The Crossroads...
-
Tanin leaned back in his chair, watching Meril leave. He sighed quietly to himself, his gaze quickly passing over the room before he pushed his chair back and stood up. The weather had eased some, but the wind still snatched at him as he pushed open the door to the inn. It bothered him not for Tanin was not in the mood to be inside - he had only gone in when he saw Meril enter, seeking the chance to talk with the bard.
Wind at his heels, he slowly climbed the slope, finding the spot upon the bluff overlooking the village where he had spent most of his time in the past few days. He had never been melancholy by nature, although days and weeks spent alone in the wilderness could make anyone reflective. However in the past few days, things had felt different. Dying would do that to anyone.
His memory was like a sheet of glass that had been broken in one particular spot. Smooth elsewhere, whenever his mind roamed to the events of a few days back it quickly became confused, running into the gaping hole. He tried to make sense of the shattered, scattered shards of his memory but it was next to useless. What things he could remember seemed out of order, no common sequence to tie them all together. It was that as much as anything that had driven him to find Meril. The bard had been there, after all. Had seen him die, and helped bring his body back, helped bring him back to life.
And it was the truth of what had happened that gave him pause now. Even as he fell, Solonor - in whose footsteps he had trod for near 100 years - had intervened on Eluriel's behalf and saved her from death. Tanin did not begrudge Eluriel her life, far from it. And yet, the truth of it gnawed at him. And so he had not called on his healing spells in days, nor Solonor's blessings upon his hunt. He felt… abandoned. And that together with his exposed weakness left him feeling uncertain as to his path.
So he stood on the bluff, ignoring the wind and the cold. Thinking, thinking.
-
He turned the last page of the vellum, trying hard to focus on the words to distract himself from the fact he had sold one of the blades today. It was a step that had a feeling of finality to it. One blade remained, but he knew in his heart that the matched pair would never be his together again. The book was interesting in and of itself, a treatise on protective magic that he knew he had to understand. There was another piece of reading to be done, regarding use of fire, but that would wait.
His muscles had a dull ache from working the longsword in practice, but it was a familiar ache now. His movements had become more deft, the rhythm of fighting with a longer, heavier blade coming back to him with time. He could even maneuvere it together with the shield reasonably well now. There was a difference in style, that much was certain. Whereas before he had used his matched blades, trusting in the frequency of attack and his dexterity to carry him through, now he was training again in the ways he had learned as a child, before the wild had begun its call to him.
The page faded away before his eyes as he momentarily recalled the few days past when he had met that dwarf, Maythor. Tanin had been standing in Jiyyd, practicing with the blade when the dwarf had approached him. The next thing Tanin knew, he was in a cave off the central plains battling orcs. He had gone back and forth between the longsword and his usual short blades that day, but at least he had been able to show the longsword some use. The longsword he had right now wasn't a particularly good weapon, but it had been cheap and solid enough to practice with at least.
He blinked hard, realising that his concentration had gone entirely. Tanin muttered a curse at himself in elven. He had much work to do, much to learn. And he could afford to waste no time.
-
The scale mail rustled softly as he moved, the longsword in his right hand lashing out at the practice dummy in a sweeping blow. Everything felt strange to him - the metal armor, the blade which was significantly longer than his usual shortswords - and yet he forged on regardless. Even walking felt strange to a child at first, and yet they only leard to walk by doing it. And it was not as though he had not grown up learning the use of the longsword. It was just the long years in between when he had slowly grown more and more partial to the long knife and shortswords that were more befitting of a ranger's lifestyle. He danced back, then stepped in thrusting at the dummy and mentally smiling as the blade hit home smoothly.
He was committed now. Last eve he had sold his treasured leathers to a druid by name of Oreth. Leathers he knew he could not replace without great difficulty. Word was spreading of the blades he now also aimed to sell, and soon those too might be gone. But he was stronger now than he had been a week ago when he bought the cheap blade from the weaponsmith. For so many years he had focused so much on his dexterity and speed, and now he was paying the price for it with aching muscles. But that pain would fade in time as he trained, he knew. And besides, there was no turning back from the path he had chosen now.
The wizardy was coming back to him more easily than he had expected however. He had forgotten everything it seemed with his death. But reading had quickly prompted scattered memories he had assumed lost, and he had high hopes for his abilities in that area. He swung again at the dummy, connecting with a loud thud and smiled inwardly. Perhaps he might make something of a spellsword after all. Perhaps.
Only time would tell.
-
The rain was a welcome relief despite its cold. Blood was scattered liberally about the place as everyone milled together near where the elemental had finally died. Healers moved among the wounded, patching them up as best they could while everyone discussed just what had taken place. Tanin knew enough that he'd made a decision.
He walked about the square, looking for arrows that had remained intact from their firing. Solonor knew he had fired enough of them at that elemental, and yet he had done no damage. Likewise his blades had not impacted the creature at all. In truth, he had been nothing more than a distraction, and a poor one at that. The last few minutes had shown him much about himself that he could no longer deny. He was a fine ranger, perhaps amongst the best that Narfell had. And yet in spirit he was not truly a ranger any more.
Narfell had changed much, grown more dangerous. That in and of itself was not the problem - it was the way it had grown more dangerous. Magic had always been there, once even springing from the well in Norwick's center. But now with the crystals, elementals, demons… he could do nothing against these things. Arrow after arrow had shattered against the elemental's invisible armors. He had shot as quickly and accurately as ever, and yet he had almost died.
Gathering up the few unbroken shafts, Tanin placed them in his quiver and walked out the gate into the woods. An hour later he had set up a small camp, snares set to warn him against unwanted visitors. A small, sheltered fire gave of some warmth, but did little to ease the chill he felt inside. He must rededicate himself. Nature had been his guide, Solonor lighting his path for so long. But now, even though his healing still worked he felt sundered, apart from the divinity behind what powers he could command. He had begun to study the arcane back in Silverymoon during the years he had been gone. Upon his return he had even mastered some arcane spells, albiet ones of a lower order than a true mage could weave. With his death that little progress had been lost, the words of magic slipping from his memory like water from a broken jug. He would have to change that if he wished to be able to make a difference.
He rested his hands on the grips of his two short swords, pulling them slowly from their sheathes. The metal shone in the firelight, making patterns on the blades. They were beautiful, crafted for him in Silverymoon by a master smith. He glanced across the fire at the finely made leather armor that lay waiting some minor mending. That as much as anything was a symbol for everything he had once been. And did not feel he could be any longer. It was the armor of a man in harmony with nature, a man who could handle some trouble in times of peace. And peace was gone. It was time for Tanin to go to war.
