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Green.
Green as far as the eye could see.
Lime green. Moss green. Forest green.
The Forest of the Elves, Greenhold, was called that for a reason. The vibrant leaves and grasses that covered their home also served as its namesake. A color that completely dominated the background and spread from one end of the horizon to the other. As if the forest was a singular entity.
At least, that’s what they were taught.
Sages and hunters loved green.
It represented balance to them. A sign that everything was as it should be.
From the great trees where they built their homes, to the beautiful gardens where they grew their food, and the farther away fields where their animals lounged about comfortably. The Woods Clan valued this peaceful existence above all else.
Basil, however, had his own opinions.
“Ah, too much moss. Not enough lime.”
It was hard, being an artist in the Greenhold.
When the entire landscape was a variation of a single color, even the most patient and mellow painter would tear their hair out in frustration as they struggled to create something that wasn’t wholly consumed by their environment.
Truly, what did he expect?
It was hard, painting things he didn’t have a frame of reference for.
He never left the Greenhold. He hadn’t seen the beautiful carved cities of the Dwarves, or the blood red deserts to the far north. He hadn’t seen the endless blue of the ocean or the stark white snow of the Winterhold to the south. Though he would have loved journeying to those far off places… he was still far too young.
A teenager barely past their first century going on a journey?
He’d be grounded for the next hundred years if he brought it up.
So Basil did the next best thing.
He offered to stand guard at the entrance of the village.
‘Beats standing around doing nothing.’ And hey, he was looking for inspiration so it wasn’t like this was a waste of time. Maybe if he were lucky he might catch sight of one of those colorful birds and their bright plumage. That would certainly spice up this droll, eternally green canvas.
Closing his eyes, Basil let his mind wonder.
Drifting through the currents of mana as the forest breathed in, and then out.
It was a simple exercise, expanding one’s awareness of the world by learning to understand how mana connected all living things. From the lowest insect to the grand birds of prey who nested atop the Mother Tree, all were connected, and this flow of mana allowed them to see and understand one another.
‘Hmm. Seems like someone is coming.’
He recognized the older man by his smell.
Freshly ground herbs.
Hemlock was… a strange one. By no means lesser, the man was on the cusp of adulthood yet saw no need to leave his shack, content to grind out medicines, or skulk the woods for whatever rare plant he dedicated himself to studying for the week. Basil couldn’t help but feel rather put out by the man.
But it would be improper of him to voice it.
‘According to the logs… he left yesterday in the morning.’ He checked the notes left behind by the previous lookout. Not at all artistic, the letter felt like they had been hastily scrawled onto the parchment.
What a waste of perfectly good ink.
It was a bit uncommon for Hemlock to stay out this long.
Had something happened? No elf would ever get lost in their home, of course, but there could be all sorts of other reasons for them to get sidetracked. Which meant he’d have to go out there and see if he needed help.
‘Who knows, maybe he’ll have something interesting to show.’
He wasn’t holding his breath, though.
It was Hemlock, after all.
Taking a deep breath, Basil walked out of the lookout point, climbing down the stairs which had been painstakingly carved on the side of a massive tree as the older elf’s familiar presence drew nearer. The sensation carried forth by the currents of mana being all too familiar even to a young elf.
Only there was… something off.
‘What is this feeling?’
Basil didn’t taste mana like some of the other elves. He didn’t listen to it either. Mana was tied to all of his senses, but in this case, the one he was most accustomed to was sight, being a painter, he could see the swirl of greens in the wind as the mana deepened with the approach of his clansman.
Before suddenly stopping.
The colors, so vivid and bright, seemingly vanished.
Basil stumbled bad, reeling from the sudden… void. The colors he was so used to dimming as the world grew less and less vivid, life itself draining away as the crunching of steps echoed on his ears, branches parting as a duo walked out of the treeline and into the village’s entrance.
One of them was Hemlock.
‘Is he though?’ Basil squinted his eyes at the familiar-looking elf.
It was so… hard to make out someone without the colors of their mana, he might as well have been looking at a walking corpse. Breath catching on his throat as the second figure walked into view and Basil’s vision swam.
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It was… nothing.
A walking void. Something that was there and not, see through like a ghost. But that wasn’t right, even spirits were supposed to have mana.
Mana was more than power.
Mana was life.
And this… thing didn’t have any. A walking suit of armor, smooth metal plates linking together to form something that should have been alive, but didn’t look like it. To Basil, he might as well have been looking at empty air, his mind struggling to understand what was it that he was looking at.
“He doesn’t look well, Eartips.”
The voice felt… dissonant.
Both there and not. It made Basil’s head hurt.
“He doesn’t look well, Eartips.”
Was he? He didn’t get it. The world seemed so different, but the same. The colors seemed to bleed out, the vivid greens and browns of the forest becoming lifeless without the mana he’d come to associate with them since he was born.
