I spoke in Elvish, but that doesn't mean they understood me. A different dialect or my terrible pronunciation could be a significant hurdle.
They stopped their attacks, and who I assume to be their leader is discussing something with two other elves. I can't hear what they are saying, so I start ripping arrows out of me.
I have to use my teeth for the arrows in my arm. I heal my bleeding wounds and look around. I can't tell where most of the arrows came from, but I managed to identify the locations of a few elves. They use foliage and paint to better blend in with the surroundings. Their large, open eyes watch my every movement.
Their leader speaks to me in a slightly different Elvish. I understood the basic message of their words.
“Had cin magol.”
Had [A word that means throw away, vanish, or exile]. Cin [Second person possessive]. Magol [a weapon, tool, or instrument of war.]”
Which would translate to “Discard your blade.” if you take artistic liberties as I do. I've been running around with my sword strapped to my back since resummoning it brings unwanted exposure.
I removed the sword from my back, and I could feel the tension in the air rise. Using my wrist, I throw my sword into the nearest tree. It embeds itself, leaving the handle and half the blade open to the air.
“Outsider. You wear trophies of your hunt with pride. Trophies ripped from the corpses of our beasts. We found the discarded remains of three of ours in the canopy.”
“You aren't asking a question. What do you want from me?”
“Explain yourself.”
“How would I know they were pets?”
“Not pets, but noble creatures who live alongside our people.”
“That doesn't change the fact that it's kill or be killed in this jungle. Those creatures tried to kill me, so I retaliated.”
“Why have you traveled to our territory, outsider. You should know you aren't welcome here.”
“...What? I'm not even from this island. What do you mean?”
The elves talk to each other in hush tones. There must be other tribes of humanoids in this fracture, but I wonder if they even know they are inside a contained space.
“What tribe do you hail from? What even are you? Skin tougher than dragon hide and impossible to hide vitality. Were you abandoned for being a cripple? You look like no elf, a graceless?”
A graceless is practically a slur elves use for anything that isn't an elf… or related to an elf. I'm unsure if there are other humans here or a different race.
“I am positive that my origins would shock you… if you even chose to believe me.”
“A short giant-kin?”
Alright. This person is obviously half-paying attention.
“I am willing to get through this ordeal diplomatically. Let's talk face to face and not in the open.”
“What are you?”
“A Human.”
“Do all humans have a durable hide?”
“I'm probably in the top 1% for durability.”
“Ah. A warrior.”
“?”
“Yes, we may speak ‘Face to face.’ Your language skills are atrocious.”
“...”
Dropping from the canopy is a man. The only thing elvish about this guy is his unnatural handsomeness and long, pointy ears.
He is over seven feet tall with rippling lean muscles, barely contained by the small amount of leather he wears. Long brown and red hair cascades down his back. Twigs, bones, and other small objects are woven into his hair.
A massive bow is gripped in his hands. It's smaller than him, but not by much. His bare feet hit the ground, and a plume of dirt follows as the ground softens the fall for this elf.
I am unaware of this subspecies of elf.
“I am Thodeth Cloverheart.”
“Ellis Vincere.”
“Your name is funny.”
“Okay.”
“Graceless, if you tell me the hidden location of your tribe, I, as the leader of the hunting party, am willing to pardon the transgression of slaying our beasts.”
“There might have been a translation error. I am not from this place. Are you aware that this island and the surrounding seas have been segregated from the rest of the universe? The planet holding this island was fragmented, and those fragments were placed within their own dimensional containments to keep them from decaying. And those fragments ended up on my planet where my race used to be the predominant.”
“You speak funny… But one of our elders mentioned something of that nature. If your words bear truth, I will be forced to invite you to our village.”
It wouldn't be terrible to go with these elves, although I do not know if they would try to skin me for my hide or eat my flesh. They know more about this island than I do; they have presumably been living here for centuries. If I get close enough for them to tell me the layout of this place and learn the locations of the bosses or strange glowing portals, then I could leave.
It's a risk and a gamble. However, I must know there are strange intentions. Since if they were out for vengeance, they would have slain me without second notice. The elves didn't need to stop at one arrow.
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Plus, I didn't notice any skills being fired at all.
The poison didn't smell like something you used to kill something. The first arrow wasn't a kill shot, either. The elves could have gone for my eyes, my skull, or something.
I mean, they might have been trying to capture me and hold me somewhere, question my motives, and imprison me for crimes, and instead, since I survived, they tried to kill me. Then I lived, so they realized, “Hey, that guy is kind of weird.”
But their attitudes are still strange.
“Regardless if you hold information that our elders seek, I am not comfortable with giving the location of our people to an outsider, especially a graceless.”
“Okay. Anything I could do to change that.”
“Nothing can change the fact that you are an outsider.”
“I don't think that's true. I'm sure a few things in your culture might make me no longer be considered an outsider. I might not be willing to do those things, but I'd like to know my options.”
“What gives you the right to speculate what may or may not be my people's culture.”
“I don't know. There are many in my culture, and I figured it might be a universal constant. But what do I know? I'm only a different race that you've never seen who claims to be from another planet. I'm assuming you have marriage as a thing. I mean, I know you guys have marriage. I know the word for marriage in your language.”
“Are you proposing?”
“No. I was giving an example.”
“It seems like you understand our culture more than I thought. There is one way I would consider you no longer an outsider.”
“Okay.”
