees, it consists of long rows of cottages fronting along the trade road for a mile or more with only a few cross streets and back alleys. The trees of the Elven Court woods hem the community in on all sides.

    The centre of Essembra is marked by watchposts and fields. The north field is the site of the market. In the summer months, some carts and stalls are always open for business here, and local farmers bring their livestock and produce to sell to travelling merchants, merchant companies, and customers. The south field, with its horse pond, is where all visitors are allowed to camp or tether their beasts.

    Essembra is named for a famous long ago adventuress who was born in a cottage that stood more or less on the site of the present-day statue of Aencar. Before Aencar was born, she carved out a name for herself Faerûnwide and her daring when lawlessness was the rule in the fledgling Dales. Famous for spurning an elf lord’s advances and for wrestling a dwarven king to the death when captured in his gem mines, Essembra’s flame-red hair and smoldering red eyes betrayed to all that she was more than human.

    Her true weredragon nature was not revealed until she abandoned all wed a silver dragon. For years she rode on his back among the clouds over Faerûn, but then was seen no more. Her fate is unknown, though some sages have gone so far as to speculate that she may have tried to bear a dragon's child and died in by the birthing. Others dismiss such talk as errant nonsense and the prattle of overly romantic fools—why would she, a very knowledgeable woman, doom to death herself and her child through such an action? These more rational loremasters say Essembra sought out other worlds or distant places on Toril and dwelt there with her dragon consort - where she may live still.

    Moontouch Oak
    Moontouch Oak is the name of both a gargantuan oak tree over 300 feet tall and the temple of the Leaflord nestled amidst the forest giant's boughs. Located at the heart of the Tangled Trees region of Cormanthor on the northern hank of the Elvenflow where Moontouch Creek joins the River Duathamper, the temple tree is believed to be the largest living oak in Faerun. Some elven legends claim that the tree is actually the still-living remnants of an avatar of the Leaflord that led several clans of the Sy-Tel'Quessir eastward, away from the devastation of the Crown Wars, many centuries ago.

    Moontouch Oak has housed approximately two score green elven druids of the Circle of Emerald Leaves in its branches since the early days of the Sy-Tel'Quessir settlement of Arcorar, as the Elven Woods were then known. From -982 DR, with the coming of Venominhandar to the Emerald Vale, until - 206 DR, when the great green wyrm was finally slain, the druids of Moon-touch Oak were sorely besieged, as were their kin, but the temple-tree was never abandoned, despite numerous attacks by the wyrm and its minions.

    With the death of Venom, as the dragon was known, the Sy-Tel'Quessir set about reclaiming the woodlands, now known as the Tangled Vale, under the direction of the druids of Moontouch Oak. Nine centuries later, when the Army of Darkness ravaged Cormanthyr and eventually destroyed Myth Drannor, the druids of Moontouch Oak again stood firm in the face of the nycaloth-led assault, and the temple tree of Rillifane was never violated. Nine millennia after the conclusion of the Crown Wars, Moontouch Oak stands unbowed. The temple consists of a network of platforms sculpted from the tree's branches and hollows cultivated in the great oak's trunk, all of which are linked by bridges of woven vines.

    Moonrise Hollow
    The moon elven village of Ssrenshen, known to humans as Moonrise Hill, is located in the northern reaches of Deepingdale between Lake Sember and the Glaemril at the foot of Moonrise Crag in an old, thickly grown stand of ash, duskwood, and oak trees. The archers of Moonrise Hill are known for their amazing feats with the bow-such as hitting the eye of a bird in flight a mile away-and the Fair Folk attribute the prowess at archery of the village's inhabitants to the blessings of Solonor and an ancient tradition dating back before the fall of Myth Drannor.

    In the Year of Old Crowns (-91 DR), the Moonshadows, a company of rangers, fighters, fighter/mages, and even a few wizards known for their skill at archery, were formed to guard the forests of Semberholme and its environs. While the elven presence in the woods enveloping Lake Sember is much reduced today, the ancient traditions of the Moonshadows are continued by the elven archers of Ssrenshen and they continue to patrol the region.

    In the center of the village is the petrified stump of an ancient oak tree nearly 50 feet in diameter whose branches once towered over both the village and bald-topped crag millennia ago. A great hollow has been carved out of the heart of the tree, and it serves as both the chapter-house of the Moonshadows and as a sacred temple of Solonor. Moonrise Hollow, as the temple and hall is known, consists of both the hollowed out stump and the earthen cellars dug amidst its ancient roots. Many of the greatest hunting trophies and tombs of the greatest archers of Cormanthor may be found in these earthen catacombs, as can the Greenshaft, a holy relic of the Solonoran faith said to be the first arrow shot from the bow of the Forest Hunter in the Elven Woods in a time before the Fair Folk walked beneath the endless forest canopy.

    Violence from adventurers who traveled to snatch at the ruby 'driftgems' falling from the crumbling eastern face of Moonrise Crag has made these elves reclusive. Even if precocious travelers ignore the warnings and plunge ahead to Moonrise Crag looking for the settlement they know to be located in its shadow, Moonrise Hill can be hard to find: It is all tree homes and earthen cellars hidden behind artfully arranged clumps of growing foliage. Only the Bonepile - burnt ground where the bones of a hobgoblin raiding band lie in heaps adorned with the remains of later nuisances, such as owlbears and ettins, gives any sign of the settlement if the elves remain hidden.

