You

As Arma’s portal snaps shut you are left idly rooting through the impossibly deep pockets of your robes where you placed your own spoils, feeling the weight of them that your storage enchantments can’t lessen, as you consider the seeds in the hands of the half-breed.

It is true, what you said. Such things are useless to you, though not because you can think of no use for them, but because they would never submit their magic to the likes of you. Not a conscious choice, celestial oaks were not so intelligent as mere seedlings, but a simple incompatibility of two opposing alignments that can not be overcome whilst keeping their useful properties intact.

Fortunately, not everything in Titania is so stubborn, so it proved a fruitful trip nevertheless. Taking out one of the apples you picked, you take a measured bite.

Azrael’s appearance was a surprise. Ever has she hidden from you since you defeated her siblings. They made the mistake of abandoning their realm and its protections to fight a war that did not concern them, and they paid the price. It is almost a shame she did not confront you, to fight an Arch-Angel within Titania itself would surely be a challenge to get the blood pumping.

Alas, you enjoy its fruits too much to truly seek her out.

Or so you tell yourself, though the sentiment rings hollow.

Pushing down the peculiar emotions, you notice Inalia appears to be struggling to digest your most recent revelation. Walking slack-jawed and silent as you return to her aunt’s home. It is as you predicted that she knows in passing of angels and their greater kin. Ever have their kind nipped at the heels of the gods, acting as their messengers, agents and occasionally warriors. Little better than servants, once for the old and now for the new. Why they submit themselves to such subservience is beyond you.

But you waste no more time trying to divine the motives of extra-planar beings, ever did they lack the rationality of Mortus. Something even the lesser races hold above them.

You share the rest of your apple with Arma, letting her eat it from your hand.

“Return inside. The others should be waking up soon.” You say to Inalia without turning to her as you look out over the lake.

You release the hold your spell has over the humans as the girl distractedly does as you tell her.

Arma gives you a not-so-gentle nudge with her head as she finishes the fruit.

“What now? We watch, we learn, we teach and we wait. If thy patience fails thee, perhaps see to this pretender mine people art so concerned with. I would know of them but do not meddle. It is unsporting.” Walking forward with Arma until you are ankle-deep in the cool lake, its rocky bottom smooth under your feet, you watch the hills and the pines that cover them on the opposite bank.

You feel your mount’s tail swish against your back, and a smile pulls at your lips.

“No, there is no rush. Entertain thyself as thy will. I fear I can offer little else in the meantime.” You reply, as close to genuinely apologetic as you come.

You stand there with Arma, letting the waves lap against your skin as you watch the sun rise into the sky, turning it from orange to blue.

It is not long, however, before a particularly aggrieved Endrea, judging by her heartbeat, comes storming out of the house and stops just on the shore behind you.

“Just what does thy think thy is doing taking mine daughter without mine permission!?” she shrieks in the mother tongue. You are once again surprised by her proficiency in it, for a human at least.

You do not so much as turn your head to behold her, though Arma evidently decides she need not endure such a conversation and trots away.

“I did not think thee would mind,” you lie effortlessly, “she was in no peril.”

The angry mother huffs, and you can practically hear her throwing up her arms in exasperation. “Well, from now on, if thy desires to stay with us, thy will do nothing with mine daughter that is not by mine mind.”

“'Will’. That is not by thy will, I believe thy mean.” You correct magnanimously.

“’Mind’, ‘will’, whatever! She is mine daughter, and thy shalt respect mine wishes or thy shalt no longer be welcome!” Endrea continues, much of her fury spent but still sharply serious.

You are not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner, but it is more amusing than aggravating to you now. You acknowledge that alienating the half-breed’s mother runs counter to your goals, so you do something you have not done in millennia, insincere though it may be.

“I offer thee contrition for mine error. It shalt not happen again.” The words feel alien in your mouth, and it grates on your nerves that you must lower yourself so.

“Good. Now what is this about teaching her?” she asks next.

Your voice terse, you reply. “Thy daughter petitioned me to educate her in the arcane. I did not decline.”

“But Lithandar said her people will teach her when she is of age. If she can do so now, why doth they wait?” An interesting question that you hold no good answer for.

“Younger than her did I begin mine education, and younger still hath been those I taught in the past.” You explain and find yourself, rather unwillingly, cast back to said memories.

“Thy was a teacher?” She asks, her tone full of curiosity.

You cock your head and glance part of the way back to her. “Never by profession. I taught mine niece and nephew, when their parents perished.”

Endrea pauses before she answers. “Oh… mine condolences. Art they…?”

“As all mine family, they art dead.” You say bitterly, turning to level her with your icy cold gaze. “But not because of mine teachings, so thy needn’t concern thyself. Thine daughter would doeth well to learn as much as is offered, prophecies can be harsh sentences indeed.”

A not untrue statement, but one you can tell hits the mark you are aiming for as the woman seems to deflate before you.

“Just… don’t let her get hurt.” She mutters, unable to meet your eyes.

“There is no safer a place to learn than under mine supervision.” You reply honestly, for at least so long as the half-breed’s safety is in your interest.

Which it is, for now.

She nods miserably and then stalks off back towards the house.

