Of Fey and Shadow - A Midnight story hour (Restored 14 May 2006)

[Renfield]

Heh, funny those are some of the things I typically loathe in elves, ever since Lord of the Rings, all high and mighty and mystical. Would like to see a fantasy setting with elves depicted in their mythological roots. Dwarves are closer to their roots than the pointy eared beanpoles... anyway, I'll save further elf bashing for my group and campaign setting, and possibly my T13K games. Though if any player want's to paint a target on their character play a stereotypical True Neutral elf, two of the things I despise the mose

 

[Emiricol]

You prefer mythological roots... Stories vary the world over, but I've modeled the elf queen on the Alvor of Scandinavia, with the rest of the elves being something of a blend of a masculine versions of the Alvor and the Norse-specific interpretation of them (minus the status as minor deities, although it's a narrow margin here).

The Dorn view of them is more akin to the pre-Christian Germanic view of Elves which has them as kidnappers, the cause of many nightmares, and harbingers of death to those who see them (as an omen rather than causing that death); although of course physically they are the Scandinavian version, not the Germanic brownie-sized creatures.

Tolkein's LOTR, though clearly one of several inspirations for FFG's Midnight setting as a whole, has no influence on my Fey (although it does have a bit of influence on the Dwarves of my game). Of course, as the central character is an elf, if you hate elves I suppose you don't have much reason to like the story hour.

EDIT: To be honest, the Elric books are also one influence on my Elves.

 

[Renfield]

Heh, figures I'd make my usual mistake of ranting to someone with far more knowledge than myself on mythology, I need to read more. Anyhow I do enjoy your story hour. I also enjoy whining (yes whining, I admit it) about elves, sorry if I offended and annoyed in any way, just obnoxious I guess. My apologies. To summarise my issues with elves in a more clear and less whiny light: I consider them far too over glorified. Despite that my dislike for them in truth is more like favoring some football team over another. You don't truly hate them but you certainly don't like them. I apologise for my compliment turning into a rant and the like, keep up the good work.

 

[Emiricol]

Heh, I hear you. And thanks for following up. I've never played an Elf in D&D It's just that they are an integral part of Midnight, and I wanted to see what it'd look like with mythical vs D&D style Fey. I read a lot about elves as a kid reading Nordic folklore, so in hindsight it's no surprise I turned there for the inspiration here.

 

[Emiricol]

Ver'huin was a small Elvish settlement, of the usual type for the Erunsil - built within the trees rather than atop them as was the custom of their neighbors to the south.

Typical of such settlements, it had the dueling tree, which was commonly used by the community elders to teach the children the art of Edhel Alata, literally translated from High Elven as Elf Glory. This was the style of fighting the Erunsil had mastered over centuries; it used an intricate pattern seemingly random defensive and offensive movements (primarily thrusting), with both one and two of the unique Erunsil knives.

The knives, which they called simply their fighting knives, were Usually two feet long. Each was masterfully crafted by an expert Elf weaponsmith. Half the length was a baton-line hilt, the rest a tapering, single-edged blade. They could be thrown, so well balanced were they, but they didn't truly shine until they were in the hands of an expert of the Snow Ghosts - which included nearly any living adult Erunsil.

Other notable locations in Ver'huin included arms and armor stores, a provisions and general wares vendor, and finally, a local sorcerer who made his way in the world primarily by healing the injured and sick, and collecting various rare herbs for making healing oils the Humans could use and take with them. All operated on barter, with Oruk tusks being worth much in the settled areas by Man and Fey alike, and as worthless as any other tooth in the wilds.

Ah yes, the Humans, Thrayn noted bitterly, for there were some two dozen Men encamped in a small clearing nearby. The Fey generally disliked them, but the Humans were tolerated in these dire times because they were aggressive rebels in the fight against Shadow. Most had come in the last year, and none constructed a permanent home lest the Fey descend upon them and obliterate the offenders for their presumption - and their damage to the forest. A small tent village marked the location of the Humans - along with their stink and the smoke of poorly constructed cookfires.