    ’Drow’ (not canon)
    When El was very young, a band of of Ssri’Quessir lived – in caves for the most part - a half day’s travel to the north east. Drow swept up from the underdark and their violent deaths were mourned. It’s an interesting place to visit; a lovely example of people choosing to live a better way, and a reminder to be ready to band together to defend against outside threats. “Each of us has a duty to all of us.”


  • Enchantment story again.

    Eluriel was buoyant as she walked through the Silver Valley. The most wonderful warmth in her chest and throat and face and… she laughed as she realised that she hadn’t the slightest bit of control over the smile on her face! Oh wonderful day. She imagined little Maki opening his eyes one day soon to see for the first time the wondrous beauty she gazed upon now. Oh how she wished she could share such moments of his young life!

    And of what it was to remember the same with her own children. No better memories does she have than the their births. No better memory ever shall she have, of that she is quite sure. The pure, all-consuming joy of the creation of new life… there could be no better feeling, no better moment, nothing in existence more joyous than meeting ones own child for the first time.

    But then the happiness fled. All other positive feelings along with it.

    She had ceased taking narraroot tea after the evening in the foothills. A decade. Fully a decade. There were fewer years than that between her son and daughter. First the narrarroot went, then the halvalondur came, and now she would not even drink fruit juice for fear of its having fermented. Would only that possibility occurred to her sooner than the day upon which Rico complained that of the apple juice she gave to him.

    But no. A decade. It had been a decade. And with it the most terrifying of possibilities; that she could conceive no longer. So many times had she been struck by magic. As much as she had chased the possibility away… wishing otherwise did not preclude its being true. Drow torture with spells of acid. Zara’s fire magic…She thought of other times. So, so many others times she had been struck by powerful magic. Eluriel walked through the Rawlins, through Norwick, and on. She thought of other such time. One after another, so, so, very many.

    But after all of those came her two beautiful children, thoughts of whom cheered her in an instant.

    She took stock of where she was and headed for the treehouse, thinking of more recent possibilities. Beholders. Bugbears. Banshees. Ogres. Duergar. Chain Devils. Greater devils. No. All of these before as well as after…

    Mintas. The Sharran death magic. Had it done something which Torm’s resurrection could not reverse? She was loathe to admit it, but wishing something were other than it is does not make it so.

    She had decided the day in Ormpur to give him a child; that as soon as there was no danger of lycanthropy she would do so.

    Once he heard calls to return but had no reason to answer them. No reason to live. Ondehiraeth. An illness of the spirit that is the loss of joy. It kills us. Without joy the weight of years crushes. Without hope in dark times is our flesh willed dead.

    How could she have allowed that to happen to him? The day that realisation came to she felt such guilt. She looked at Llach and in an instant understood what it meant that he had not answered the calls. No joy.

    How many times had she chastised him for saying that trust leads to betrayal, before herself betraying him. She had turned from him. She hadn’t had the faintest inkling that his life was one without warmth and laughter and love. She hadn’t spoken to him in oh so long and it had not so much as troubled her. Such regret. Such sorrow. So very ashamed. Play she had told him, to stave off old age. She had stopped playing with him, and it had come. And worse; of spirit not years.

    May he never know another day without joy.

    And while she could not promise that she would ever be there for him any more than he could promise that he would ever wish her there… a child. His child. No greater joy in life is there than seeing ones own child. If there is any better reason to live and to –want- to live, she knew it not.

    Her decision to make, her decision made. She had not expected Meril to like it but it was not for him to dictate what she may or may not do with her own flesh. Things had never been the same between them, not after his rejection of Liala. She had never forgiven him for that, no more than he had forgiven himself. Or so he had claimed. Waves of pain as her mind’s eye conjured the image of his arms around that… that…

    That Eowiel.

    Eluriel was satisfied. No other word fitting for that particular female.

    His arms around Eowiel comforting her as she rejected his children. Him having no issue with that. His willingness to hold and hug and kiss and bed a woman who would reject his children. Rejecting them himself. Stabbing Eluriel in her love of them. Pain so sharp even now. Seeing Meril with them so oft made her picture that even now.

    When he rejected Liala, the one being in all the world she had expected to support her… that destroyed her. But his own children? No. No. Never.

    Tears were running down Eluriel’s face as she reached the forest glade where that very scene took place. She stood shaking her head but unable to shake loose the image.

    She focused. Sy’wyn. She wondered whether he had understood that it was him of who she spoke as others thought she spoke of Tindra or Lorelai. She thought so; Sy’wyn had ever understood the subtleties of her conversation. Dead with no wish to live. A life without joy but a thing to endure. Her resolve that none for whom she cares would ever feel that way.

    But from a desire to bring joy to Sy’wyn’s life, it had become her own most fond wish. She cursed herself for having given so much as a moment’s thought to the lycanthropy. Cursed herself for waiting past the day that appeared to have allowed the Sharran death magic to remove from her their ability to create new life together.

    No longer was her worry for Sy’wyn. Though she ought at least ensure he understands that it is her fond wish that he have a child regardless of who its mother might be. Her worry that she will ever regret having considered the consequences before taking an action. A principle so dear to her causing her pain for all the days of her life.

    And she ought to do her best to ensure that Mooncandy might live long enough to keep her babe safe as he grows from the size of her hand to adulthood.

    A careworn Eluriel focuses her thoughts there and calms. Him opening his light blue eyes in such trusting innocence. The small grizzling noises when he soiled himself. Those oh so tiny finger nails. May his days on Toril be many and wonderful.

    She collects the necklace made for Mooncandy and leaves thoughts of Meril and Eowiel and her deep sorrow for her own infertility behind her in the glade as she leaves it.

