3. A Son of the City of Song - Imril Teb'rin

A Son of the City of Song - Imril Teb'rin


  • The weary traveler awoke, again, this was the third time this night and he was now beginning to think he would have been better off sleeping with his horse in the stables. He would have had more gold in his pocket and probably gotten a better nights rest if he had, the man mused to himself.

    “What in the Nine Hells is going on over there…” thought the man, as he listened to the repeated dull thumping, moaning, and occasional cry or wail that would stab out of the wood paneling that separated his Inn room from that of his neighbors.

    “The fellow next door did not seem like the troubled type?” thought the man. He had seen the person who had purchased the room next to him from which the odd sounds now emanated. His neighbor was an elf, who seemed normal enough when he had seen him come into the Inn commons last night. It was late, and he was on his way up to sleep, he had thought, when the elf came in and in a rather subdued voice had purchased lodging from the keeper. The man had even offered to show the elf up to his room, seeing as it was right next to his.

    On the way up he had noted that the elf was very quiet and seemed to stare a bit, but he assumed it was due to fatigue from the road. His clothing and armor, a set of well-worn but beautiful full plate, were stained and darkened with what he could only guess was dirt and mud. Now he was not so sure.

    As the sounds continued from the room next door, the man finally decided he would take his chances in the stable.

    While on the other side of the wall, Imril tossed and turned in a night-terror of his mind’s eye. He knew the dream or rather the nightmare well by now. He had been having it on and off during his reverie’s for a week now. His subconscious went through the motions, knowing the only way out was to follow the vision to its conclusion.

    He was in the woods, not the beautiful sun filled woods of his former home of Coramanthor, but darkling woods, full of shadows and webs. About him were his friends, Lady Ama’Bael, Therean, Jin, Uniel, Eluriel, Sirion and even Ardent popping in and out of the shadows. As he trudged forward, sword clasped in his sweaty palm, he came into a clearing, with grey clouds over head like a low hanging cave roof on the world. Standing in the clearing in front of him was a silent sentinel figure, featureless in the gloom. Not wanting to, but knowing he must to end this subconscious play, he stepped forward to within arm’s length of the figure.

    It’s features became starkly clear as he drew near. It was a hobgoblin, but it was bloated, and grotesquely puffy or lumpy. Imril wished to look away, to run screaming from its horrible visage, but he could not, rooted in the throes of the dream. The hobgoblin opened its mouth as if to speak, and indeed a sound came out, it began as a faint trailing “Heeellllppppp…..” in elvish and as this sound faded it was overtaken by a deafening chitter.

    The hobgoblin’s mouth exploded in a swarm of spiders, crawling now from every orifice on the creatures face. They boiled down the front of the figure which was soon lost behind their carpet. As they touched the ground, they grew in size, millions of eyes burning with a green light, thousands of legs, growing sharp jagged barbs.

    He rushed forward, placing himself between the Swarm and his companions. Raising his sword, he called out Corellon’s name, which sounded small and hollow, as the swarm rushed over him and surrounded him. He tried to remember the words of a spell, but the arcane power would not come to his call. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friends being overcome by the spiders as well, calling to him for aid, and reaching out to him. He swung and fought and tossed and turned, as thousands of legs and feelers pawed over him. The scene turned to blackness, and all he could feel was the touch of the spiders upon him. Until that touch turned to the smooth caress of soft hands, with long nails. The blackness receded, but only slightly, to reveal a fair elven face, gleaming eye and pale hair shown in the shadow, and skin black as the darkness glistened faintly.

    Imril new that face, and those eyes, eyes of hatred, Lloth, queen of the spiders. She had come for him.

    He awoke with a final scream, tearing away from her grip he fell from the bed on which he had sat in the Inn room. A brief moment of panic passed, as he began to breathe again, outside he heard the door to the room next to his slam and feet walking down the hall and down the stairs.
    He sat, drenched in sweat, on the floor of his room for a long while, thinking.

    “I have become that which I fear the most” he thought, his mind wandering “a failure.”

    “How can I hope to become a great spellsword, or to champion the cause of elvendome when I cannot even defend myself.” He said to the darkness. “Maybe Dumarcil was right, maybe I do not have skill to be other than a sarcastic youth. “ As the silence of the early morning wore on Imril continued to wrestle with his own doubt and demons. “I do more harm than good….I am just a drain on those about me who have much bigger concerns than coming to my aid constantly…..I should depart and trouble them no more.”

    As the sun rose over Norwick a sudden change came over Imril. His jaw set and he wiped the sweat from his brow. “No, I shall not give up so easily, that is what She wants. Corellon, give me strength……for what must be done.”