Thrayn and his two Humans drew much notice in a small place like this, for travellers were not common enough to have become mundane. The Humans were wary as they always were, and the Fey simply noted the presence of two more Men and an unknown Elf - at first. Only another Fey could have noted the sudden change in atmosphere among the trees when Thrayn was recognized, and a dark whisper arose throughout the elven settlement. The clanging of the Elven weaponsmith stopped as well, leaving the forest unnaturally silent for a long moment.

Bornhild, who had over the last two days become somewhat friendly with Rongald, was ignorant of this however and nodded to the other human in the wagon beside his and said in Norther, "I would wager that our wares will make us welcome indeed in this place, should our mythical master choose to stay here."

Rongald merely shrugged. "He goes where he will, and I follow. He keeps me alive and I keep him in Oruk teeth."

Thrayn motioned the wagons to halt near the human portion of the settlement, and the two humans did so quickly, gladly stepping off the hard seats and stretching, but with a wary eye towards their unfamiliar surroundings. As his foot hit the ground Bornhild winced and drew in a sharp breath between gritted teeth. Blood wet anew the bandage at his ruined shin. Thrayn walked over to him and knelt down, placing both hands on the man's shattered calf and closed his eyes. A wind seemed to blow from the Elf's hands, strongly enough to disturb his shocking white hair, and a chill went through Bornhild's entire body.

Thrayn stood, then, and looked into Bornhild's astonished eyes. "You'd be of little use hobbling around on a ruined foot, he said in the Human tongue. "Get warm by the fire. We'll be here for some time." As he walked away toward the Erunsil trees, Bornhild watched him wordlessly. After a few moments he scrabbled to remove his bandages, revealing a leg that was without any sign of injury. Bornhild shuddered once more, clearly of mixed feelings on the matter.

 

[Emiricol]

Thrayn and his Human companions were at the Erunsil village for several days and nights. He had spent his time haggling with each of the merchants, and visiting the craftsmen to barter for their goods and supplies. By the fourth day in Ver'huin, nothing from the raid had gone untraded and the small group of three was well outfitted to move on. Thrayn had outfitted Rongald and Dornhild with proper weapons, allowing them to trade away the poorly constructed gear they had been using, and upgraded their armor. He had a properly provisioned and equipped horse as well, to carry their gear.

As morning arose on their final day in Ver'huin, Thrayn sat staring into the dying embers of the campfire amongst the tents of the humans, for he had found himself unwelcome for any real length of time in the trees of the Fey. It was in the silence of the early morning and the dim light of dawn that he escaped the voices echoing in his head. Screams of loved ones cut off with vicious finality and the cries for help from long dead friends grew quiet in that weirding hour. Even the thought of it started to bring them back.

The chain shirt and leather breeches he had purchased for himself were of good fit, he noted as he shook himself from his darker thoughts, and the extra weight was warming in the chill air. The oddly patterned links in the mail were a hallmark of its Elven construction, although Thrayn knew it was no more effective than the more simple patterning of Human mail. Still, it comforted him to know it was Fey armor. Certainly Rongald seems duly impressed, although that means little coming from the superstitious Human, Thrayn mused.

He stood and went to the one horse he had kept and rechecked the fittings on the pack saddle once again. Satisfied, he reached into the pocket of one of the saddlebags and fished out the two golden rings that had concluded his bartering. The golden armbands and simple silver torque he now wore were part of the same set, but the rings were made for larger hands. He rolled them in his palms within the pocket of the saddlebags as he waited for his companions to wake.

When they did, Thrayn sat back and watched them aid each other in donning their own mail shirts over their leathers. They joined the other men around the fire and laughed and shared in the food being passed about, and Thrayn let them have their time among their fellow Men. They would leave soon enough.