    Outside her tent high in the Wolf canyon Eluriel prays earnestly to Angharradh hopeful that her womb will yet quicken with life. And to Solonor for the blessings which will safeguard Maki’s mother.


  • Story that I dashed off without edits for a research PM. Tenses a bit muddled because of that. The stress of her 'job' and all the arguing taking place in her various guilds had turned El into a frazzled little mess of a thing to the point that she couldn't think/see straight and ended up breaking one of her own cardinal rules. She was horrified and vanished off out of Narfell to chill with her family for a bit. Given her frame of mind here I'm safe saying that Aelthas' speech would have come before she got the r&r.

    Dawn finds Eluriel ghosting through the Nars on her way to collect something from the tree house. As the sun rises across the pass two figures come across a rise walking openly in to the claimed Hoarran lands. One, as she seems him, becomes her quarry. Twice now of late he has cast something to disappear before her eyes. Which spell is irrelevant. What is relevant is his preference to cast it over being near to her, and as such she will trail him that he be unaware of her presence to prompt a third spell of vanishing. The white strip of cloth is the source of cold amusement. Perhaps best he show her that same sign.

    I will carry my words as far as I can but know that I will break it one day.
    I did break oath to the Romani King. I felt there was no other choice.
    Eluriel listens as he tells them that long ago he swore to give aid to the camp. To him saying that he would like to keep his word. That he carries the oath still. The word he gave knowing that he would not hold to it. The oath he tossed at the King’s feet. She wonders whether the Hoarans know the truth of Sy’wyns words.

    The Hoarans stand hostile, not unlike her own gaze upon him. Yet her expression does not soften as the folk of the camp stand down. As friend and lover are escorted towards the main gate the camouflaged Eluriel moves north to ford the stream then work her way through the trees to climb the hill and hop the fence then arc round to survey camp happenings where gnolls used to stand to throw stones.

    For what reason is she here when he wants her not? This is the thought on her mind. Not why either of them are here, not why they are welcomed, not the Hoaran troubles.

    I am not going to pull away. I more than tolerate you. But I do not always show that. You can't always judge the depth of a pool of water from the shimmer on its surface.
    In the canyon she had said things long held back for safety. Better those quiet words had remained unsaid. It is on account of a wound from adolescence that she will not be the first to speak such things. But she did. Leaving herself exposed. Why? Only to be again wounded. Then when he had smiled and said naught. And near ever since.

    When he did speak it was to ask why she hesitates. Lawks. This is why. He has pulled away. He will not tolerate her near him. It seems that the pool is shallow indeed.

    You imply that I leave off truth magic being infallible in an effort to deceive.
    That was not her implication. Nor was it within the realms of possibility that he truly believed that it was. She had bid them all not to trust in truth magics but in the exercise of their wits. Her implication had been that he himself a lackwit, riled as she was by his using her own words to imply that she would leave there to hunt a man.

    But that is not something for which he would shun her. He has heard such things from her in times past, and those said plainly rather than implied. Why then, is she shunned.

    He has won. Betrayal spreads like a disease, turning friends against each other, forcing sharp words.
    Shunned for something he counts as betrayal. It was not directed at her, he had said, but none other than she had spoken sharp words to him. Her betrayal, then, was suggestion of his parents’ remains defiled. He had seemed not to care. Not to understand. Because he has no fear of it happening to him. But Lorelai spoke true; for those he cares about he is dependable, but outside of that? And so she had sought to grant him understanding by relating it to people for whom he does care. But it was betrayal he heard.

    You realise of course that you are a joy to be around anyways. He’d be a fool to turn that away.
    Then in Oscura he was a fool. Conversation with Kyan had left her drained. To keep her emotions out of her words, let alone her face, is not a skill which comes easily to Eluriel. Nor indeed is it one she had ever attempted before recent years. From the strain of it she was exhausted.

    Ama’bael she knew was soon to arrive, but to see Sy’wyn? Oh, what a balm to her spirits! And all the more wonderful as an unexpected pleasure when the map had not shown him! Perfect! Her weariness had evaporated entirely.

    The scene at the waterfall was nowhere in her mind. Her lover she greeted with anticipation of the hidden touches or tender whispers that he now knows she so craves. So excited to go somewhere -anywhere- to be close.

    Afterwards, she would like to talk of communion. For so very long she had thought it barred to her on account of that which mars her. But knowing it, he never once turned from her. The mere imagining of their sharing essences is near to rapture itself. A second talk perhaps, to fathom the meaning of his hand tie. But the third conversation, which in truth is but a gesture, this is the one dearest to her heart and her most fond wish. Thoughts and dreams of this one causing her heart to leap.

    All of this expressed in one word, ‘perfect.’

    Sy’wyn leaned in to whisper to her. Jubilant, Eluriel awaited quiet words meant only for her.

    I am not here to guard. I am here to judge the truth in his words.
    That… was a pain she could not bear. That coming after his cordial greeting. That coming after Ama’bael’s clear statement that Sy’wyn alone was welcome inside with her. Eluriel left with long strides as swift as she could make them without drawing attention to herself.

    If we are not rewarded with just being able to spend time together, then I don’t understand the point of doing so many things that seem designed to keep us apart.
    In her head Eluriel listened to Sy’wyn say these words to her. After it was done he would come to find her that they might spend time together.

    If I can’t scry you by your appearance, then, I’ve not paid attention to you in all these years. And trust me… I have.
    Why did he not arrive? She had given him leave to scry her whenever he so wished.