  • Steam rose from the copper pot, the aroma of warm maple sugar still lingering in the air. Over head patchy clouds moved with a strong southern wind, causing the steam and smoke of the fires to dance as they wafted skyward.

    Imril drew the wooden bowl from the steaming water of the pot, inspecting it he nodded approvingly. "All clean at last.." he thought "maple sugar is wonderful, except to have to clean up!"

    Glancing around the camp he gave a sigh of contentment, it was done, the Sugaring was complete. It had been a labor of love, and while not what he had originally envisioned, he felt it had gone well. Many of his friends had come to help him, and he had enjoyed sharing their company, and even giving out tattoos to a few brave souls, as was the custom of his people.

    The gathering of the sap had been easy. The Treants had kept their word, and up held the oath, sworn in blood, Thistle's blood, from the previous time. As the party had approached the woods to begin collecting the buckets, Gnolls literally came flying past them, fleeing the wrath of the huge Forest Fey. Imril remembered thanking the huge old Treant, the one which looked suspiciously like a maple that he had tried to tap the first time he had encountered it, for up holding the oath before it stumped away into the woods again.

    He smiled, as he looked down at the piles of sugar, some still warm, stacked in the baskets around the camp. Those who had helped him had taken their shares already….it was a good harvest. Made even better by the fact that Lady Ama'bael and Ardent had returned to help him, among the many others. Imril remembered fondly how the Coran had made him feel welcomed when he first arrived in the Nars, and had been as a wise older sister to him.

    Ardent had come bearing a guest to his humble sugar camp, a small baby girl. Honor Dy'nei, born just recently from the union of her and Nelor. It was comforting to see her so happy as a mother now, to see her put her troubles behind her and move on with her life, even though he missed her and Nelor, he understood their need for a safe place to raise their child.

    "I wonder if I will ever be a parent..." Imril thought as he put away the bowls and other tools. "I don't think I would know the first thing about it..."

    After securing the camp, he took several larger pieces of sugar, golden brown blocks which gave off a sweet, smokey, maple scent, and turned toward Peltarch. Arriving in the commons, he went to his same spot near one of the trees there. Setting down he waited under it, looking between the sky as evening came on, and his ankle were a tattoo of twelve droplets circled about it. There was now a thirteenth droplet, freshly inked at the end of the line. He smiled at his new tattoo and as the stars came out in the dark blue of the northern sky, he rose from his spot under the tree. As he turned toward the lights of the Mermaid, he knelt down and left the cakes of sugar he had brought with him in a small bundle against the trunk of the tree.

    "I hope I will have the joy of a family again, ...someday...."
    He strode away to the Inn and a glass of mulled wine.


  • Imril bowed to the dark haired elven lady, raising her hand near his lips in a fain formal courtly gesture of a mock kiss. “It was a pleasure to meet you Lady Dy’nei” he said with a half-smile to her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nelor’s eyes narrow in a look of protective disapproval. Imril soaked up every bit of it trying to contain his inner delight at the teasing Nelor was taking and the unease he showed with a member of his family present.

    Turning to him unable to restrain himself any longer, Imril smiled wide “Your sister is very nice Nelor, I hope I get the chance to meet and journey with her again..” more protective looks and a fist clenching, Imril knew when it best to stop poking the griffin. He turned on a heel and with a wave over his shoulder strode away from the south gate northward toward Peltarch. He could feel Nelor’s eyes on him as he went, and heard a faint grumble come from behind him. He cared for Nelor like a brother, but Ardent and him teased Imril like a younger sibling at times, all in good fun, but Imril could not help think as he walked away “Payback time….”

    As he walked through the North gate of Norwick, the night was fresh and new, though growing dark the western sky was still a glow with the sunset, and birds continued their songs for now. He decided to walk northward through the woods instead of over the road. Pulling his green cloak about his shoulders he plunged into the underbrush on the right of the road, passing without much effort though the tangles of the woods. Soon night was fully upon him, his elven eyes adjusting to the low light he continued to walk quietly northward.

    Suddenly, the darkness of the forest floor was pierced by pillars of silver light. The moon had come from behind a cloud to shower its silver beams down among the leaves. Imril paused, the moon light reviled more detail to his surroundings. Looking to one side he thought the area looked familiar to him, and then he noticed the subtle signs of an elven trail, the hidden path which lead to the grove where the pixies sometimes danced on nights like these. He smiled at old memories, and eventually after a time of thought pressed on northward.