You spend a few more moments gazing out over the lake before weaving your disguise over yourself once more and turning to walk back on over towards the village proper and the ‘Dreaming Donkey.’

Having since reflected upon your initial failure, you believe you have determined a manner in which you can extract some use out of Leroy without breaking his mind. The human probably only has one or two memory wipes left in him before he is left with a mental capacity lesser than the apple you recently fed Arma, so you will approach the issue with caution.

A more subtle approach is what you have settled on. A minor deception to enable you to be truthful, and ease the human into any revelations that might prove troublesome. Not how you are used to doing things, but your last disastrous try has nagged at you ever since, seeping disquiet into your mind like an open wound, taunting you with your failure. You feel like you have to prove to yourself that you are still capable of such things. That you have not somehow become lesser than you once were, even in one specific aspect.

You feel no need to announce your departure as you set off up the road. More of the humans are out about their business now it is light; simple people with simple clothes and simple minds. You pay them no heed, though they can’t seem to stop themselves from staring at the stranger in their midst.

At least no one tries to strike up a conversation with you as you reach the poorly-named tavern. The smell coming from within almost makes you turn around; spilled human alcohol and poorly cleaned sick, along with the scent of cooking flesh. But you can recognise the struggling heartbeat of the portly merchant inside so you head in anyway.

As it is the morning, you are not surprised there are so few patrons. A couple of cloaked travellers sit sharing a meal in the corner and sending lecherous glances over at the, relatively, young woman slouched behind the bar. Leroy himself does not notice you enter, so engrossed is he in devouring his sausages and eggs.

“Hey there mister! Looking for a bite? We do the best-cooked breakfast in town!” The woman says energetically, perking up and smiling at you.

You don’t doubt the claim, you’d be surprised if anywhere else in Hartonville even sold breakfast.

Your eyes land on Leroy and don’t break from him as you answer succinctly, “No.”

Out of the corner of your vision, you see her deflate once more as you walk on over to the merchant and stand before him, unwilling to lower yourself to sit.

“Leroy,” you say, grabbing his attention. Halfway through chewing on a sausage he looks up at you and almost chokes it out, spluttering and swallowing harshly before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and answering.

“Vindaruil!? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks with a smile, though it is clear he is more than a little put out at having his meal interrupted.

“You are a merchant. I have a trade to make with you.” You tell him in no uncertain terms.

“Ah… well, I’m having a little holiday as I mentioned, and I only really deal in certain things, don’t have much coin on me either now that I think about it…” he rambles nervously, obviously not interested but not wanting to put you down harshly.

But you have something that you believe will change his mind. Reaching into your pocket, you pull forth a perfectly cut black diamond the size of a fist, one of your spare focuses which you fully intend to retrieve once this business with Leroy is concluded.

Observing his widened eyes, you know you have him. “You have a room. We should talk there.”

Leroy swallows nervously, looking at the diamond as it seems to both refract and absorb the light inside it giving it the appearance of depth, then to his unfinished meal, and then back to the diamond.

Crossing his cutlery over his plate, he stands up and tucks his chair in under the table. “Yes… yes I think that would be a grand idea. May I…”

As he motions towards the diamond you nod, allowing him to pick it up. He holds it up to the light emanating through the open shutters and gapes at it. Indeed, so do the others in the tavern, but their awe is irrelevant to you. Thieves are a dime a dozen amongst humans, however, so you keep an eye out just in case.

Getting a hold of himself, Leroy seems to realise this as well and glances nervously at the other occupants of the tavern. His eyes linger on the two men in the corner, but lighten when he looks over to the woman.

“The breakfast was delightful Miss… Sarah. Thank you ever so much.” He tells her with a smile after recalling her name and motions for you to follow as he hobbles over towards the stairs.

“You’re welcome, Mister Leroy!” She replies happily, her eyes following the pair of you all the way until you disappear onto the first floor.

“In here…” Leroy motions towards one of the four doors down the narrow, and crooked, corridor at the top of the stairs.

He rushes forward to unlock it with a simple brass key and swings it open to reveal a room big enough to sport only a woefully small bed, dresser and a little round table with two chairs barely squeezing in beside it. It has a window, though the view is merely that of the walls of the next building over, with some maroon-coloured curtains.

The only positive thing that can be said about it is that you don’t sense any critters hiding away under the sheets or behind the furniture. Although that is possibly just because you scared them away.

You flick your hand and the door closes shut behind the pair of you as you enter. Leroy places the diamond upon the table, looking almost reluctant to part with it as it leaves his hand.

A seemingly innocuous gesture, but you have seen the greedy lose their minds staring into the depths of similar Tartaran diamonds, so it speaks to his character. Not that you didn’t predict as such, but the confirmation is half of the point of why you presented it to him.

“So, er…. Vindaruil. What did you have in mind? I… I must admit that I have nothing worth a jewel of this… splendour. And I shan’t do anything immoral or illegal. I am an honest man, and I pride myself on that.” He says, gaining confidence as he continues and managing to raise his chin to meet your gaze, albeit only for a moment.

You hold up a finger to silence the man, then begin weaving a spell of privacy to ensure nought passes beyond the walls of this room. A minor-order casting but one you are well practised with, giving it potency beyond its usual means. The gods themselves could have their eyes on the room and be unable to peer within.