“It would require days, weeks, months of tribulations to change yourself from an outsider to one of the Atunum people.”
“I'm an exceptional healer. With enough mana, I could practically heal anything.”
“…”
~~~
The tall elf asked me to showcase my skills. Cloverheart wanted to feel them himself, so he let me approach. He took a dagger and cut his hand really badly. Almost split it in half badly.
I looked at him like he was a crazy person, and then I healed him. He seemed okay with my skill and asked if I could cure disease, poison, etc.
I gave an evasive answer because if I seemed too valuable, they might lock me in a cage and use me like a heal slave. But I did say it depends on the disease or poison and my mana capacity.
Then he asked me why I hadn't healed my missing arm. I didn't have an answer. In hindsight, I couldn't afford to waste the mana if I had a life-threatening injury. But it could also be that I'm just used to using the prosthetic to the point that after losing it, I didn't come to the conclusion that I can heal myself.
‘Once I get out of here, I get my arm back,’ rather than, ‘Why not regrow my arm.’
Cloverheart wanted to blindfold me and take me to their tribe. I vehemently disagreed. I will not be blinded while in this jungle. He told me that I wouldn't be able to leave unless I had permission from their elder.
I agreed. I honestly believe I can escape these people if I really want to. Probably not while surrounded by the hunting party, but around their civilians, I'll have a few ways to gain leverage.
I’d imagine the elves would use their dragons as mounts as their forward-leaning posture with their tail balancing them would give the idea that they'd be a perfect size to ride. Instead, it seems that they use them as dogs. Unleashing them in certain areas to hunt down their prey or using them to guard their territory.
I am significantly slower than these elves. Their movements are simple, but how they travel through the trees makes it seem like they move easier up there than they do on the ground.
I had to hitch a ride on one of them. 'Much to that elf's dismay.
I'm taken to a community hidden in the canopy. Bones and leather are used as platforms and bridges as well as buildings. Vines and resin hold everything together. They only use wood if it's necessary.
I wanted to ask the elf carrying me about this cultural phenomenon... but I decided it would be in my best interest to not talk. Especially since this elf is hiking a naked man through the woods.
Before I know it, I'm on a bone chair with a blanket over my lap. My ‘trophies,’ as Cloverheart put them, were confiscated, but I didn't mind.
I'm in the widest building with elven guards waiting outside. I look around, and in front of me is a large table created using just one beast. This place looks like a meeting room rather than somebody's home.
An elven woman adorned with bone jewelry enters from deeper within this structure. I don't need to use my skill to determine that she's a significantly higher level than me.
And I don't bother using that skill as I learned from experience that some people are sensitive to my ‘probing.’
...People claim that elven women are the epitome of beauty, but I don't see it. I was never one to care about looks. But I know enough to make objective statements about people in reference to societal standards.
This person has a simple, natural elegance even though she is wearing what I assume to be her hunts over her body. Her bone structure would put other models out of a job as many would go mad with envy.
It's too much for me, objectively. I can see through the human similarities and perceived perfection and see that this thing isn't human. Something within me tells me that no matter how similar this person is, she is not one of me. Not a human.
This instinct isn't giving me danger signals, just a mild discomfort. I never examined Cloverheart or the other elves because I was preoccupied with being aware of my surroundings. But being alone with this ‘beauty’ gives me an unfortunate chance to examine an elf firsthand.
They know. The elf is aware of how I feel. I can't explain why or how, but I know deep down they feel the same way… We are too similar while simultaneously being different.
“Thodeth informs I that you are an uneloquent healer with information this one looks for.”
"I imagine my language skills would be passable for being someone who is mostly self-taught.”
“No elf of the Atunum people would teach an outsider of our tongue. You must truly not be from this land. Speak.”
So I told the imposing elf-lady a summarized version of what I knew about the Collision, fractures, and how I got here. Most of my information came from a textbook in my [Lexicon].
“So you wish to return to your homelands. That may be a sentiment we share.”
“I love transactional relationships.”
“My people were outcasted by the High Order centuries before this so-called Collision. We wish to return to our tribe's homeland, but if you tell the truth, that may be more of an ordeal.”
“Yeah, there's no telling if your homelands are in another fracture somewhere or truly integrated into my planet. Regardless if elves are already there, that adds additional layers of complexity.”
“What position do you have within your lands? Thodeth informs me that you are a warrior.”
“My elvish is not as great as I wish it would be. Can you tell me what you mean by warrior?”
“It's a complicated word. The simplified the best definition would be the strongest among the strong.”
“I'm flattered.”
“Is it the truth?”
“I don't know. I'm sure there are stronger humans than I am. There are definitely weaker humans better than other things as I am. For my age, I have a pretty decent list of achievements.”
“How old are you, youngling. Answer my question about your position.”
“Eighteen. I have the right to rule the 100 cities of the Prime Territory. The land where humans, my race, inhabit with a population of hundreds of millions.”
“Eighteen? My race would be 20% of the way to adulthood…”
She looks at me with a picture of pity and genuine fright. You must realize that my lifespan must be significantly shorter than hers, but the fright surprises me. Maybe she saw my level via skill or the fact that I managed to live in this place for the amount of time I did.
“Regardless, if we are to continue this conversation, you should be bathed, dressed, and rested.”
I was kicked out, given a place to shower, given some clothes, and then confined in an unlocked room with a bed. The bed was uncomfortable.