    Soon he broke from the cover of the woods, a clearing lay before him and in the distance he could just make out the lights of the houses and towers of Peltarch. Before him lay his rough camp, an arbor made of cut branches, two simple lean to’s of pine branches and tarps. The double tripod with long cross beam on which hung several empty kettles over a long fire pit the chains of the kettles kinked like wind chimes in the soft night breeze as the embers of an almost spent fire glowed below them.

    Nodding with approval at the state of his sugar camp Imril moved to one of the shelters. Sitting under it he wrapped his legs in a blanket and took in the quiet of his solitude as he looked toward the stars and moon above Peltarch. He suddenly thought of his meeting in the commons a week ago, of the words that had been exchanged. His hands begin to shake, and not from the coolness of the evening. “What was I thinking, how could I have been so bold…..She is surely to think me nothing more than an impetuous youth now….” He cursed himself and grasped his hands to stop them shaking. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his nerves, “no going back now, what is done is done, it is in her hands now. I hope to Corellon I have not done too much harm….” Pulling the blanket up around his shoulders he leaned back to watch the stars and let his mind wander in green fields under them.

    One Month Later ~

    Imril groaned as he set down another pile of fire wood. Dusting his hands he straightened up with a crack in his back. “That should do it…” he looked to the well-stocked camp and smiled, and then his eye caught sight of something, his smile turned to a frown. It was his sword. A brand new steel long sword that Vic had crafted for him, he slowly walked to it and drew it partly from its oiled sheath. The star of Corellon shown on the polished blade just above the hilt, etched into the fine steel. A line of rust ran along the blade right were the sheath had ended, barely above the hilt, though the middle of the star. “I have been idle to long…” he thought as he wiped at the rust spot “consumed with my own thoughts while others have been fighting for peace.” He had heard that the undead had attacked Norwick again, Nelor had fallen, twice, while he chopped wood and day dreamed at the camp. “It was time I was about changing that…” he said as he belted on the now clean blade.


  • Steam swirled about the warm rooms of the Icelace Bath House, condensing on the cool stone walls and leaving a wet sheen over everything. The churning mists also brought on their airs the scent of soap, sweet and spicey, as well as the murmur of laughter.

    Imril laid his head back into the warm soothing water, his flaxen locks floating like golden water fronds just below the surface. His pointed ears, now submerged, could just barely discern the water muffled conversation from the others in the bath with him. Nelor and Ardent were still teasing him about his abilities, and his aim. He could feel his face redden, and not from the warmth of the bath as their comments hit a nerve buried deep in him. They were right to criticize him, even if they were doing it in a playful manner. He had been responsible for dropping a fireball right in the midst of his friends as they fought with a Gnollish patrol, while checking on the sap buckets in the woods. True it was not his fault that the Gnolls closed the distance between him much quicker than he had expected, those creatures could run, but he still felt responsible for injuring his friends, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

    He glanced side long from his half submerged position at Mialee, who sat next to him in the bath to see her reaction to the other two’s comments. But she just chuckled and said the same had happened to her before and the only thing to do was to learn from it. Glancing back across the pool, Tressa seemed content to practice underwater martial arts, and drink. Several empty beer bottles littered the pool side already. Noticing his frowning face Nelor laughed and shook his head “Oh come on Imril, it is fine, I am not mad at all.” The comment helped a bit, Imril nodded and gave a smile, taking his own glass of wine from the pool side and sipping on it.

    Setting it back down he sank into the water again letting the warmth relax his muscles. As the others spoke and teased and splashed again, he zoned out thinking about what needed to be done next. At last the Sugaring was in full swing. A week ago he had deemed the season to be perfect and made it known he was setting out for one of the groves he had found in the years before. Many had come, more than he could have hoped for, to aid and share in this tradition of his. His brothers and sisters in the Shesae, as well as other friends and goodly N’Tel’Quessir had made the work very easy. All helped carry the buckets and tools, as well as drove off the Gnolls who had threatened the party.

    After some wandering in the woods, Imril wished he had more navigation sense, they had found one of the groves he had seen earlier. As he had said the prayer of Taking, and started to make the first tap, he had felt a tenseness in the forest, a watching, almost a malice about the grove. Then it showed itself, a huge Treant, looking just as another maple in the grove until it opened its eyes and moved. Imril sighed as he recalled the tense exchange that followed, spoken all in Sylvan, and translated through Ama, and Uniel who spoke this odd dialect.