Satisfied, you drop your disguise once more, startling the portly merchant. “I have a proposition for you, human.”

The man does a double take, choking on his next words before he manages to spit them out. “Well… I’m flattered Mister Vindaruil, but really I…”

You interrupt the fool and only barely manage not to reach over and snap his neck. “Not that kind of proposition.” You snap harshly, silencing him.

As he immediately goes quiet you take a moment to centre yourself and ensure you do not have a repeat of last time. “As I said, I propose a trade. This jewel of mine, I’m certain of which you have already appraised as priceless, and in exchange I require an… open ear. A muse, one might say.”

Leroy frowns, an utterly uncomprehending look upon his face. “I… what? I’m afraid I don’t understand. I… I’m just a merchant.”

“I am… old, Mister Leroy. I have lived a great many years and have seen in person that which has been all but forgotten, and I believe it is time I put my experience to record before it is lost to history. After so many years, however, my memories grow indistinct. I would not want history to be seen through the lens of my bias, so I require a mind to prod at my recollection and aid me in recalling that which I may have forgotten. Separate fact from conjecture. I choose you because you have already proven yourself a patient listener on our travels, and… I place value upon your opinion.” You grit your teeth as you mutter that last part, even if it is technically true.

Exhaling heavily, Leroy places a hand on the back of one of the chairs and pulls it from beneath the table to sit down heavily, glancing over to the diamond within arm's reach. “I… truthfully, I know not what to say.”

Your first instinct is to press him to agree, to make it clear he has no choice in the matter. Back him into a corner and force the issue until you get your way.

But you hesitate, it is not compliance you seek but cooperation. A flicker of something alights in your mind, and you know what is needed. Slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, you pull out the other chair, sitting down and then tilting your head until you are meeting his eyes. It is not your usual steely, icy-cold gaze that you level him with, but one far softer.

“I need your help with this, Leroy. And I feel I can trust you. Am I wrong to do so?” You say, trying to inject a certain vulnerability into your words that you have long since forgotten. It rankles, but you need to know you are still capable of this.

He meets your eye, and you see the wheels turning in his head. After a moment of silence, which by human standards might have been long, he shakes his head. “No… no, you are not wrong Vindaruil. I… confess I do not see what it is I have to offer you, but if you are asking then I will not refuse. But I cannot accept such a payment for so little. If this means that much to you I would feel terrible taking such a prize.”

This… genuinely takes you aback. You lean back against the chair slightly wide-eyed. In all the manners you saw this going, this was not one of them. Slowly, you reach out and return the diamond to your bottomless pockets. You see Leroy’s eyes following it all the way, but he does not open his mouth to stop you.

It pains you to admit that you are on the back foot. In your experience, nothing is given for free, and you refuse to feel as though you owe this pathetic human anything.

“What then will you accept as payment?” You ask hesitantly.

The portly merchant, who let out something approaching a sigh of relief as the diamond disappeared, shrugs. “If you must give me something, then I’d accept room and board for as long as it takes.”

That… is a rather interesting conundrum. Priceless gems from distant realms you may possess, but mortal currency from this age you do not. But you refuse to have this human think of you as some pauper, you were the wealthiest individual in the world for millennia you will acquire coin through one method or another.

With a nod, you say, “Very well, it is agreed.”

Leroy smiles and holds out one of his sweaty paws for you to shake. It is a fight to keep the snarl of disgust from your face as you return the gesture, and the stupid smile on the man’s face doesn’t help matters.

“So…” Leroy begins, leaning back in his chair, “what first?”

Eying him, you pull out a small stone you took from your recent journey to Titania. Unassuming, apart from its shiny, dark-navy lustre, you nevertheless feel its innate magics thrumming in your palm. Closing your eyes, you weave the loose strands into an old, familiar structure. By the time you are finished, Leroy is looking at you with a mix of confusion and concern.

“This is what my people call a ‘Confession Stone’. I shall use it to record our conversations for later use, but one of its functions. Another is that whatever is said in its presence, whilst active, cannot be repeated by any who hear it except by permission of the speaker. Of course, you must consent to its use with a drop of blood willingly given. The restrictions only apply to information one did not already know before its activation.” You explain as you place it on the table, and press a fingernail into the palm of your hand until you draw forth a single drop of blood that you allow to drop atop of the dark pebble, which is instantly absorbed.

Leroy looks on with a measure of awe and fear, going a little pale in the face. He surprises you, however, as he reaches over to the dresser and pulls out a sharpened letter opener and pricks his thumb with a slight hiss but very little hesitation. He lets his blood drip atop the stone, and gets a few drops on the table, before withdrawing his hand and sucking the blood away in his mouth.

“Tell me, Leroy, what do you know of the origins of my people?” you ask, expecting little.

Frowning, he stops sucking his thumb long enough to answer. “I don’t know much in general. Elves are spoken of only in fairy tales and children’s stories, often in the same breath as actual fairies and other mythological creatures. I had not thought them real until but an evening ago.”

You nod, disgusted by how much common knowledge has been lost but really not having anyone to blame for that except yourself.