Not that there was much temptation to stay any longer. Having concluded business among his Erunsil kin, they had taken once again to whispering as he passed, when they payed him any mind at all. He was less welcome here than the Dorn forced to camp at the outskirts - which was of course why he was reduced to passing the night in the company of sleeping Men, for they did not shun him as the other Erunsil did.

Soon Rongald and Bornhild had finished their meal and made their way over to Thrayn. Rongald merely nodded as he gathered up his pack and swept his fur lined cloak over it, and Bornhild offered a simple "Good morrow," and did the same. He struggled for a moment with the gorget at his helm but quickly resolved the matter.

Thrayn walked up to the two men and pressed the rings into their palms. The two Men looked as one down into their palms in surprise, and it was easy to see their awe at such a rich gift. Though they fought against Shadow, for both men it seemed possible that it was a matter of opportunity rather than any strong convictions.

"We should be gone. Let's be off before our welcome wears thin," he said flatly. Thrayn then turned and grabbed up the horse's lead and began to lead them away from the Erunsil village.

Rongald nodded at Thrayn's comment, smiling slightly. "It is good luck to start a journey at the request of the Fey."

Bornhild slid the ring on and avoided Thrayn's eyes. "Aye, but do not let him bespell you, Norther," he muttered in Erenlander. "Don't turn your back on him, lest he cloud your mind."

Rongald showed no indication that he heard his fellow Dorn, and turned to Thrayn. "Aye, away from here. A half-week of the best food I've had in months and a bed softer than my cloak has made me soft."

Bornhild chuckled at the jest, while Thrayn merely eyed the two Men with a detached curiosity then turned to lead the pack horse toward the trail away from the village. "Come," said Thrayn, "if you wish my protection, then let us leave this place. Ver'huin is fast losing its charm."

 

[Emiricol]

There was a commotion ahead, towards the periphery of the tent clearing, and the Men there made way with much haste for an Erunsil who wore the livery of the Witch Queen. This of itself was not surprising, for several of her House were likely to be found any time you found more than a dozen Elves of any type, but they rarely came down among the tents of Men.

The Elf, who looked 16 and might have been a thousand years old for all anyone could tell, approached Thrayn with a look of distaste, as though he had come to speak perhaps to a mangy dog. One that might nip. I see my reputation is no secret to him, thought Thrayn with no small bitterness.

"Leaving, I see," said the other haughtily in High Elven, though his relief at that fact was evident to Thrayn even if it was lost on the Men around them. "I might have information of interest to you, wanderer."

Thrayn bowed his head in respect before straightening to his full height to looking into the other Elf's eyes. They were the same cold blue that stared back at him in reflections, not the blackeye of an actual Avatar of the witch queen. Still, in Thrayn's estimation, a man of honor who had chosen a just path in direct service to the Elven nations. An honor he would not taste himself until he had repaid certain debts of honor... "Thank you. I would listen gladly to whatever you might share with me."

The messenger nodded slightly, and his eyes glanced over Thrayn once more, evaluating. He continued in High Elvish, "The Shadow has sent a dozen half-squads of Orcs, each led by an Oruk, to raid into the forests a day south of us. They are suiciders, whose mission is to gain the favor of the god-who-must-not-be-named by doing as much damage to us as possible before they die to go join him in the Shadow." He paused briefly to glance at the two Humans flanking the unwelcome Elf, eyebrows furrowing slightly in disapproval at Thrayn's choice of company regardless of the fact that other Fey had little to do with the ostracized Elf.

"Our forces fighting to the south discovered this too late to pursue, and The Whispers tell us that one of the teams is headed towards the Glen of Norana, a pristine pool south of us which is a Place of Power. Vis can be found there, and we can't afford to lose it to their desecrations. But most of our own warriors are north at the moment, fighting a band of Oruk who we imagine followed your tracks in." The queen's servant practically spit his last words, then bowed slightly, looking to the Elf for a reaction.