“Pinecones. Basil. Little one, stop looking at him.”
Basil didn’t understand.
What was… that… thing?
“He’s going to faint.”
The colors finally drained away completely… and darkness claimed him.
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“Told you he was going to faint.”
Hemlock rushed over, arms wrapping around the swooning young elf as he nearly hit his head against a stray rock, wincing at the rather… violent reaction. A completely unintended result, of course. He hadn’t expected someone so young to be manning the outpost while he was away.
Errors, obviously, had been made.
“Is he okay?”
His companion jogged over to them, still as much of a frustrating void on Hemlock’s senses as before.
Though a bearable one.
“Yes, he simply had a shock.”
“Clearly.” The armored man sighed, putting the boy’s arm over his shoulder.
Truthfully, Hemlock should have seen this coming. If his reaction to meeting the… human… was to try and run away, he should have expected something similar. Though one couldn’t fault him for not expecting a child barely through his teenage years to be the first one to meet them.
It was a miscalculation
Carrying Basil inside was easy between the two of them.
Well, it was mostly Ghoti doing the hard work. He seemed all too willing to do the heavy lifting.
“Will he be okay?”
Hemlock smiled, touched by the concern.
“He is young. It was just a.. nasty shock. You can be quite a striking figure, Mr. Ghoti.”
The man in armor tilted his head.
“Is that so? I’m far from the most intimidating guy.”
Sighing, Hemlock helped lay down the younger elf across the small bed inside the watchtower. Putting his thoughts together. How could he explain to someone that they hurt you by just… being there? It was obviously something his companion couldn’t control. Or if he did, it was likely to be some sort of defensive measure. Perhaps a feature of the armor he had yet to take off.
He hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask about it… yet.
“Elves have… a different way to seeing the world, Mr. Gothi. Our sight, our hearing, all of our senses really, are connected to our ability to sense mana. As far as I can tell, however, you don’t have any.”
The human stiffened in place, understanding dawning on him.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. When we first met, I was certain I was dealing with a walking corpse, or some sort of walking curse. For us, mana is the bridge that connects all living things.”
His companion sighed.
“Not all of them, it would seem.”
Hemlock nodded, placing a pillow beneath the younger elf’s head.
“Yes, that is something I had a full day to get used to. And it didn’t completely overwhelm me because I am an adult.” Barely considered one, but an adult nonetheless. Now, at least, he knew how others might react to the human’s presence. It was a shock to see someone alive, but without any mana.
To them, it was a paradox.
“I… don’t suppose the lack of mana is something you can do something about?”
Gothi shook his head.
“Afraid not. My people… don’t do well with mana.”
That still didn’t make any sense to him, but he had already seen the human was capable of impressive physical feats. Obviously there must have been more to it than plain muscle power, but if it wasn’t something they could perceive then it wouldn’t make any difference in how his people might react to the human.
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
The elf reached for a nearby cabinet, pulling out a small package and a teapot.
“You can get this started for me. I’ll have to send a message so nobody panics when he fails to come back from his shift.” It was also an easy way to get the man in armor away for a couple minutes so he could think of a better plan. Because obviously he’d made a mistake just showing up with him.
Granted, as far as first impressions went this wasn’t so bad.
The village wasn’t up in arms preparing for an attack.
When Gothi left for the breakroom, Hemlock leaned back against the wall of the tree-carved room. The human’s presence fading in the distance, finally allowing the elf to breath in and feel the flow of mana properly. The bussing in his ears disappearing as the familiar ‘sound’ of the currents filled the void.
Mana was… everything.
It allowed them to communicate. To understand each other.
It was life.
‘It is power.’ raising his hand, Hemlock allowed a few droplets of power to seep through his skin, floating aimlessly like bubbles, he watched with relief as the scattered drops of mana in the air coalesced around them, feeding into his own mana to form a much larger sphere of almost liquid energy.
This wasn’t something you could do on the run.
No easily.
It wasn’t something he practiced with, having only learnt the basics of Manacraft from his tutor. But the basics was all he needed to send a message. The liquid mana in his veins absorbed the vapour of mana in the air, forming a formless glob of power which wrapped around itself as it solidified into a nearly glass-like state.
Taking the form of a small bird, flapping its crystaline wings as it chirped in greeting.
He imparted it with the necessary information. Where to fly, what to say, and who to avoid. It was a simple piece of mana given a purpose and basic shape to fulfill it, far from the great feats that a genuine mage could accomplish if given enough time. Hemlock could be considered a little above mediocre in this regard.
But it would make do.
Opening the window, he let the small fake bird fly into the distance, the comforting sounds he’d grown up with fading back into disheartening silence as the door opened and the armored man returned.
“Do you want chamomile or mint? There were a lot of leaves on the cabinet and no labels. I think these are for tea, though.”
Hemlock, despite himself, smiled.
“My friend… those are poison ivy.’
There was a pause.
“Pinecones.”