Taking the time to consider your words, you begin. “Then allow me to spin you the tale of the genesis of the elves. For all great tales must set the scene before introducing its actors, and mine is no exception. It is the realm of dreams, Faenor, where the fey reside. Fairies and unicorns and no doubt many other figures from your stories are very real in such a place, though the rules by which they live would be alien to you. The lines between that which is real and that which isn’t are not so defined there. Neither time or space run in straight lines, but rather they twist and curve and tie themselves in knots. Much like dreams themselves, from what I understand about how humans experience them. It is here, then, that two fey fell in love. Names are a tricky subject amongst their kind, but to put it simply they were called Iacryn and Elfia.”

“As in…” Leroy interrupts, drawing a frown from you.

“The namesake of the elves, yes.” You answer, pausing to see if he has anything more to say but he merely waits for you to continue.

“Like Mortus, our realm, Faenor is not unified. There are… factions, not quite nations, to which fey are associated. It is more complicated than it sounds, but for the purposes of this tale that is all you need know. Iacryn was of the Winter Court, and Elfia of the Summer Court. Consider these as rival factions, not quite warring but rarely cordial. And yet, as I said, they fell in love with one another. So fiercely and so greatly that it transcended their bonds to their factions, and to their families. Understand, this was taboo in a realm in which its people could live forever. They believe the ties of blood are eternal, but emotions such as ‘love’ are fleeting. And this angered the fey Monarchs, who both saw it as a grievous betrayal. Together, in a rare showing of cooperation, they cursed Iacryn and Elfia to lives of mortality, and exiled them to Mortus. This was back when humans still had tails, orcs still walked on all fours and dwarves had yet to crawl forth from their caves. It was a time when terrible, lumbering beasts claimed dominion over the land and civilization had not yet even been conceived of. A…”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Humans had tails!?” Exclaims your listener, who is silenced by a sharp glare.

“…And yet Iacryn and Elfia could not be happier. They settled in the great primordial forests that reminded them of home, and made a life for themselves. Eventually, Elfia grew heavy with child and for the first time in existence a fey was birthed in Mortus. He was named Anduriul, and he was the first elf. As the years passed Anduriul gained many brothers and sisters, and they grew up happily, not knowing anything of Faenor. They named their home Orur-Silgoth, and they made of it a haven from the monsters that lurked beyond. As the years stretched on they ceased to age, but the same could not be said of their parents. They withered with the passing of the seasons, the curse taking its toll, and banished from their home they grew weaker and weaker. Death is not foreign to the fey, but never had one succumbed to old age. Furious, Anduruil and his siblings found passage to Faenor to seek out the Monarchs and bring an end to the curse. Though their lineage they could trace back to the realm of dreams, they were beings of Mortus first and foremost, and Faenor itself did not view their invasion kindly. Many trials they faced upon their quest, to tell them all would take a season in and of itself, but in time, and not without loss, they made their way to the Winter and Summer courts. Anduruil leading half to the former, and his eldest sister Erendia leading the others to the latter. Not bound by the laws which govern Faenor, and the restrictions they usually impose, they challenged each Monarch to remove the curse upon their sires. Deserving of an epic all of her own, Erendia bested the Monarch but learned upon her success that they had been tricked. I mentioned time flows strangely in the realm of dreams, well many, many years in Mortus had passed during their trials and Iacryn and Elfia were long dead. They passed in one another arms, missing their children who had left without them. Before he could complete his own challenge, Erendia warned Anduruil of the deception and he changed the terms of his challenge. When he inevitably won, he took up the mantle of Monarch of the Winter Court himself. After this he and his siblings remained in Faenor, having nought to return to. Until, once more, the status quo was broken by love. The daughter of the Summer Monarch, a fey named Helegwyn, fell for Arnduruil and he for her. And when she became with child Arnduruil recalled the pleasantness of his youth in Orur-Silgoth and compared it to the twisting ways of the fey that had seen his parents exiled and cursed. Choosing to give up their mantles, they travelled to Mortus and most of his siblings, and their own loves, followed with them. Only Erendia remained behind. Thus was formed the first court of Orur-Silgoth, under Arnduruil and Helegwyn. By then human, dwarf, and orc, though still frolicking in the mud and dust, were as they are today in form and feature and most of the old beasts had hunted one another to extinction. Their child was born in Mortus, a son whom they named Vindaruil. He sits before you now.” You get a little wistful as you recall the old tale.

How many times had you begged your father to repeat it to you? How often had you pleaded to visit aunt Erendia? Or see the fey courts?

The human looks suitably stunned at the revelation of your lofty origins, his mouth agape as he seems to take you in for a second time. “Truly?” he manages to gasp out after a moment.

Your eyes narrow, “I do not speak falsely to you now, I suggest you do not accuse me of such again.”

Leroy snaps himself out of it, clearing his throat. “Right… sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest… How about you continue.”

You open your mouth to do so, and find your voice catching. Where should you continue? Your first memory? Your first steps? Give the human a day-by-day of your many millennia starting from the very beginning?

Looking back it is hard to pinpoint anything truly significant before you met her for the first time. In your mind, that is when your life really started, but you most assuredly do not intend on giving voice to those particular memories, especially not to this human. To do so would give them power over you once more, or at least power that you could not easily keep hidden.

Apparently picking up on your uncertainty, Leroy leans forward and places his hands on the table. “What about… what about your home? This Orur-Silgoth? What was it like, when you were a child?”