    What did I miss while I was away? The answer is you.
    She checked her map time and time again until they told her to ignore it. He had abandoned his map. He knows well enough that she cannot scry. He counts himself betrayed. He pulls away. He tolerates her no longer. It is his want to be away from her.

    You will have to make me leave.
    He showed himself in the canyon. There Eluriel rose to defend Yngdir as once she defended Sy’wyn upon that same stone nine decades past. Surely that would stir some fondness for her in him. But no. He left. She chased after him as quickly as she could without its appearing that she chased him… but he was gone. No tracks to follow. Had he teleported, or did he stand in sanctuary seeing her stricken and saying naught. Lawks. She has made him hide for her. She has made him leave his home. How? Why? On the verge of tears she calmed herself; as Bow she had a duty to perform.

    Our history is littered with the messes rash actions have given us.
    Hers was not a rash action. The choice to involve his dead parents in talk of necromancy was carefully made. Surely, it is scorning her for it that is the rash action here. But she is quiet. Upon hearing Sy’wyn’s voice she stopped instead of continuing towards the rise. The things she would have said of geases and laws slip away. Sy’wyn is there. She can’t approach. Not to have him shun her in front of all of them. Not to have him shun her at all.

    I have made you nervous around me. Was not my intention to do so.
    But by the sun and the stars, she is again now.

    I notice you whenever you are in sight, and often even when not.
    She did not understand the abrupt change, but having noticed it she would make use of it. Since his return from the Great Dale Eluriel did not think she had seen Sy’wyn any place without Ama’bael save for the Wolf Camp. And so she followed the GPS towards her and there he was.

    In Norwick. Others all around. She went over to Fadia and Thorn but her attention was lacking. Near all of it was trained on the short elf she could neither greet nor look at out of nervousness. From the corner of her eye he… –nodded- her way? Whether that was better or worse than hiding from her…

    Lawks he knows how she feels in that moment. He knows. He nods as if a stranger passed on the road.

    I see you and want to be close to you. I look at your eyes and hope to see them look my way. Your hand touches your bow, and I long for it to touch me. You speak, and my imaginings are of quiet words meant only for me. Next, I see you standing alone. I wonder whether it is your want to see me at all and hesitate instead of approaching you. I might walk close to you whether others would not see, and still hesitate to touch your hand for fear that you would rather that I did not. And the quiet words I would say, are left unsaid.

    He knows. He approaches. She hopes. Oh for but the brush of his skin on her hand.

    But no. He approaches only to say that he is leaving. Not so much as a greeting, let alone any of what she yearns for. He is leaving. That she ought to have anticipated.

    I was a coward. I did what I always do. I hid.
    Intimacy and he hid for decades. A talk which touched on bonding then he hid for a year. She wonders how long it will be for having so foolishly put closely held emotions into words.

    And those by no means the only times. He ran away from an Oath talk, and an Easlander one. He cannot have had teleport or sanctuary then. Another time he hasted in preference to conversing. Invisibility potion also. Ran the first time she saw him in wolf form.

    He says he will return, hopefully in less than a year. And… walks away. But why. These by no means the only times he has hid from her, but the others all decades past. Why. Why does he hide from her now?

    A question is an apple hanging on a tree.
    He walks away and she follows. She questions him. Why does he leave any place where she is. Why does he have no interest in scrying her. Why has he forsaken the GPS. Why is he arranging matters so that she cannot even find his tracks.

    She tries to talk to him. He keeps on walking away. The one clear thing is that he wants to get away from her. Her words are rushed, her thoughts running wild. So much to ask. So much to say. He keeps on walking away. Her hurt at his recent treatment of her muddles the things she would say into apples not hung but thrown.

    And then he vanishes. Lawks. What has she done to him. And what in creation possessed her to say those quiet words to him which exposed her heart.

    I fear those who can cause me emotional pain. It will burn the longest.
    Eluriel lies prone to watch happens below. But it is with thoughts unrelated to Aelthas’ speech that her mind whirls.

    He runs from her because she has caused him pain. If not his parents what can it be? And a horrid realisation.

    Water is happiest and most content when it is still. I am water.
    Yet he comes to this place where war threatens. The water is stirred of his own will. This he would not do without good reason.

    My third home was destroyed by gnolls.
    All of his official titles were gone long ago. Until now. And in recalling Duty it seems his thoughts turn now to his time as Elder. To the family and friends he had here. To those he cared for. To her, whoever she was.

    She had been keen to hear what he could say of Vaxin from times past. But she has shared naught of what she has learned since.

    Naught of the threat to these folk who are used as puppets. Naught of Vaxin making pacts with devils, their leaders making pacts with him, this a man trying to become a devil himself. A war comes that they cannot win. They will fight and they will die.

    If they remain in camp when war comes orphans will grow up remembering the destruction of their home. Then they will live with pain and loss throughout their lives. Like Sy’wyn. And Aelthas will have told him that she knows near all he does.

    Eluriel tries to rationalise; with Sy'wyn there are ever other things to talk of and things more pleasurable things to do. But no. Her choice to speak of other things and not of this which is dear to his heart. It is this that he counts as betrayal.

    I heard the calls to return but had no reasons to return. Was weary when I passed and afraid of weariness when I returned.
    It is for this reason she is here. It is for this reason that she endure whatever hurts come. It was her resolve long ago that this elf she calls dear gift never again know that feeling. And her shame that he ever did.

    I’ve often thought of holding you this way. Though never did it seem an appropriate time.
    In this moment Eluriel wants naught more than to descend and embrace Sy'wyn. Appropriate be damned. Anyone who objects can go kiss an orc.