    The creature wanted Blood for Blood, or so it claimed, as the taking of the sap it equated to vampirism. Imril’s eyes narrowed remembering brash young Thistle, who as the debate raged, stepped forward and offered herself, her blood to the thing. Imril felt guilt wash over him as the warm waters of the bath did, guilt that someone other than himself should have to suffer such a sacrifice for his tradition. He recalled his anger at the Treant for this unsavory bargain. He could still see the thing, like a mountain of wood and branches, and how he stepped up to it, unarmed in his rage and demanded of it, probably unwisely, loyalty and a stop to any further Blood tribute. The guardian of the wood had been just as unhappy as Imril was, but it did promise to allow the Sugaring to go forward and to keep the Gnolls out of the buckets.

    Water splashed him in the face and he recoiled. “Ah, bath water will do wonders to improve the taste of this wine…” He said sarcastically, as Nelor dunked Ardent and more splashing ensued. The splash had brought him out of his reverie; he took another sip of wine and smiled as he looked at the two fresh pink patches on his friends’ skin, patches of newly healed flesh which now contained his art and gift to them. Both Nelor and Ardent bore tattoos, newly healed, bright and vibrant. Tattoos he had done for them as was the custom in his house, mementos to remind those who received them of the important things in their lives.

    As he set his glass of wine down and splashed back at the mischievous couple across the pool he thought of the future. Soon it would be time to collect the buckets and make the sugar. He thought about the next tattoo he would be receiving then, as well as one he would be giving and smiled. Despite all that had happened, he was content at last.


  • "What is that feeling…..."

    The blackness began to recede in Imril's mind, sensation started to return to his faculties, sensations of pain. "OH gods! ....It feels like someone shrank an irate Dwarf and placed him in my skull with instructions to tunnel his way back out with a dull grapefruit spoon...." he thought as light streamed in through his now open eyes. More pain, he tried to sit up from were he lay, the cool grass below him. Immediately the world started to spin and he felt bile rise in his throat. "Alright, bad idea...." he said quietly laying his head back down and trying to look about through squinting eyes.

    He was in the commons of Peltarch, the morning sun was just peeking over the tops of the buildings and beginning to warm his clammy dew soak body. He was laying sprawled on the ground between the stone wall and one of the trees of the commons. As he took in his surroundings trying to remember what happened, he noticed a Defender who was giving him the eye.

    Sucking in a deep breath of air he slid his laying form back until he was half propped up against the wall, fighting to keep his last meal in himself. He gave a weak tentative wave to the Guardsman, who shook his head and moved on.

    "By Corellon's ears, what happened to me..." He raised a hand to his temples as the tiny dwarf started scraping at his skull again. Fuzzy memories begin to clear as an image focused through a spyglass. Imril snapped his fingers "Wedding....." he said aloud.

    As the fuzziness retreated he remembered more and more. Riding south at the word of a huge undead attack on Norwick to lend aid. Arriving too late only to find the staunch defenders had been victorious, barely. Learning that Ardent had fallen, again, in defense of the town and had set off Northward after the victory with Nelor. Riding like a wind from Aerdrie's mouth to the temple of Kelemvor and learning from the priests there that both were upon the bluff with several others, and Raryldor....

    That is when it hit him....they would not wait, to be parted by death again. They would be married before any further tragedy could befall them. He had run head long up the hill, he thought his heart would explode from the strain, but he did it. Arriving at the summit, just in time to see a small humble gathering of friends gathered about the two, hand in hand.

    There had been so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do for them, for their wedding day, to make it special. But things do not always work out as we would wish or plan them to....Imril was learning to accept this idea more and more as of late. He had no gift for them, nothing other than his presence to offer. He felt unprepared, rushed, taken off guard, but his presence was enough it seemed, nothing else was needed.

    It was a simple ceremony not long in execution, but it was "right" for them, simple People, good hearted, they needed nothing more, than each other, and their friends by them. With their vows exchanged the small party toasted the new couple then made for The Mermaid to continue the celebration.

    "Hroooph....unnnn" He moaned a bit, Beourn had brought SO much ale...everyone was pretty loose by the evenings close. Imril had vague memories of singing, playing some kind of truth or lie game, and then staggering out of the tavern. He froze, his face going more pale than it had been "Did,....did I tell them about wearing the dresses....." a feeling of regret washed over him. "By my ears I hope not...." another throb of pain hit his hungover body. "oooohhh, This is going to take a bit to sleep off....I wonder if I got fresh with any women?" He thought with a smirk and a grimace.


  • _The door to the small room above the commons of the Mermaid opened and closed with a light slam. The golden blonde haired elf strode into the room. He looked tired, worn, as if he had run all the way from Evermeet to the Nars without a pause. His hair, usually well kept, glossy and feathery was hanging in lank strands over his eyes. The collar of his well tailored signature red cloak was drenched in sweat, dirt, and stains of other sorts covered his once shiny armor.