Pursing your lips, you reluctantly nod at the suggestion. “Big. To describe it simply. The trees there were ancient blackwoods, some had even seen the birth of my father and his siblings. They stretched up so high that at times I thought they were holding up the sky itself. And dark. Scant rays of sunlight would filter through to the forest floor, dim even on the sunniest of days. Chasing the light and the warmth it brought with it was a favourite game of my brothers, sisters cousins and I. But no matter how far we ran, how long we played, we never seemed to reach its edge. Every path seemed to lead deeper into the forest, rather than out of it. That being said, it was generally safe to do so, most of the beasts that once roamed the land had long since gone extinct or vacated the forest, releasing it to its newest masters. Well, I say most. You recall the tale I told Inalia?”

You are answered by a quick nod.

“That was truthful, only it was my own experience. At least as I saw it at the time. A basilisk it was, one of the primordial contenders to the dragons. They are extinct now, of course, both of them. My father had warned me that he had sensed its presence and told all of us to remain within our homes. He left to hunt it and, foolish child that I was, had such faith in him that I thought the matter all but settled. Trusting his actions whilst ignoring his words, I snuck out from under mother’s watchful gaze as she herded my siblings. I was… fanciful, back then. I did not intend on finding it, I merely sought to revel in the joys of having the forest to myself, without needing to keep an eye on my brothers and sisters.” You tell him slowly, letting the memories wash over you as you do.

“Did it happen as you said?” he asks, confusing you.

Seeing your cocked head, he elaborates “I mean, can you really sing so greatly?”

Whatever mirth your reminiscing had granted you is instantly wiped away, and your gaze sharpens on the human. “Once, perhaps. But I do not do so any longer.”

Leroy frowns deeply, “Why not? It sounds like you have a magnificent gift.”

Strangely, the urge to throttle the man doesn’t overcome you as you expect, you just feel a sudden tiredness that makes you slump minutely in your seat. “The answer to that lies much later in the story. As I mentioned, my voice was eventually healed by one of the unicorns that had ventured forth from Faenor into our forest. Skittish creatures with the most potent healing powers in all the realms, it was fortunate I was still a child for they do not often suffer the presence of adults except in rare cases. This was back when my parents, aunts and uncles were still discovering the magic of Mortus and such things were beyond their abilities. Mother, perhaps, may have been capable of it in her home realm, but her powers were weakened away from Faenor. But I digress. Such a time stands as a decent point upon which to truly begin, for it was when I first learnt of the cruelty of existence. The year or so I spent mute, no great stretch of existence for me now but at the time it was a significant portion of my life, taught me a great many lessons. First and foremost, as I told the girl, I learnt to listen to my parents. Rare was it that I disobeyed them in the years after. I also learnt that ultimately the only person I could entrust with my safety is myself. I…”

“Hold on! How was that something you took from that? It was hardly your father's fault you didn’t listen.” Leroy interrupts with a peculiar gleam in his eyes.

You stare at the man, tapping your fingers against the table rhythmically as you consider your words. “No, it was my own fault. I trusted I would be safe because I believed so greatly in my sire’s prowess that I assumed nought could threaten me in the shadow of his domain. I did so without first considering the dangers for myself, and if I had I would not have nearly died. It is not that my father was undeserving of trust, but that to trust in the first place is inherently unwise, at the very least when it comes to one's own safety. What one expects of whom they trust will inevitably differ from what can be provided.”

The merchant merely looks at you agape, “That hardly sounds a healthy thing to believe.”

“And yet I sit before you after ten millennia as perhaps one of the oldest beings on Mortus, the sole survivor of the age we speak of. “ You return confidently.

Leroy sighs and slumps back in his chair. “You must have been quite the dour child to be thinking such things.”

You have to concede that point. “I was, at least until my voice was returned to me, after which I became as jubilant and… insufferable as before. More so, as I always found an excuse to wag my tongue after a year of silence. But most all I could do during that year was think, or so it felt, and I realised several truths that most would learn much later life. I am grateful for it, looking back, it is what planted the seeds of the patience and drive that have seen me live so long. But we have gotten sidetracked. I believe it was the same year my voice returned to me, or perhaps the one after, that the first humans stumbled upon our home. It was winter, and beyond our evergreen forest shelter food was scarce. Like a roving herd of cattle they stumbled in thinking only of their stomachs, making a terrible racket and setting light to the forest floor to warm their bones.”

Frowning, Leroy gives you a strange look. “It sounds like you weren’t terribly fond of my ancestors.”