    Not that she does climb down. More likely that would result in deaths than embrace.


  • Various bits and bobs.

    Eluriel climbs up to the cliffs over the wolf camp and stops once she has a good view of it all. Reaching up to her neck she unclips her cloak, flicking it out to rest flat on the ground and sinking down to kneel over it.

    It’s rather the worse for wear. Many little bumps show the signs of loose threads having been stitched back in to avoid the weave unravelling. The jagged ridges of mended tears are so many as to make a miniature mountain range. Patches here and there really aren’t the right colour to tone in with the rest of it. All in all, it’s an old and tatty thing in a sad state of repair.

    Eluriel thinks back and wonders if any of the current wolves needed three tries to pass their scout test. She idly wonders if any other wolf has been on the council of bows before having tested as a scout.

    She and Karion had been in the west woods when he asked how she’d feel about a position on the council of bows and told her that he’d chosen to present her as his second to the council. She had been astounded by his faith in her. He’d seemed sad, and lonely and she’d resolved to spend more time with the old elf, that in play he might feel young. He said that her gypsy cloak wouldn’t do for a bow; that she needed a proper one and should prepare for her first test.

    On her own first test with Karion she had her chosen goblin firmly in her sight, but before she could reach it off it went running to crack someone’s head with its mace. She could have done nothing else but break into a run and fight her way into healing range of the person with the broken skull. But the test of skill was to leave Norwick’s gates and kill nothing before a maced-goblin, and so she had failed.

    Her second test was with Adlanail and Tala both. But they came upon goblins bowyers/archers trying to cut down a rather nice maple tree and had to return fire. Again the test failed. But at least the girls got the maple for themselves.

    Adlanail supervised the third test. She’d passed it in the end with flying colours at least. She wonders if he ever finished learning sylvan, having seemed unwilling to continue their lessons after she and Meril became close. And she never did find out why it was that he almost killed Ohtar and almost died for him. Hm.

    In the stalker test you were to make the other wolves aware of your skills by facing a goblin shaman alone, along with any other comers. This had been a simple matter. As acting pack leader Tala had crouched behind a stone. Eluriel had moved into the tree line following the scent of spell components and used her swords to disposed of the first goblin in the blink of an eye. Her arrows ensured that none of the others even got close to her. It was then that the council decided to tailor the stalker test to be a challenge to whichever scout was testing.

    Tala had become pack leader in name as well as action, and much had changed. Eluriel though Tala touched to insist that she should love a new wolf at first sight as she love her family of over a century. Why ever would that be more important than the oath? It became clear that the qualities Eluriel looked for in conversation with prospective wolves would not suit the new pack leader. As such, she was ill equipped to serve as bow and resigned.

    Resigned her bow position, her wolf bow, and the chance of this ragged old cloak having one day become that of a fully skilled ranger. Still, it had served her well and she was loathe to wear something with such memories to the point of disintegration.

    Eluriel is a Hawkeye; Solonor’s ranger priest. She serves him as scout, archer and bowyer, provider, hunter and teacher, as circumstances demand. Charged to preserve the harmony of nature she must be ever alert to her surroundings.

    To scout requires awareness that you might return with useful information. As an archer better than you mark your target early that you might take care with the shot; A hunter must be able to judge the age an health of an animal quickly that lives of the young not be taken. As provider and teacher one must be able to show ones students the beauty of the wilds, that they too wish to preserve nature’s delicate balance.

    Whatever her purpose in the wilds on any particular day, better that something not creep up to surprise her silently from behind. Keen-Eye himself cannot be surprised. His priest follows that trail as close as she can.

    Having heard an expedition to Norwick’s crypts planned and being interested in one of the planners, Eluriel had made her way ahead of them and changed into sneak gear. She was dismayed to hear of herself later referred to as ‘ghost woman’ particularly given the place and what the group were doing to the poltergeists. And so came the intent to craft some equipment with the aim of preventing a similar discovery.

    Small knives to aid stealth which can be slipped easily into her belt, or even dropped, when a weapon is needed. With the costs involved in enchanting, she is loathe to have to pay for knives. The self-sufficient ranger decided to learn how to make them herself.

    So came the first of many mining trips. Lugging leather-based sacks full of ore from the depths of the Koa-Toa caverns close to the underdark, all the way up to Peltarch to smelt. The trips went by without issue, save one.

    Ropes looped around Eluriel’s body multiple times to spread the load of the weight as best as she could manage while keeping her hands free. Far from comfortable, but needed when lacking a guard. Lumbering into a group of Koa Toa she started fighting them off, but a moment later darkness enveloped both them and her.

    Drow. Haste potion, invisibility potion. But haste really doesn’t help when you can barely move in the first place. Invisibility is a pretty weak defence around creatures which can somehow see right through it, and the drow would have been perfectly easily see where they are striking even if not what. So, she stopped to fight them, her arm shaking with fear.

    She turned a corner and started working at the knots tying the load to her. Tight already, her trembling fingers didn’t seem to be able to manage to untie them. Every moment she expected to feel a knife in her side.

    Instead, he showed himself. What could she do? Much as it galled her only one thing came to mind. Greet him. Invite a guard. Jest when he asked what he would gain by helping her. Relief when he left, along with fresh measure of fear that he might be watching her still.

    Decades past. Eluriel takes a leisurely stroll up to the Wolf camp, breakfasting on berries she finds along the way. She makes her way across to the bowyers rack in the cave and plucks up a stave that is simply the seven-foot long limb of a yew tree split along its length with the heartwood removed. She sets it beside her as she sits and brings out her box of woodworking tools and spends the next long while shaping a bow.