    Walking from the door, one hand rubbing the back of his neck to ease the aching muscles there he crossed to the window. With a sigh he begin unbuckling his armor and letting fall were it may about the room. A tingle ran through him as he tugged at one of the straps, remembering the last time he had taken off his armor so carelessly.

    Ever since the last night he had seen her the world about him had seemed to be in slow motion. When she had departed then next morning, he could not help but feel worry and fear, fear that it maybe a long time before he saw her again if ever. Not due to any lack of trust on his part, those feelings were gone now, mostly, but rather just due to the kinds of lives they lived. He recalled his words to her at the Roost, about preparing for the worst and hoping for the best…and tried to calm his emotions. Though it had been some time now that she had been away.

    Much had happened, and one way he found to deal with her absence was to plunge himself into other endeavors, to stay busy. He had managed to go on several hunts outside the city, with old friends, this help greatly both his mood and his cheer. Now too there was trouble again to the south, Undead raiding Norwick, rumors of members of the Remnant, and that mad mage Sirion having something to do with it. Ardent being detained for questioning and now goblin attacks on the Tower and fortifications by the bridge.

    He had just come from defending such an attack. Now in his arming cloths he threw himself upon the bed, flexing the fingers of this right hand, his string hand. He had fired so many arrows he thought the string would catch fire. The goblin attackers just kept coming. He was happy to be back in his room now, to let others watch.

    There had been happy news to loose himself in as well. Jin and Uniel had betrothed themselves to each other and so had Nelor and Ardent! A double wedding. He felt joy at their happiness and had pledged his service to them for whatever they might need to prepare for the happy day. He hoped they would take his advice and appoint him as the wine taster... So many weddings, and happiness among couples, it caused him to think of her again. Time for another distraction then, he thought.

    Reaching over to the table beside the bed he picked up his small blue book. His book of secrets. Notes, songs, spells, all held within its pages. As he opened it to read, a small blue flower fell out. Perfect in symetry, pressed flat by the pages of the book. He carefully lifted it from the sheets, gazing at it, he begin to hum to himself. The tune was simple a bar room ditty, the words, as old as the hills._

    "So I have been hoping for months, hoping for years, hoping I might forget…... Ahhhh, but it don't get much harder, no it don't get much harder......then trying to forget a girl when you love her..."

    The tune trailed off. He lightly kissed the flower and replaced it in the book. He leaned his head back and spoke to the four empty walls of his room.

    I know not where you are, but know my thoughts are with you. Corellon's protection and Eilistraee's grace go with you where ever you are. Return soon…..for waiting truly is the hardest part of life.


  • The smell.

    Bodies pressed into a tight place, horses and live stock, smoke from cook fires, food of various different ethnic and racial recipes all cooking at once, all mixed together and wafted about by a cool breeze off of the Icelace.

    The scent assaulted Imril's nose, like a Bugbear horde. He wrinkled his pointed Elven nostrils at the odorous attack. Reaching into a pocket on the inside of his cloak he pulled forth a pressed flower, now dry but still whole and unbroken. It was a dark blue Forget-me-not, he smiled and brought it to his nose inhaling. "Still sweet" he thought as the fragrance of the bloom was still noticeable.

    Sighing he looked about at the tall buildings and stone walls of The Jewel. "It is like I am in some kind of menagerie, and animal in a pen…" he thought feeling not a little depressed. "To be able to run free to the south again, or hunt with my Brothers and Sisters in the woods as I once did here.....it seems so long ago now, like an age of the world has passed." He strode into the commons to find a bench and sit for a while amid the few scant trees and grass there.

    "Things are far too dangerous for such frivolities now." He thought cringing a bit as he remembered the episode a few weeks ago were he and several others had journeyed toward the Cold Caves, following the mad riddles of some crazed Gnome who claimed their was treasure hidden there.

    "That went well..." he thought sarcastically as he remembered the ill fated trip. Wandering invisible past scores of Gnoll warriors, not wearing his armor so as to be able to move silently past them, desperately trying to locate the scouts of the group who were to mark the caves entrance. Feeling the terror rise in him as he could feel his spell wearing off. Fighting against a huge armored Gnoll in nothing but his tunic. Awaking later bruised, cut and bleeding in a bush, the kindly Hin, Tressa slapping him into consciousnesses. His terror at discovering he had been looted by the Gnoll which thought him dead. Fighting, fleeing, and sneaking beside Tressa, in nothing but his briefs as he attempted to recover his things from were the Gnoll had dropped them. Here he paused in his thoughts chuckling a bit at the funny scene now from the safety of the commons. "I do not know how monks do it, I would never wish to face anything in battle wearing nothing but my skin." His thoughts turned back to that ill fated day and finally reuniting with the rest of his ill fated party, and fleeing with them back the way they had come. Learning that Ardent had fallen, and the somber march to the Temple of Kelemvor to see her raised.