It took a moment to realise how sharp your voice had become near the end, and you force yourself to relax a little, shaking your head. “Far from it, at the time I was quite overjoyed at the discovery of the creatures that looked so very much like my family, who walked and talked as we did. Indeed, it was I, alongside my brother Orrindal, who first gleamed your people as we roamed the depths of our forest. Of course, they did not see us in turn for we knew our home well. As we returned to report this to our father, however, we had something of a disagreement. I greatly desired to meet these strangers, welcome them to our home and learn more of them. Orrindal disagreed, he believed them trespassers who should be expelled from where they did not belong… I believe that was the first time I ever really fought with one of my siblings. Not physically, of course, but there was venom in our words that was rare indeed. Father, as I predicted, saw things as I did, though there were many who shared Orrindal’s sensibilities. There was a vote, the whole family weighing in on the decision, that inevitably swayed towards cooperating with the humans, though it was not a decision made quickly, or lightly. Many harsh words were shared, and though all abided by the eventual decision it planted the seeds of a later schism. But that is later in the tale. So, as per our vote, we introduced ourselves to the humans. Though at first they were wary, they soon warmed to our gifts of friendship, food and knowledge. Amongst all my kin I perhaps revelled in their presence the most, even going so far as living amongst them when it suited me. I recall singing for them for the first time, and how different their reactions were to my own people. Both appreciated it, but there was something different about them. They didn’t just enjoy it they lost themselves in it, dancing and joining in as though it would end any moment and they’d lose it forever.”

It fills you will rage to think back to how you had performed for the humans like some trick pet, but more so because recalling how fondly you had once looked upon them was shockingly easy. Those early days you had thought forgotten until now, as they clapped to your tunes around the fire, frolicking beneath the rising embers with wild smiles and laughter with none of the stress and worry you had since on their faces upon that first viewing of them.

Your hands clench under the table and your teeth grit against one another. In a way the anger is exactly what you were seeking from this arrangement, confronting the weakness that was no longer hidden from you. But you thought only to ease Leroy into the memories of your years of conquest, not at all intending to be roused by such early recollections.

Meanwhile, Leroy is leaning back contemplatively, his eyes unfocused as he rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Did you know, then? That you would outlive them all?”

His peculiar question offers a pause in your worsening mood and you answer snappishly. “Intellectually, we all knew that the creatures of Mortus were not so gifted with long lives as us, but we had no frame of reference. Fey were immortal, and the great beasts could live centuries at least. I expected at the time that their years were fleeting, but I imagined a century or so at the very minimum. To be fair, we did not even truly know how long we would live either. Father and his siblings were of differing ages after their experience in Faenor, but the oldest of them were approaching a millennia without signs of ageing. If I had known, if I had understood, I would not have learned their names, nor accepted their friendship. But I was young, and even a century felt like an eternity to me at the time.”

“Do you remember?” he asks softly, meeting your eyes with an unusual confidence. The look is… almost pitying, and your anger returns.

“Remember what?” you growl at him.

He takes your tone in stride, and doesn’t blink away despite himself. “Their names.”

You immediately open your mouth to deny it, of course you don’t, why would you remember the names of some fleeting, worthless humans?

But you do, you realise with your mouth hanging open. Snapping it shut, you frown and look away, flinching at the sudden realisation. Words fail you for a moment, but the shock has washed away your fury like strong winds to dark clouds.

“Nala. Ruub. Thenn. Eb. Kar. Ith. Doon. Senn. Ofe. Pinn. Warr. There were others, but befriend them I did not.” You list after a few tense moments of silence, once more meeting Leroy’s gaze.

Not only their names, but their faces. You can picture each of them clear as day, in their clothes of hide and leather, filthy and overgrown but with their eyes glinting in a manner you had never before seen on your kin.

There is a tightness in your chest that brings you back down to reality, and you suddenly stand, the chair shoved away from you harshly. “That is all for this day, Leroy. I shall see to your payment on the morrow.”

You don’t wait for him to answer, snatching the stone from the table and disappearing beyond the door without a word, allowing your wards to collapse into nothingness.

Trying not to feel like you just ran from the room, you bring up your disguise just in time to turn the corner to the stairs and see the woman from behind the bar but two steps down.

She startles at your sudden appearance and reels backwards, her shoes slipping on the steps as she begins to fall and she lets out a panicked yelp.

It is not a quick fall by any means, and your reactions are sharp enough that you can think through the pros and cons of just letting her tumble. Once more you decide that a death so obviously attributed to you would be more hassle than it is worth under the circumstances, and so your hand snaps out and grips her arm, pulling her back to standing.

With a scowl you release her and without so much as another look step around her and continue storming down the stairs.

“Oh… thank you mister!” she calls after you, but you don’t bother turning as you thunder out of this festering dump.

Taking a deep breath, you aren’t quite sure what it is you are feeling. It isn’t simply rage or misery, but possesses similar cutting sharpness nevertheless. Enough that your palms itch with the desire to exorcise the emotions on one of the unsuspecting humans, though you think better of it.

At least, that is until you pay attention to the two figures standing in the alley of the Dreaming Donkey, the same two as before. You distractedly listen to them argue in the shadows about how they’re going to steal your focus from Leroy.

“So… we jump ‘im when he leaves, nice and simple.”

“Won’t people see us Laz?”

“Well, obviously we do it at night Baz.”

“What if he don’t leave at night, ain’t that why he’s paying for a room?”

“… shut up Baz, don’t you want that diamond?”

“Well … ‘course, I just…”

“Just nothing Baz. I’m the brains ‘ere remember. What are you?”

“I’m the brawn.”

“No, Baz, you’re the stinkin idiot that just happens to be my brother. Just do everyfin I say and we’ll be rich come tomorrow.”

They’re idiots, even by the standards of humans.

