Old is the man, at his end
Wiser than all, in his head
Pondering his life, if he did his best
To pave the way, before his rest
For whom is the heir, of East End...
Sings the elderly man to himself as he makes his way down the pathway through the woods. Lush green are the leaves of the trees, their bark as brown as sod, and the wind as gentle as could be. For this forest is unlike any other, the roots here are older than any kingdom that remains, however, they do not compare in age with the old man who travels the trail to Vinare; within the lands of the southern elves. Curious as it may seem, the southern elves do not, however, reside in the south of the Hearthlands at all. Instead, they are referred to as such as being they are the southernmost of their kind. The lands of Elklore, to be precise, and the branches the elderly man strolls under, along with the large overgrown roots he steps over; are of course the trees of Elderwood. Old are the trees of this enchanted forest, even more in years is the elderly man, as you will come to learn. For, he is no ordinary man, but a wizard. Dressed in a rather raggedy blue cloak, which has seen its fair share of trouble, the spellcaster ceases his tunes as he approaches the gates of Vinare. Beautiful is ill compared to the sight of this town, the elves pride themselves in their long life, therefore, they spend their time carefully sculpting their walls, keeps, and even streets with remarkable artistry. They put to use the waterfalls that give refreshment to their lips, and dare not to cut down as many trees as possible. Instead, they building inside them. Now, these elves are not to be confused with any imp, for their size is of that reaching greater than man, yet, lesser than orcs, ogres, giants, and even heirlites. Not only are the elves rather tall in size, but they are quite thin and linky as well. They graze upon the luscious fruits and greens of their lands, some even take a liking to nipping strips of bark of the trees, which they often use as rations on long journeys. Not that the elves venture too far from their lands, for they prefer to keep to themselves, avoiding the chaos of the world. Though, from time to time, there are some of elvish kin that have been known to traverse the great waters to the east of their lands. The Sodden Sea, it is named, for the waters there are entirely murky and at times reek worse than an ogre's stench.
Then a voice calls aloud, "Greetings Master Airion, what a pleasant surprise," says an elf slightly shorter than the wizard. Then, the old man replies, "Ahh! Lord Elyon, what brings such high authority to Vinare? I hath expected you to be at your kingdom in Elklore," he questions. The elven king continues his stroll through the town's market, "I could ask you the same, one would expect a wizard of your stature to be handling important matters for The Order, instead you are here in Vinare," he says as he places down a fruit from a merchant's stock. The wizard seems disappointed, "Yes, well, The Order and I see certain matters differently of the current events," the elf king becomes a bit more interested. "Ah, and what matters might those be," he asks curiously. "Hobbits buying goblin slaves from Somberland, Dwarves turning to witchcraft in Spores, and you ask what brings me to Vinare, well, I hear there is to be a wedding at Elklore between a knight from North Guard and your daughter Lyra," the old man rants on and then finishes with a questioning tone. "Ah yes, the wedding! That is what brings me here as well, I am collecting the finest crops for the occasion; would you wish to attend?" he asks the wizard in alight tone. "As much as a wedding would please an old man as myself, I cannot but wonder is there some sort of sinister plot behind this wedding of man and elf blood?" the wizard becomes straight forward with the elven king, whom only pretends to be insulted, "Master Airion! This is a peaceful and lovely turn of events between my kind and the kingdom of men at Fallor, much peace will become of this; and peace is good wouldn't you agree?" he ends with confidence. "Yes, good it is," the old man replies with a subtle yet very concerned expression.
Suddenly, an elf standing aside the two makes his appearance known, "My lord," he says skittishly. The two then turn their heads, "Word from Fallor," the elf adds on as he hands Lord Elyon an unopened scroll. "Well?" the wizard asks after a short moment, "They wish to postpone the wedding! Apparently a dwarf has been murdered in Mirkshire and the Dwarven King of Alenor has declared war on Fallor over the matter," replies the elven king. The two lay silent for a moment and then the wizard grows in seriousness, "I must figure out what happened," he says, "Where will you go!" the elven king asks in a shout as the old man wanders off, "To Fallor!" the wizard replies and returns to the trees of Elkwood. Tree passing tree, root over root, the wizard hurries his on his way; not in the direction of Fallor, however, but to a secret place; of old and ruin. A place of forgotten masonry, marked with divine powers in Magi Script carved into the stones. Eight large boulders, with vines blanketing them is what lies here, a portal it is, one aof many spread out across the Hearthlands; only able to be used by the abilities of a wizard. Master Airion enters the middle of the stones, takes his staff and draws out a circle around him in the dirt, and mumbles strange words known would understand. Flames of blue begin to spark around him, and the sound of trees growing is all he can hear beyond his words. Then finally, he shoots opens his eyes that shine sas blue as the sea, and sparkle like a dragon's gemstone. "Fallor," he says, and within a blink of an eye he vanishes.
Gracias por leer!
Podemos mantener a Inkspired gratis al mostrar publicidad a nuestras visitas. Por favor, apóyanos poniendo en “lista blanca” o desactivando tu AdBlocker (bloqueador de publicidad).
Después de hacerlo, por favor recarga el sitio web para continuar utilizando Inkspired normalmente.