    He placed his head in his hands. "Corelllon, see us through this time of trial and make us stronger for its hardships." He muttered through his hands.

    Removing his hands from his face he tried to turn his mind from the brooding thoughts and tall walls. He sniffed at the dark blue flower again, as an instant smile came to his face. "Right, time to see a Half-orc about a sonnet...." he said to no one as he rose and walked toward the Mermaid.


  • Sunrise.

    The red light of early morning shone through the tangled branches of a thick pine forest. As the light illuminated a quiet dusty trail, it seemed to reflect slightly of a face of Honey tanned skin, hidden within a cloak the same color as the red light of early morning.

    Imril sat upon his mount, happy for the warming light of the sun after the deep cool of early dawn. He pulled his hood back off his head to let his golden locks drink in the light. He heard a rustle near by, twigs snapping just barely noticeable on the edge of his hearing.

    A hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, his other hand forming an arcane gesture in readiness. Out from the pines strode a figure cloaked in the same green as that of the dark needles of the trees. It held a bundle, wrapped tightly in cloth.

    Relaxing Imril let his hands fall, and then he dismounted. The figure spoke "You know what I had to go through to get this stuff, your father is not happy with you, thankfully your mother is as kind as ever she was. Not to mention how long of a walk it is from The Court to here!" The figure through back his cloak reviling the light blue skin and pointed ears of a moon elf.

    Imril chuckled. "My thanks Felixzarn, I knew I could count on you to deliver, and my apologies for your troubles. I promise to make it up to you, in wine." The moon elf smiled "Well that is a start old friend, but why the urgency? Why did you need these things so desperately?"

    "Traditions, my friend, traditions…." Imril paused thinking a bit "old and new traditions, that is what makes ceremonies like the Sugaring special. For while they stay the same, each new generation adds their own touch to make it new." Imril took the wrapped bundle "Besides, I want this Sugaring to be perfect.....better than perfect even, there is someone I wish to show my tradition to, so I wish things to be right, for her...."

    Felixzarn gave a mischievous smile. "You are seeing someone....aren't you? I can not believe it, mister haughty himself....who is she?" Imril blushed at the question. "Just someone I met, she has good taste in wine....that is all she is....a...drinking buddy...is all...now I will say no more, you gossip hound, lest it get back to my father." He waved his hand dismissively. "Speaking of which, tell me of them, if you have any news to give?"

    Felixzarn looked briefly disappointed at not getting any juicy details out of Imril before he took a deep breath and continued. "Well, things are going fine from what I hear, your father has moved your household back to the Elven Court, after your Grandmother passed. With the success so far in the City of Song, things in the forest are much safer. We just cleared a large stronghold of Drow from near Tangled Trees in fact." Felixzarn smiled, and Imril winced a bit before Felixzarn continued. "Your father has started to repair your families estate and they just finished their Run of Sugaring, which is lucky as I was able to request these items." He motions to the bundle. "Though your father would have none of it, and said if you wanted them you could come home and get them. As I was leaving your mother came to me with the bundle and said to give this to you with her love and to forgive your fathers harsh words."

    Imril sighed looking at the package. "I can understand his frustration, but I have found a home in the north and friends, and there is need of valiant deeds there as well. He will just have to learn to understand, in time, I hope." Imril gazed away back up the road northward. "Plus there is something more there that draws me back....and I must return." Felixzarn smiled at this, the knowing smile of man struck by Hanali's bow. "Well then on your way, you have gotten what you came for, a package and knowledge of your kin, both of which are in good hands."

    Imril remounted his horse, tucking the package into his bags and pulling forth a bottle of green glass wrapped in twine. "Here is your first payment for your troubles dear friend, drink it and be well....I shall send more I swear it. Corellon keep you!" With that Imril turned his horse northward again. "Same to you! And Hanali guide your Heart my friend, be well!" Felixzarn called to his diminishing form on the horizon.


  • The cool night air washed over Imril as he stood at the window of the upper floor room at the Mermaid. He looked out over the Jewel, its streets, its docks, its homes and shops, now bulging with refugees. The night was a glow with the twinkling of a thousand fires, as the displaced of Norwick and the Valley tried to get by for another evening, huddled into shelters, tents, and camps all over the City.