A barely-supressed grimace passed over Thrayn's lined features. It seemed that the forces of Shadow hunted him personally, intent on destroying all he cared for. "I will set out for the Glen immediately. Those orcs will be destroyed or I will attempting it." He nodded in respect again and spun towards his companions, his cape spinning around his legs from the sudden movement. "Bornhild, Rongald! We must hurry. We have work approaching from the South." He stormed over to them and grabbed the horse's lead.

Without waiting for a response from the two Dornlanders he began a brisk march through the ankle deep snow toward the waiting Glen. If the orcs reached the Glen before me, there is always the Great Bear of Norana. What survives the beast's ire, I could make short work of...

Behind him, the two men looked at each other for a long moment, having caught none of the Elvish but much of the tension between the two Fey. "Come on then," said Rongald, who began hoofing after his sometime-employer. Bornhild stood for a moment longer before following as well, eyes downcast as he tried to work out just why he was following one of the Fey, and grumbling a bit too loudly.

The Witch Queen's servant paused a moment, watching with relief as Thrayn put distance between the two of them. Silently, he turned and headed back towards the Fey village. Only a slight twitch of the cheek gave away just how agitated he was, and the Men he walked past were oblivious - a fact he noted with more than his usual disgust.

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Thrayn and the two Men travelled quickly, for there was little need to mask their tracks just yet. The rough ground was easy enough for the Elf to navigate, but the Humans were unfamiliar with the territory and merely did their best to keep up with the Elf. The horse seemed content with the pace they set, his load light.

As they travelled, the trees grew denser, and as Dornhild noted in Erenlander, taller and thicker as well. "I tell you, Rongald, this Fey is leading us into woods not meant for the eyes of Men. Have you ever seen a simple pine so tall as these? I wonder that they are trees at all, and not merely a trick on my eyes. Every Norther child knows the tricks Elves can play on the minds of Men at their whim."

Rongald grunted, nodding, but replied in Norther. "Shut that big eating hole of yours. If he wanted to trick you, he would need only enter your mind to change your very memories. From what I gather, that's easier than creating illusions so broad, and for so many, as the imagined woods you so fear."

 

[Emiricol]

The great Oruk grunted, then spoke to his Orc warriors in the fluid language of their kind, full of whistles and nasal grunts that were impossible to reproduce accurately without the tusks and nasal construction unique to their black kind.

"Second Tusk! Where are we now? If you have led us south, I will cut off your left arm and add it to the Blades' rations!" he said, using the Master inflection that showed his dominant position.

An Orc, this one larger than his fellows and wearing two brutally distinct hashmark-like scars on his shoulders, broke from his run and allowed himself to draw even with the Oruk. "My flesh is yours, Third Tusk." The Orc supressed his glee at the clear discomfort this title caused their so-called master, even though he'd used the Inferior inflection their relative ranks demanded. In their tongue it was impossible not to know who felt themselves master in any conversation, but it was still possible to strike back in the Inferior. Second Tusk was very good at that.

The "Third Tusk" Oruk had four hashmark scars, but one had been dyed the same mottled tan/green of his skin, a badge of shame that not many Oruk would have survived carrying. Leading "mere" Orcs was probably the only way this arrogant Fakil could avoid a blood challenge from another Oruk. Much to his and his men's regret.

"But I have not led us astray," he continued in his submissive inflection. "My sense of direction remains unshamed." Ha! Another dig. Although the flaring of the Oruk leader's nostrils told Second Tusk he'd better not push his luck further.

"We have headed west ever since our Spear Master led us into the Fey trap. As he brilliantly deduced, it gave us the opportunity we needed to infiltrate through their lines. We have seen neither Fey nor Sidhe nor Men in two days."

