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Elf
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[https://images.nightcafe.studio/jobs/fUH3FGvs6fAeuB9PC4VC/fUH3FGvs6fAeuB9PC4VC--1--5qmw7.jpg?tr=w-750,c-at_max]
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Something was wrong.
Hemlock could feel it.
It wasn’t a bad feeling per se. It wasn’t a good feeling either. It was a feeling that something had changed. It was a certain smell in the air, or like a buzz in his ears he couldn’t quite shake off no matter how hard he tried not to focus on it. Going for a walk to alleviate his boredom, as it turned out, was paying dividends.
Not that he knew what those were.
He simply followed these sensations.
Annoying as they might have been, they were, however, curious.
Something he hasn’t ever experienced before. And for a young man of his stature, halfway through his second century, it was hard to find things he could say for certain he hadn’t experienced before. Never mind something he hadn’t experienced here, in his homeland of the Wood Clan.
The Greenhold was… well… green.
There were leaves.
There was grass.
And there was moss.
Covering every inch of the forest which he and his Clan called home, it was also the home of many other creatures. Like the Goblins who lived under the shadow of the Titanshrooms to the far north. Or the delicate Fairies who made their homes in the Upper Gardens to the south, sheltered by the massive walls of spines.
Hemlock had seen them.
He’d seen them fifty years ago.
And he’d seen them over a hundred years ago.
The sensations he got from them remained the same. Goblins were a sour taste on the back of his tongue, like fruits from a shrub that were left on the sun for too long. Being around them was unpleasant, and their crude ways of life made it difficult for anything short of passive acknowledgement possible between their people.
The fairies were preferable… yet whimsical.
If Goblins were sour, then Fairies were a sickening sweetness which overpowered everything else. At first you found it pleasant, but stay too long around them and you grow sick of their presence. At least with the Goblins you could develop a resistance to it, and some of his kind had grown… accustomed to it.
How they did that, Hemlock would never know.
But Fairies, or the Flower Clan, just had a presence that overpowered you no matter how much you tried to resist. Many of his clansmen cut contact all together with the Fairies, and others avoided them at all costs.
Hemlock didn’t blame them.
But that only made this befuddling predicament even more frustrating. This feeling, this… strange omen that had taken a hold of him wasn’t something he could put a finger on. It was on the tip of his tongue but the words to describe it completely evaded his normal eloquence no matter how hard he tried.
Crack
Hemlock pressed his back against a nearby tree.
Movement.
‘Something is passing by?’ Heart beating against his chest, the Wood Elf took a deep steadying breath, the noise of a twig breaking might as well have been a mighty oak toppling over in his mind. Sweaty hands pressed against the bark in reassurance, the feeling of the forest and its creatures, the natural connection that the Wood Clan possessed to those felt disrupted.
As if something rippled across the once perfectly calm surface of a pond.
There was another crack.
The presence, whatever it was, was moving away.
The elf didn’t think twice about following. Elves were curious folk. They couldn’t help it with how long they lived. The possibility of something new. Something he hadn’t experienced yet, drove him to approach the presence from his hiding spot, feet carefully gliding over the soft dirt of the forest floor with practiced ease.
He didn’t want to spook whatever this was.
‘I feel like a young man again.’ He couldn’t help but chuckle.
Sneaking through the trees like a boy half his own age, looking for strange insects to show to his friends or wild berries to feed his little sister as a prank. She’d held a grudge for decades that one time he ruined her dress with a tragically placed ball of mud, and he was sure she was just waiting for him to forget about it to pay him back.
Give it another decade or so.
‘Slowly… carefully.’
He hadn’t meant to sneak around the forest for a long time. Most creatures of the Greenhold knew the Wood Clan by sight and knew they didn’t mean harm. But whatever this was might not recognize him either.
So it paid to be careful.
The sounds had stopped, but the feeling remained the same.
‘They probably stopped.’ Peering over the edge of a thick bush, the elf could finally make out the shape of the… being he’d sensed earlier. Not a beast like he’d originally thought, its form was very much similar to that of his own people. It wasn’t hunched over with longer gangly limbs like the Goblins.
Nor was it small and lithe, with the see through wings of the Flower Clan.
But that was as far as he could make out.
Dressed in a covering of polished metal, it was impossible to see their face. Though he could see a layer of thick cloth beneath the armor and a bit of skin in areas where both coverings didn’t overlap very well. Sitting against the trunk of a nearby tree, it seemed to be resting if the steady rise and fall of its chest was any indication.
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Almost like the small statues that peddlers would often put up for trade.
Standing so close to it… Hemlock finally understood what that distressing feeling was.
Nothing.
Devoid of taste or color or smell.
This… creature covered head to toe in metal could not be an elf, at least no elf of the Greenhold could ever stoop to touching, let alone carrying this much metal. Not when they could render the bark of trees into sharp blades, and the lowest of seeds into the sharpest arrowheads. A walking void like this one, covered in metal, with a sword strapped to its side and a presence that felt like a hole had been shredded into the fabric of Hemlock’s home…
‘It’s dangerous.’ Swallowing dryly, the elf stepped backwards.