    The light of the numerous fires shining in the night mirrored the stars in the sky above. A clear night, and a bright moon shone overhead.

    The moon….a quick shiver runs through Imril as he remembers the night before last, in the Commons, when he had first laid eyes on her....

    A quick stab of Anger, followed by a dull guilt, finally giving way to an unsure feeling of happiness mixed with forbidden desire rushed through him. "Why!" he said out loud to the night air, "Why did she have to be so....charming, and ......enjoyable!" He slammed his fist to the window sill. "Why could she not be like all the others, hateful, cruel and evil. It would make things so much less difficult." He mumbled to himself as his emotions ran round in circles of guilt and happiness once more.

    "Perhaps Ama'bael is right, maybe one can look beyond the sum of their parts, and change....for the better?" He thought to himself, looking to the moon. "And she does have excellent taste in wine...." he mused as an impish grin came to his face unknowingly. "Besides, you are getting ahead of yourself...you could very well never even see her again. It maybe a moot point, you've been here for 2 years already and never seen her till now...who knows were this will go." Again he thought, secretly knowing were he wanted it to go, but daring not to mention it or think it consciously.

    His thoughts turned back to the city in an effort to push her from his mind. "It is similar to the City of Song, and the Fall....all the races, forced into one place. Desperate against an overwhelming foe, panicked at the lost that is before them." He sighed. "I thought it my call to fight and fall in my homeland to retake what was lost. But it seems The Protector has need of such skills here as well. History, repeats itself, I must help see that the outcome does not."

    He closed the window and walked back into the room, his thoughts turning to the intriguing elven woman he had recently met, and who seem to occupy his mind now.


  • The winds of change blew through the tree tops in the woods west of the road between Peltarch and Norwick. A chill was still in the air, but the high winds moaning in the treetops signaled change…soon, spring would be here.

    There was already a messy mix of snow, slush, water, and mud which covered parts of the forest floor. If one listened closely they might have heard the loud splash of a booted foot breaking through a thin icy cover and into one of these puddles. “Son of a one eared Drow…” the curse floated on the breeze through the forest like a leaf, left over from last fall. A rather fine looking boot of dark reddish brown leather was pulled out of the muddy hole.

    Imril bent down and begin to clean the boot as best he could with dried leaves from the forest floor. “I knew I should have worn my deerskin wraps….” He thought to himself, as he reminisced on the boots, and how his mother, one of the most respected seamstresses in Evereska had made them for him before he left on the Crusade. “I wonder how everything is at home….I hope mother and father are well”…the thoughts of his mother had turned his mind to home. “I have not heard from them since the news of my Grandmother….I wonder if they are preparing for the Run as I am here?” He said this last part aloud, to no one but the woods.

    Picking himself up, he moved on, once he had cleaned his boot as well as he could manage. Moving through the trees he walked about looking from side to side, until he found what he sought. “Ah…here is a likely spot!” he thought as he moved over to a grove of about 5-6 maple trees, all within 15-20 yards of each other, shielded around by a ring of pines. He moved up to the largest one and tapped its base, as he put his ear to the bark and listened. After a moment he whispered “you are a mighty old elder of the grove, and I can hear you waking up, it is almost time for your Run to begin…if you would, I ask that I might benefit from your life’s blood. As we sustain each other with our breath, let us drink and eat of your sweet bounty. I swear by Corellon’s Star, to take no more than I need or is harmful to you.”

    With his prayer, or pledge completed. He stood back from the huge maples trunk and began to sweep away some of the dead leaves, to make a clearing suitable for a fire. Stacking logs and dead fall into a neat pile of firewood, and covering it all over with old bark to keep it dry for later.

    “Yes, I have no doubt mother & father and sister & brother are doing this same thing….in Everseka, or perhaps even back in Coramanthyr now!” He thought with a smile, “it is tradition, and father will see that it happens, no matter what, or where we are. That is why I must perform the tradition of the Run and the Sugaring here…in this far land.” Imril sighed, but a happy sigh of contentment. “I hope some of the others will help me, it is always better to pass the long hours of boiling with others in camp to talk to. Plus I will need help keeping the fires going, and hunting for food, and stirring the sap to syrup and the syrup to sugar…not to mention hauling all the kettles out here.” A gust of wind blew through the grove shaking the branches; Imril could smell the breath of the south on its airs. “It will not be long now, a week maybe, before the run is in full swing.” He turned to leave the grove, having tried to mark its location on a piece of parchment.

    A twig fell near him as he turned; he froze, listening, as the creaking in the branches took on a rhythmic regular pattern. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, as his other swung the shield hanging over his back into position.