    Not on this her maker’s mark or a design to suit the one it is intended for. With reason. The merits of camouflage and deception are equally well understood by her. Heated oil penetrates deep into the wood to protect it, but without any colour stain beneath. This bow is as plain as can be, and itself deceptive.

    That decades past. Her bow remains the better of the two, but prudence sees it used far less than in the days so many when he allowed her to accompany his explorations. Often it seems that he is archer now more than she. Sound reasoning suggests that his should be the better.

    Her deception it seems, at some point failed that he was loath to part with the bow. Cunning has seen to its being placed in her hands, though the means of accomplishing that troubles her, lest it be broken and not in fact returned to his hands. Though, returning it to his hands broken is not exactly a betrayal of trust. Not exactly. The deal after all was to return it, without any mention of condition. Still, better whole than broken.

    Eluriel was ill at ease. “It wasn’t your fault” Fadia had said, “It wasn’t anyone’s.” Of that she was less than convinced. Blame could be attributed to the group having separated to fight two battles at once, to folk having moved ahead of their scout, to no warning having been given of the massive elemental, to not having called forth a summon, to overconfidence, or even to good fortune on the part of the elemental. But doing so would be as naming dye on an arrow shaft killer rather than the arrow itself. Without her there these things would not one of them happened for blame to be apportioned at all..

    There in the desert. There in the duergar mine. Two exits physically impassable. The third possibly open, but passage past the purging cleric and invisible mage impossible for Vander even if not herself. But again – her. Her choice to attack cleric over mage she thought wise as the duergar started to cast the purge, but that for but moments before came the green hand, then swiftly darkness.

    She could have attacked mage over cleric. She could have attempted parlay. She could have told Vander her intent. She could not have left without him. But yes, parlay; she ought to have offered the gems she carried. And this a realisation she hopes will not escape her in similar circumstances. But that for the future which will come when it comes.

    They were each of them in the desert by their own choice, yes. But to die over belongings? No. A life ought not been lost for things. Least of all when those things were hers.

    That is will be remembered; that a young sun elf lost her life in a moon elf’s pursuit of material possessions.

    She recalls the time that her party walked through western Rawlins, where she herself first walked close the goblin hold to recover a group who had met with misfortune. Then, a man walked behind them rifling the bodies of dead goblins and lifting all of value. This while ahead good folk lay dead on the ground. She doesn’t remember his name, not now. But she remembers his callousness. Valuing things over life. That is what she remembers. Not who died, not who recovered them, but the callous man.

    The human with pointed tips to his ears. She remembered his face decades later, even if not his… Jeff. Jeff who spoke of loving Adrielle and spent a night talking to a tree in the hope of its gaining him her affections. Jeff who decades later is reviled on account of valuing things over lives.

    Would she be remembered so?

    But Kuvriel is different. That blade infused with Tyr’s own energy and given to her by his servant is more than but a thing. The thought of such a weapon being misused is not one Eluriel cares to dwell upon. For such a thing she might risk her own life.

    But that her, and her own life. The other elves would assuredly care for this relic no more than for the missing Ilmateri Shroud. But for it, one lost her life.

    Perhaps fitting that the moon elf who is seemingly so enamoured of things give one of hers to the sun elf. Perhaps a century from now this will be told as a lesson on the dangers of greed. The elf who was filled with so great a lust for things that she considered some trinket to be fitting compensation for death. Eluriel is far from at ease with any action of hers being perceived in such a way, but the crafting and bestowal of something which is pretty and protective both is the only way she can think of to aid.

    I do not aim with my hand
    I aim with my Eye
    I do not shoot with my hand
    I shoot with my Mind
    I do not kill with my hand
    I kill with my Heart

    May I ever See things as they truly are
    Where there is confusion may I be granted Insight
    Where there is Emotion may it not blind me


  • A very old story. This one's from 2006.

    Whirling Thoughts
    In a comfortable temple bedroom Eluriel lies curled up under the covers, tears running freely down her face onto a soggy pillow. Her mind whirls with the same thoughts that plague her every time she tries to rest.

    What have I done. I would be with her and guide her always. Or at least ensure that she that she is cared for by those dear to me. But would that take him to them? Would that even be a bad thing? If he were to truly experience what he has missed out on. My intention was to teach him of it, but would not that be a better way? In seeing the harmony and joy of that way of life might not he come to yearn for such for himself? But he does yearn for it. Perhaps dwelling among them would let him see that it is not outside of his reach. If not on Toril, then afterwards. Along with his daughter in time.

    I was uncertain whether the child was truly mine until I saw her. Or was that an imagining of something I would like to see, or of something he hopes for? She might be a he, or have fair hair and dark eyes. It matters not. No, it –matters- to me.

    How could I give her up. With her to bind us, perhaps he would have come to me more often that I could have seen that he learnt the lessons I taught to her. In seeing the life taken from him is not there hope that he can believe in claiming such a life for himself? To save us both, he said. He wants to be saved. Redeemed.

    Did he and I save each other when it happened? I want to watch her grow. Does he? Will he strike those who cause her pain? I hope not. I would build within her the resilience to endure whatever she should happen to encounter. Do not let him harm her in trying to care for her. Will he see that? Will he change to be someone of whom she can be proud?

    No redemption? Of –course- there is redemption. But he will not listen. Is it fear that if he were to try he would be rejected? I rejected him when I said that I would not raise his child.