You are left with a thought, wondering whether or not to do anything about it. It is entirely possible they might slay the portly merchant when they realise he doesn’t possess it, you argue to yourself. Putting a stop to them would simply be protecting your plans, not indulging in the weakness.

Your arguments are compelling, as they so often are, and you find yourself stalking into the shadow of the alley. Making no noise as you creep up behind what you presume to be the elder of the brothers, you decide how you will do it.

The dagger sitting deep in your pockets? You’d rather not stain its edge, nor your person with such filthy blood.

Your hands? Your nose tells you neither of them have washed in far, far too long. Practically crawling with lice and covered in filth beneath their hoods, you will not sully your palms with such.

Magic? Perhaps, but how? You can snap your fingers and break their necks with telekinesis, then incinerate the bodies. It would be quick and painless, far more than any of their kind deserve. Perhaps instead you can do something a little more painful, maybe suffocate them instead. It will save you from having to silence them.

Yes, that sounds about right. Raising your right hand you push on each man’s larynx. Not enough to crush them outright, but enough to cut off the airflow and stop them screaming.

Neither seems to realise instantly, but when they do their reactions are much the same as all those that came before them. Their hands reach for their throats, their eyes go wide and soon they fall to their knees.

Suffocating isn’t the same as strangulation. You aren’t cutting off the blood flow to their brains, so they have time to really feel the panic and the terror.

As you stand over them wordlessly, the eyes of the younger brother meet your own. He seems to grasp that you are the perpetrator of this, and he reaches out his hand to you in desperation. Whether pleading or a hopeless attempt to grasp you and put a stop to his torment you know not.

About thirty seconds pass, and they remain conscious, making no sounds but those produced by their writhing in the dirt. You aren’t worried about being interrupted or seen, you can tell no one is near enough to do so.

But as you look down at them in disgust you begin to feel not satisfied but bored. Like every stranger you’ve killed in such a manner in the last millennia or so of your lifetime, the thrill lasts only for a moment before you question why you even bother.

There is a certain regret at giving in to the urge and wasting your time that seeps in around about the minute mark, as their struggles are beginning to slow and they approach unconsciousness.

Sure, they deserve it, you know this intellectually. But it feels almost futile, for it isn’t as though they are going to learn that lesson by dying painfully. It does make you feel a little better, true, which is usually why you don’t stop.

But this time you realise that in killing them you’ll just be submitting to the weakness. There are other ways to take them out of the equation than simply death, and looking back you can see you were just making an excuse.

Almost glad that you chose such a slow method of execution to save you from the greater failure, you release your grip on their airways at the same time you click you fingers to silence any noise they might make.

Both brothers silently inhale great gasps of air, filling their lungs and bringing the colour back to their faces. Slowly, but surely, they come to their senses and then both sets of eyes land on you, climbing from your feet all the way up to your unimpressed gaze.

One, the elder, opens his mouth to spit angry words at you but nought comes out. His brother sees this and doesn’t wait a moment in slapping his kin upside the head, realising, smartly, that angering you probably isn’t good for their health.

Perhaps they may prove useful, you consider.

“You two little worms have, however unknowingly, set yourselves against me. I neither forgive nor forget such things. Your lives I may have spared, for now, but be assured that it is for reasons other than mercy. I offer you a single opportunity to prove yourselves useful to me, else I will tear these last memories from your heads and you will be fortunate if you avoid insanity. Ten years of service, no less, and you should thankful it is so little. Nod your heads if you submit.” You don’t hold back on letting them feel your ire, allowing the red of your eyes to glow through your disguise as the ground frosts at your feet.

You only give so small a sentence to encourage them to agree, and you are successful. The younger brother nods first, and seeing this the elder follows suit.

With a click of your fingers they fall unconscious and you begin weaving a perception filter around the alley.

This is going to get… messy.

----------------------------------------

Inalia

Sitting on the old wooden fence just where the road meets the small grassy field by Auntie Jemma’s house, balancing precariously as she stares at the peculiar seeds in her hands, Inalia is waiting for the pale elf to return.

Uncle Fred said he saw him go into the village, so she is hoping he’ll be back soon. After she’d gotten over the sheer shock, she’d excitedly regaled the twins of her adventure over the breakfast table, though she herself was not hungry. Inalia didn’t think her auntie and uncle believed her, though her cousins were certainly entertained.

Mum hadn’t looked pleased, and stormed off to ‘have a word’. She hopes Mum hasn’t scared Vindaruil off and that he isn’t coming back. Inalia knows her mum can be scary sometimes, but she doesn’t think the elf would be so easily spooked. He seems to Inalia like the brave sort, rather like herself she thought with a smile, if she can weather her mum's ire from time to time then surely so can Vindaruil.

After what feels like days, though is likely only an hour or so, Inalia finds herself growing much too bored. Even coming down from the excitement of the morning she can’t find it within herself to sit still for so long with nought to do.

She glances back over towards the house, Auntie Jemma had already taken the twins to school and Uncle Fred had waved her goodbye as he headed off to work doing… whatever he did, she hadn’t really been listening.

Mum is still inside brooding. She told Inalia not to stray beyond the fence but… her eyes flick over to the treeline. A little explore couldn’t hurt, could it?