Third Tusk grunted once more, then said in the harsh, abrasive sounds of the Master inflection of their tongue, "The Legate has just informed me that we are to turn North now. We will find a pond within hours, and must taint it for the Shadow. Only then may we find our way to Izrador."

The Orc nodded. "Yes, Third Tusk." Within moments he had the five Blades under his command turned and running North. Let some Fey try to keep up with my troop! They are well disciplined compared to those point-ears.

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Carith stepped out from behind the tree he had used for cover and watched as the orcs passed out of his sight into the forest. "Well this all makes sense now, Whisper. The vision last night of Orcs desecrating a pool, after a fierce battle with Men and a Fey - and now a troop of Orcs race towards the same place I have been drawn to for days..."

The hawk on a near by tree looked down on him and gave a slight bob of its head, one that looked far to much like a human nod.

"We have to stop them. I don't know how or why, but that pool is important. It must be kept from their hands. We can't let its power fall to the Shadow." The Man shouldered his bow and grabbed his pack up from the ground. "Let's move my friend. The orcs do not know these woods half as well and I dom and maybe, just maybe, we can beat them to the pond of my Vision! But we must hurry."

Without a sound the hawk extended its wings and soared off the tree into the grace of flight, Carith in a light jog not far behind.

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It was nearly nightfall by the time the woods took on a distinctively Fey overtone. Thrayn knew instinctively that he approached a place of immense, if subtle, power. The energy of it thrummed in his ears, almost audible but felt more than heard. It was a welcoming sensation to him. The humans with him kept tight together and their knuckles were white with the unconscious tension of their hands upon their spear hafts, eyes darting back and forth.

Closing his eyes and reaching out his mind, Thrayn felt the small waves of energy wash over him, until his own rhythms were in time with those of the glen. So far, all was well - the Orcs were not yet here. But this was a large place, with many approaches.

They were on the northern border of the Glen of Norana, named after the fey Elder who, millenia ago, had tamed the raw energy of this place of primordial power, bent it to her will and made it useable to all the Fey.

Further in, the forest was dense enough that movement would be slowed and visibility extremely limited. Some hundred yards deeper would be the preternaturally still pond in the center of the Glen, with waters so pure that those who carried not the Fey gift of sorcery would be burned by the power of the magic that permeated it.

To the west of the pond would be a small hill networked with caves, the home of the Great Bear of the Glen - a mythical creature that was bear in name and shape only, for those who saw it said with a straight face that it stood three times the height of a normal bear if it stood an inch, with unnatural ridges and protrusions about the muzzle and shoulders that could only be a result of its prolonged exposure to the Glen. It was well known for attacking with speed and surprise any who approached who were not themselves Fey or under the protection of one of the Elves.

South of the pond would be the place of crafting - a series of workstations that enabled the Fey to build all manner of magically endowed weaponry, armor, and more mundane gear as well. The Elves said that any such item created and enchanted here would bear a greater power than the crafter alone could have accounted for.

East of the wondrous Glen lay the Alter of Norana's Dirge, an ancient stone tablet from before the First Age of Men, upon which Norana had allowed her circle of sorcerers to sacrifice her for the purposes of enabling a terrible ritual. That potent magic is what had tamed this Elder Fey place for future use by their kind - mere decades before Izrador's first thrust to the south, by happy coincidence.

The Glen of Norana held her name to this day, and had served the Erunsil well. And Orcs were likely coming to despoil it.

 

[Emiricol]

I've posted a map and battle summary thread at trosforums.com (the forums where the game is taking place). You can find it at:

http://www.trosforums.com/viewtopic.php?t=381

Because the Story Hour isn't updated as fast as the game posts, the map won't reflect the story hour latest post, but you can see the history of each battle turn by turn, which might be of interest in general, and especially once the "battle scene" is posted up in the story hour.

 

[Eremite]

Great writing, Emiricol. One thing that has always amazed me about the Midnight setting is that all of the story hours based on this world are uniformly well-written. I'm really looking forward to more from you.