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<blockquote data-quote="Raven Crowking" data-source="post: 2024488" data-attributes="member: 18280">As he came into the daylight, Selanil heard a voice he recognized speak from behind him.&nbsp; &quot;Oh, very well done, my Lord, very well done indeed.&quot;&nbsp; Turning, Selanil saw Etain sitting on the lintel of the barrow.&nbsp; Her dress of the other day was gone, replaced with a tattered outfit made of sewn-together rags.&nbsp; &quot;Oh, Mother liked you very, very much.&nbsp; So polite you were, and so wise not to give in to Her particular madness.&quot;&nbsp; She mimed drinking from a cup of mead and then, leaping up, spun around as though dancing with an invisble partner.&nbsp; It seemed, almost, as though she would fall from the lintel, but she did not.&nbsp; Instead, she leapt lightly down to stand beside Selanil.&quot;You received her favor,&quot; the girl said, touching the piece of lavender cloth tied to the spear with reverance.&nbsp; &quot;That is more than many could do, without succumbing to drink or love.&nbsp; The weapon once belonged to Gwertheyrn ap Nudd, a great warlord of the Esk.&nbsp; May you bear it well!&quot;Selanil knew that the Esk were a human people who dwelt in the Lakelands long ago.&nbsp; They built mounds and barrows, and had a special interest in spiral forms and labyrinths.&nbsp; They had probably, in fact, built the place in which he had spent the night.&nbsp; Probably, also, they had built the place where he had been told the manticore laired.&quot;Come now,&quot; Etain cried.&nbsp; &quot;We must go east and south, or you will arrive too late.&nbsp; Let us chase the wind!&quot;&nbsp; She set off down a narrow footpath at a brisk walk.&nbsp; Selanil, with his longer legs, would easily be able to pace her.&nbsp; &quot;And,&quot; she added, turning to face the elf, &quot;if we meet any travelers on the roadway, you may address me as Tattercoats.&nbsp; Names have power, and we do not use ours lightly, not even those we can put on or cast off as old garments.&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Raven Crowking, post: 2024488, member: 18280"] As he came into the daylight, Selanil heard a voice he recognized speak from behind him. "Oh, very well done, my Lord, very well done indeed." Turning, Selanil saw Etain sitting on the lintel of the barrow. Her dress of the other day was gone, replaced with a tattered outfit made of sewn-together rags. "Oh, Mother liked you very, very much. So polite you were, and so wise not to give in to Her particular madness." She mimed drinking from a cup of mead and then, leaping up, spun around as though dancing with an invisble partner. It seemed, almost, as though she would fall from the lintel, but she did not. Instead, she leapt lightly down to stand beside Selanil. "You received her favor," the girl said, touching the piece of lavender cloth tied to the spear with reverance. "That is more than many could do, without succumbing to drink or love. The weapon once belonged to Gwertheyrn ap Nudd, a great warlord of the Esk. May you bear it well!" Selanil knew that the Esk were a human people who dwelt in the Lakelands long ago. They built mounds and barrows, and had a special interest in spiral forms and labyrinths. They had probably, in fact, built the place in which he had spent the night. Probably, also, they had built the place where he had been told the manticore laired. "Come now," Etain cried. "We must go east and south, or you will arrive too late. Let us chase the wind!" She set off down a narrow footpath at a brisk walk. Selanil, with his longer legs, would easily be able to pace her. "And," she added, turning to face the elf, "if we meet any travelers on the roadway, you may address me as Tattercoats. Names have power, and we do not use ours lightly, not even those we can put on or cast off as old garments." [/QUOTE]

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