She’ll stick close to the lake, she tells herself, that way she can’t possibly get lost. She’s been in the forest before, after all, even if it was a while ago.

Jumping down from the fence, she slips the seeds into her pocket and begins skipping across the field. She has shoes on now, unlike that morning, and hums softly to herself as she goes.

Just as she reaches the trees, however, she remembers Vindaruil’s story and comes to a stop. Sighing, Inalia considers that perhaps she should at least tell her mum before running off again. It wasn’t as though the last time…

Actually, no, that had ended pretty awesomely.

Still, she sets off back to the house, but upon reaching the road once more see’s a vaguely familiar old man, his back hunched and his messy white hair hanging over his face as he leans heavily on a knobbly walking stick that looks about to snap any moment.

“Hello mister reverend sir!” she greets him as she climbs back up on the fence.

Despite being in clear view, the ancient holy man startles and his arms do a slow, comical cartwheel as for a moment Inalia thinks the poor geezer is going to fall over. But he keeps his balance, and levels those withered, cloudy eyes in her direction, waving his walking stick as he does.

“Who goes there!?” he demands, and though his croaky voice isn’t exactly friendly, there is no heat in it.

“Inalia Ulnorin, mister. I saw you at my grandad's funeral.” She answers mildly, uncowed by the very clearly decrepit man.

He stares at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, or at least in her general direction. “Little Endrea’s girl?”

Inalia nods, though she isn’t entirely certain the reverend can see her. “Err… yes, mister.”

He puts his walking stick back down onto the path, his gaze lifting just over into the forest. As he just stands there, unblinking, as the seconds turn into minutes Inalia watches with increasing concern until she thinks the poor man might have just died on his feet, so still is he.

“Mister reverend?” she asks nervously, and lets out a sigh of relief as his gaze snaps back vaguely in her direction.

“Lots of crows about today, ay lass?” he says strangely.

Confused, Inalia does a full swivel of her head and sees not a single black feather, and she is rather certain her eyesight is better than the reverend’s. “What?”

“What?” he snaps back immediately, back to his confrontative tone.

“You said something about crows?” she mutters questioningly.

He frowns at her like she’s the crazy one. “What are you talking about girl? I said no such thing.”

“But…” she starts, but is interrupted by the reverend waving her off.

“Bah, I’m busy girl don’t bother me with ‘buts’. Have to go greet Endrea and that daughter of hers, don’t I? Now get out of my way.” He says with absolute sincerity.

Inalia looks around, as though desperately hoping someone else is witnessing the conversation to prove she isn’t the crazy one. “I’m… not in your way mister.”

“What?...” the old reverend looks around himself before seemingly realising she is right. “…right, I knew that, course I did. Don’t be so impudent girl!”

He then precedes to begin walking right back the way he came, towards the village proper. So baffled is Inalia that she doesn’t think to stop him, she simply hops down from the fence and begins walking back to the house.

“Muuuuum!” she calls as she enters the house.

“Yes, songbird?” Endrea calls back from what sounds like the kitchen.

“Reverend whatshisface came by, said he wanted to greet us, then forgot who I was and what he was doing and walked off again,” Inalia explains as she walks in to find her mother rolling some kind of pastry on the kitchen table, with flour covering her apron, face and hair.

Hiding a wince at the sight, Inalia smiles. Mum… isn’t a good cook, or a good baker, or a good anything when it comes to food. It is one of the reasons why she likes coming to Auntie Jemma’s so much.

Sighing and putting down her rolling pin, Endrea shakes her head in exasperation. “That man. Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even string two words together at his age. The gods only know what he’s still doing running the chapel. We’ll have to pop round and see him later.”

“Mum,” Inalia starts nervously as she pulls up one of the stools, “do you think you can tell me about dad now?”

A soft, warm smile comes to Endrea’s face as she dusts the flour from her hands and walks around the table to sit on one of the stools next to her daughter. “Of course, songbird. What do want to know?”

Looking up and meeting her mum’s eyes, Inalia asks. “What was he like?”

Her smile widening, but growing just a touch sad, she answers her daughter with misty eyes. “He was like… like a warm hug on a cold day. Always smiling, always laughing. But sensible, and smart, you get your adventurous side from me you know. You have his hair, and his smile, and his kindness. And he loved you so very much, as do I. He was heartbroken when he learnt he couldn’t see you grow up, but he wanted you to be safe more than anything, you need to know that.”

Hiding tears that were a mix of emotions, Inalia reaches over and buries her head in her mother as she hugs her fiercely. “He won’t have forgotten about me, will he?”

Her mum chokes a laugh, though it sounds clear that she is crying herself as she does. “Of course he hasn’t. Nobody could forget you, my little songbird.”

It is this scene which Auntie Jemma arrives back to find several minutes later, placing a basket full of groceries on the kitchen table as Inalia and Endrea pull away and wipe their eyes.

Jemma gives them a knowing look and a soft smile, then her eyes veer over to Endrea’s work in progress and there is a distinct twitch to her nose that Inalia doesn’t miss. It seems her auntie holds a similar opinion of mum’s cooking.

Wiping her nose, she sniffles and looks up to her aunt. “Auntie Jemma?”

Looking back down at her niece, she smiles and tilts her head. “Yes, my dear?”

“What’s a one-night stand?”