He’d left his bow at home.
His daggers too.
Curse his recklessness, this was meant to be a simple walkaround.
But it was fine. He hadn’t been noticed, of that he was sure. And if he wasn’t noticed then there was more than enough time to head back and warn the others about this bewildering creature before anyone else was drawn to it. If they were lucky, it would continue on its way and leave the forest altogether.
Just being near it felt… wrong.
Like he couldn’t feel anything at all from the world around them.
“Are you done gawking at me?”
Hemlock started, looking over his shoulder. The creature had slightly turned, its emotionless facade tilting to the side as it seemed to look at the bushes… and right at him. And even though he couldn’t see its eyes, the elf knew that it was looking right through the cover and straight at him.
“Done hiding?”
Hemlock swallowed dryly.
He was sure he hadn’t gotten so rusty that he couldn’t perfectly hide his presence, especially amidst the greenery of his own home. There was no way he could have been noticed. Else, why would this thing let an unknown stranger approach it from behind? Unless… it knew he was there the whole time?
And if it could somehow sense him… then Hemlock running would just lead it back to his village.
‘Pinecones.’ He cursed.
“Well?”
Ugh, even its voice was grating on his ears.
“How did you know?” Standing up from his perch, the elf felt his own blood cool in his veins. He’d said that facing the unknown was something he wanted, but right now it was decidedly looking less like an adventure and more like an impending danger.
“You are… an elf?”
And why did it sound so surprised?
Finding elves in this forest was common sense! Didn’t he even know whose forest he was skulking about? His people had been living here for generations, far longer than most clans could even trace their roots. Of course you’d find an elf in the Greenhold.
“Do you have any problems with that, stranger?”
Truthfully, he wouldn't be surprised if this... creature had some kind of distaste for his Clan. It would explain the awful feeling of nothing emanating from it, at least.
The creature on the iron husk waved him off.
“Nothing like that, no. I was surprised to see one of you, is all. Ain’t nobody told me there’d be any of your folks here.” The same note of wonder seemed to color his voice, it seemed to be a male, though Hemlock wasn’t one to assume such things it would be better than to keep referring to this being as if it was a thing.
“A passerby, then?”
It, no, he nodded.
“Something like that. Got lost on my way to the next town. These woods are easy to get lost in.”
‘Not for an elf’ Hemlock snorted.
The man in armor chuckled.
“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t have any trouble getting around.”
What, did it… he read minds too?
“You seem confident for someone who didn’t even know there were elves here.”
“Don’t need to know you to figure you were making fun of me. It’s written all over that smug mug of yours.”
Hemlock decided he didn’t like this stranger after all.
Not one bit.
It didn’t seem to be an enemy… not yet. But at the same time Hemlock would very much like to be ridden of its… his revolting presence before he started getting sick. This lack of awareness was proving to be even harder to withstand than the all encompassing overload that was spending time with the fairies.
“Well now, I suppose you wouldn’t happen to know the way out of here, would you?"
Out?
Out to where?
The Greenhold was spread over as far as the eye could see, miles upon miles of his people’s beautiful territory. Unless he meant to go to another clan’s territory. Which at least would be one less headache to worry about.
“Depends on where you wish to go… Mister?”
“Ghoti.”
“Mr. Ghoti then. I’m afraid you’re quite deep into the Greenhold. It would take days, if not a full week of travel to find your way out of the forest. I could guide you but I’m afraid there won’t be any such thing as towns close by.”
The man went silent.
Hemlock’s curiosity peaked, however.
This…
Wasn’t this what he was after? Something new to break up the monotony. Sure it came in the form of a frustrating unknown creature covered in iron like one of those insufferable dwarves, but it didn’t seem to mean him any harm beyond the grating lack of presence. As if it weren’t even alive.
Hemlock pushed down the urge to wretch.
“Ya okay over there, Eartips?”
E-Eartips?!
“I beg your pardon.” He tried to keep the annoyance from his voice. Truly. His Clan were known for being courteous and pleasant, he’d be caught dead before anyone accused him of acting like a troll or an orc. This… armored creature just made it very hard not to.
“Well, you haven’t exactly told me your name.”
So he didn’t.
Which… wasn’t very courteous at all.
Pinecones.
“Hemlock.”
The creature hummed in thought.
“Like the-”
“Yes, like the plant. Please refrain from using such demeaning epithets for my person in the future.” There, that was as well mannered as he possibly could manage.
“Yeah, sure. Still, you going to help me?”
The elf sighed.
It would be infinitely frustrating, but at least he’d be guiding the strange man away from elf territory. Keeping this… individual from interacting with others of his kind was an endeavor worthy of his time. At least then he wouldn’t find his way to other villages, and instead go bother the Goblins or the Fairies.
“I suppose I will. If only to keep you from dying on our doorstep.”
Who knew what sorts of plagues it would bring if it died in the forest.
Ghoti stood from his perch, armor rattling lightly as he patted his legs. The weight of the armor must have been considerable and hemlock wondered what the man looked like underneath all the metal and cloth.
Probably something hideous.
“You coming, Eartips?”
Hemlock already deeply regretted this decision.