    There is such good in him. He is so kind to me. He surely must have been looking for me that he spoke of my having returned. He sought me because he wanted to aid me. Had only I had called for him, then perhaps there would have been time for discussions and decisions instead of his having to take action before my womb was destroyed. He did me a great service. While I claim to be too young at present, a future without children is not one I care to think upon.

    I want to know this child. I want to be close to her, whoever she is. And I worry. Will they teach her what she needs to learn or will she be denied that knowledge as he was. I want to know that she is happy and content and wants for naught.

    As a friend of the family I could do these things. With her likeness to me, even with the presence that is his, would not they realise, and she in time? How could I face her and tell her I did not want her. She would know well enough that I was hiding something from her. Will they tell her she is not of their flesh? Better than being told by me that she is not of any flesh.

    But she –is- an elven child. Pure. A life so precious. And part of me.

    How could I make that choice.

    How could I have chosen differently.

    I see my children growing up as I did, in a close community where they would be secure and happy. But not now. Not while I am so young. Aught I to have said I would raise her? Folk would have seen her, and asked questions. And what could I have said? I will not lie. Eventually from the ones I declined to answer they would have discerned the truth. And then what. Death? She would be reviled and shunned at minimum. Feared, perhaps killed – or else kept prisoner, which is to be denied life.

    Meril. I have given him not a moment’s thought in this. There will be no more communions for us, nor any for me with anyone ever again - as if that had been in doubt since the Crucible. But Meril knew the rest of it and he accepted it and did not turn from me. I should have trusted him enough to join our minds before now. Perhaps with that I could entrust him with this. Have we grown too far apart? I often fall in love with him all over again in my reveries, but this is different. He could not abide my speaking to Calen, let alone hearing me speak of trust. And now there is a child. How can I tell my beloved this? I cannot.

    What am I to do? Do I hide from him? But with that I am denied fresh joy. Oh, what it is to be near him. How can I go without that. My memories now of times past are tainted with fear of what is to come. I do not wish them tainted by his rejection of me. How could he do other than reject me with the father of my child what he is. So pure of heart, how could he be near her with that knowledge. Or near me.

    My child. I ache. I want to be with her now. I long for that. I want to cradle her in my arms and tell her that I love her, that she is beautiful and that I will not allow her to come to harm, that I will always be there for her when she has need of me. I want to braid her hair.

    But I abandoned her before she took her first breath.

    His mark is gone now. I should have called to him when he could hear me. I want to call to him. I want him here with me now. I want him to be holding me. How can I want him to comfort me knowing what he is. That is -wrong-. But I want it. What does that make me.

    Enough. Let me remember the lessons I would teach her. Find happiness in each moment.

    Eluriel drags herself out of bed to get on with the business of living. She dresses then shoulders her pack and heads off towards the Rawlins.


  • A Dalelands song I made up. Cormanthor being in the midst of the Dales.

    The Yew Tree
    http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/milil/yewtree.mp3
    (I've adapted the lyrics from a Scottish song of the same name)

    For those who recognise the tune, the accompanying lyrics speak of the turbulent history of the Dalelands and a yew tree that stands as the lone surviving witness to two thousand years of that history. A sad tale, but one which ends with hope that listening to songs of the past will see a brighter future.

    Close by the Ashaba, on the Rauthauvyr’s Road
    Stands a yew tree two thousand years old
    And the old women swear by the grey o' their hair
    That it knows what the future will hold
    For the shadows of Dalesfolk stand round it
    'Mid the kale and the corn and the cows
    All the hopes and the fears of two thousand long years
    Under the Dalelands sky

    Chorus:
    My bonnie yew tree
    Tell me what did you see

    Did you look through the haze o' the long summer days
    Tae the South and the Sembian border
    Or the great pans of salt on Sessrendale’s fields
    Did they march by your side in good order
    Did you ask them the price o' their glory
    When you heard the great slaughter begin
    For the dust o' their bones would rise up from the stones
    To bring tears to the eyes o' the wind

    Not once did you speak for the poor and the weak
    When the Zhentish troops lay in your shade
    To count out the plunder and hide frae the thunder
    And share out the spoils o' their raid
    But you saw the smiles o' the Network
    And the laughter of Yyrants at pains
    When the poor hunt the poor across mountain and moor
    The rich man can keep them in chains

    Did you no' think tae tell when nycaloths freed
    That the Army of Darkness was grown
    To the City of Song who lived in unity
    O’ the races who thrived in its walls
    But you knew the forces who came then
    All the deaths in the Weeping War
    Trio free from their jail due to forgotten lore
    To take revenge for those years

    And I thought as I stood and laid hands on your trunk
    That it might be a kindness to fell you
    One kiss o' the axe and you're freed frae the racks
    O' the sad bloody tales that men tell you
    But a wee bird flew out from your branches
    And sang out as never before
    And the words o' the song were two thousand years long
    And to learn them's two long thousand more

    Last chorus:
    My bonnie yew tree
    Tell me what CAN you see


  • Bit of backstory which explains a couple of El's peculiarities past and present.

    1
    An adolescent Eluriel sits in her family home in a bathrobe, practicing a cantrip to dry her hair. Just as soon as it’s dry and combed out, she rushes through to have her mother dress it into elaborate braids. She seems excited about something, and glances in any reflective surface she nears.

    They speak of Relerian, that thoroughly rougish bard who’d turned up the night before on one of his infrequent visits. The women look forward to the feast and dance their remote village is making of the occasion. The older lady makes quite sure to scatter in a number of comments about the fickleness of bards; she knows her daughter’s weakness for a pretty face from which sweet music comes. She doesn’t discourage Eluriel but simply that her daughter is in possession of the facts to make her own choice eyes-open.