    As the shield slid around and up his left arm a small series of gears on the back side automatically tightened it into place on his forearm. This tightening device leaving his left hand free to still hold things, or move his fingers in the somatic components of a spell if needed. The shield had been a reward for services rendered to a Gnomish crafter from the Valley a few weeks ago. Imril was quite pleased with its use thus far, as it made it much easier to Channel the Weave while wearing it.

    Imril side stepped and looked up to where the branch had fallen from. His face was mirrored in a thousand facets of eight large bulbous eyes. The hunting forest spider was in the lower branches of the mighty Maple, maybe 20-30 feet up. As Imril looked upon it, before it had a chance to pounce, it spat a glob of sticky thread at him. Raising his shield to cover his face the webbing fell about him, rooting his feet to the ground. The spider, thinking its meal caught began to descend the tree. But it had not counted on its pray having more forms of defense than just the stinger it could see in its one hand. Letting the sword fall, Imril began intoning words he had committed to memory, practiced over and over a hundred times, till their pronunciation and diction were exact. The shield, effortlessly strapped to his forearm did not hinder his gesturing in the least. As he finished his arm extended, two fingers pointing at the large spider, outshot white hot rays of force, trailing stars as they flew from his fingers to the spider. There was a loud thud as they impacted, and two small bursts of light. The spider fell from its position 15 feet up the trunk of the tree, landing on its back in a daze. With one fluid motion Imril recovered his sword and slashed the webbing, freeing himself. He strode up to the dying spider, and dispatched it with a quick thrust, wiping the green blood on the grass and snow before sheathing his blade.

    He turned, his back to the grove and headed off to the east back toward the road….musing as he did, ”I hope the others come, I will need help, and this is an occasion to be shared…with family…”


  • A sigh, ….of contentment, of frustration, of longing? It could be anyone of these emotions, or all of them together.

    The sigh broke the silence of the peaceful late afternoon, as the lone figure peered out upon the lands to the south from atop the battlements of Peltarch's south gate. The figure, an elf, dressed in fine clothes with a red cape, golden hair cropped at the shoulders almost matching his golden skin tone. A half crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

    Imril sighed again.....and raised the paper to his eyes once more, rereading the fine elven script written there once more, taking in every word:

    _To my Dearest Son,

    I must say that I am still reeling a bit from the news we received from Master Dumarcil. When he told your mother and I that you had run off to the North I thought he had made a mistake, as these actions could not be those of my ever dutiful and obedient first born son. Once he assured us it was you, and after I payed to have your location scryed out, we came to accept the fact that you had abandoned your position with the Crusade in Myth Drannor in favor of this frivolous jaunt to the north.

    We would not have known you had gone, assuming you still to be in Coramanthor, if not for the fact that we needed to speak with you on a grave personal matter, which is why we sought you out and discovered your absence from the Army at Myth Drannor.

    I hope this letter finds you in time, and that you can arrange a means of returning here soon. Your Grandmother has passed on….

    She went on to Arvandor just before the winter solstice celebrations. All our house is greatly greived at the lose of Matriarch, your mother most of all, but we are happy she has found peace with the Coronal of Arvandor.

    Please return home if you can, as swiftly as possible, so you may be here to help us lay her to rest.

    Your Father._

    He crumpled the letter again in his fist, fighting back the well of emotions that plunged over him as he read the words of it.

    But even though he fought back tears, he was not certain they were tears of sorrow. His grandmother had lived a long and happy life, she had been head of his house hold, and Matriarch for many years. She was well respected, and had sired 4 sons and daughters, including Imril's mother, 13 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. She had always been an extremely devout worshiper of Corellon, Imril had no doubt in his mind she was at peace, and happy now.

    He thought back on his time in this land of the Nars since he first arrived from the Crusade, and its own bitter sweet memories. There had been hardship, and trying times, but there had also been joy, and new friends, and a chance for him to make a name for himself and to learn and train. Things were looking up he thought, his training in the Art progressed well, he was beginning to know the lay of the land more and he had made some fast friends…some he would give his life for if the need arose.

    He knew his Grandmother would understand these things, and forgive him if he was not present at her entombing....she had always been very independent and spoke her mind often. Besides, Imril mused, she was with him always and everywhere now.

    With that he let the letter settle in the hot coals of a brazier upon the battlement, and watched as it smoked and the flames consumed it. Softly he spoke "Hei Corellon, watch over your faithful servant, and guider her swiftly to your halls, like an arrow loosed from the bow toward the sun, grant her peace, and may your light always be upon her..." before he turned and strode back into the city.