    Eluriel knew the facts well before then, and nothing her mother was saying discouraged her in the slightest – the very opposite!

    Inside the great sanctuary of living trees there is feast and song and dance. In a ruby gown Eluriel spins and leaps and revels; living in those moments, exulting in them, as if there were nothing before or after. To her vibrancy and youth and passion the bard is drawn. He courts the girl had had not noticed before; bringing her drinks, flattering her, teasing her, holding her gaze even when others speak to him. She is almost disbelieving that she could be of interest to him, and all the more entranced by him for that. But her own quick wit matches his and she retains his attention to the end of the evening.

    To the stone building where the village houses its guests go the two, and that is where they stay for the better part of his visit. In that room dancing is displaced as Eluriel’s favourite revel. Then and now, and always, she is well pleased to have had her early teaching from that roguish master.

    There were more liaisons on other visits, but her heart was safe. For all Ralerian’s knowledge, talent and wit, he seemed somewhat lacking in substance to her mind. Bodies joined for the joining of bodies. Minds did not. Physical. No real emotional involvement.

    2
    Past the time where she had given up any study of the arcane, Eluriel visited cousins in a rather larger settlement and sought out the company of a man with an innate gift for magic, this something new to her. Nial spun illusions for her delight, she thought. She decided to bed him, and that she did. Eluriel’s stay was only two nights and her party departed the following morning.

    Alert to the minstrel’s roguish ways, she thought different of this male.

    And so it came that be that Nial and some friends stopped in Archwell for a night’s rest on their way to human lands. A thoroughly delighted Eluriel hovered about him to make his stay as pleasant as she could. By his hand she showed the group to their accommodation, and by his hand she guided him around their sanctuary, and around the flower beds and herb gardens she tended. By his hand Eluriel guided Nial around the whole settlement and past everyone who was at home that afternoon.

    As was usual when they had visitors, a feast and revel were had in the sanctuary. Eluriel dressed in a green gown sat by him as they ate, Eluriel took his hand for the dancing, Eluriel kissed him as they did. Once, she took him a drink and sat herself across his lap to raise the glass to his lips.

    Nothing out of the ordinary in a revel. She paid attention to him as Ralerian had paid it to her.

    Still an adoloescent and living with her family, Eluriel really did not want to take him back there. The same was true of the guest quarters. She excused herself and darted home then out into the woods to put up a tent filled with soft furs.

    Then back to the sanctuary. He wasn’t there? He must have gone looking for her! Poor Nial! She should have told him where she was going! She went over to her home, and looked up. No lights. Then on past it and to the left to his quarters.

    She smiled when she heard his voice and moved to the window hear what he had to say about her.

    And…

    She heard him say that he wished not return to the revel with the rest of them because ‘that girl’ just would not leave him alone. They had spent a night together, he explained, as a way to pass an evening. He did not appreciate her pawing at him. He would certainly not be passing through this village on his way back home.

    There, at the window, Eluriel heard this. And was mortified.

    Movement towards the door. She hurried across the clearing so as to avoid their seeing her. She watched. And… as if things could get any worse… there had been folk of her own in the room with Nial. Everyone would know. And the visitors would tell her cousins and… and… it was near too awful to bear.

    She waited until they were safely gone then picked up her skirts and ran for home. Climbing the ladder it went un-noticed when she stood on the hem of her dress. With her next step her knee hit the tight fabric and dislodged her to land painfully on her back. From the sanctuary she could hear laughter.

    3
    Dawn. The air is chill around the still pool as six people wait for the sun’s rays to hit the water.

    Mother and father flank their younger daughter, her brother and sister standing to either side. Facing them stands Solonor’s priest dressed in the same ceremonial garb as Eluriel; chainmail covered in part by a silvery cloak with a leaf green hood.

    He speaks words of ritual and finally beckons young Eluriel him. She is to leave childhood behind her and make her own way in the world. He offers her a necklace that is twin to his own. She takes it and puts it on. “Esse'amin Gisir.” This last surprises her parents, and delights them. They look so proud of her, and perhaps of themselves. The name also looks to have fond meaning to the priest, the older one that is, for two Hawkeyes now stand in the glade.

    Formality resumes. The small party and makes its way to a newly built and very small tree house. Five stop. The sixth enters the house without looking back to childhood.

    Another ceremony in the afternoon to formally announce Eluriel’s coming of age. She is gifted the tools of her trade; arrows, wood, herbs, salves and so forth. No green does she wear now.

    With food and wine older elves regale the family with tales of their pursuits, and they wish luck upon the new adult who follows in their steps. From this point on Eluriel is to make her own way in life; working with other elves to make a life full of happiness and joy. And so begins the night’s revel.

    A few years later and Eluriel has the confidence of one who knows their purpose in life. She is flirty with any visitor to Archwell who catches her eye, yes, but no more than that. She flirts for the simple joy of clever word play and keeps her heart and pride safe.

    Over months she repeatedly catches a scent or sight that becomes familiar to her. Over months the two elves try to both stalk the other and hide from them. Finally the two meet. They share devotion to guardianship of the wilds. Over time they grow closer. Not for Eluriel the heady rush of her times with Relerian, not for Eluriel the humiliation of her forwardness around Nial. Quiet and comfortable their occasional dalliances over the next decade and some. Not a great love between Eluriel and Baelis, but they are content as they are.