Peak Elf Performance

Rasil of Greenwood

There were a number of advantages to being reborn in another world, the greatest of which being that all-important second chance using all of the lessons learned from your first life. All the experiences had, wisdom gained, and information accumulated downloaded into the brain of a newborn and giving them an incredible head-start when it came to preparing themselves for the future. With this advantage alone, being reborn as pretty much anything was entirely workable.

Elves were clearly suboptimal, being that their long lives already allowed them to leverage disproportionate experience and ability onto their nominal peers, thus not really gaining as much benefit from the reincarnation process. Having said that, they were still solidly S-Tier in the reincarnation lottery, being that they were elves. Even at their most stripped-back and basic, the archetype of the elf was a beautiful human with exceptionally long lives, keen senses, and probably natural talent in magic.

Unfortunately, the archetypal elf has been somewhat diluted from the golden age of Tolkien, and a brand new archetype had taken shape in the far East, that of the Anime Elf. The Anime Elf was still long-lived and beautiful, and usually had a talent for magic, but they had a number of other, less agreeable traits.

Most prominently in how excited the writers were for elven girls anytime they came up. Spiritual, beautiful, long lived, and absolutely enthralled with the masculine energy of whatever the designated protagonist happened to be, usually a human or an orc. Their appearances and personality could vary wildly between characters, highly dependent on what archetype of love interest they were filling in for in the protagonist's pseudo-harem of ladies that fawn over his unique and engaging character traits, but only one of which he will ever actually form a relationship with.

He, as a male elf, was normally slotted in somewhere between femboy, twink, or cuckold. Male elves usually got in the way of the protagonist charming elven women, after all. Limp-wristed, reserved, arrogant, usually somewhat dextrous and magically gifted at their best. Sometimes they were yet another 'woman' interested in the designated protagonist, for the somewhat niche homoerotic appeal.

Naturally, he wasn't going to tolerate that. Every other elven male seemed content being losers who focused on grace or sorcery or whatever. Wizards and duelists, who wielded devastating magical spells and swayed like willows to avoid mountain-cleaving blows. Lightly armored, with lean builds and arrogant sneers that devolved into incoherent outrage when they were inevitably defeated by some plucky young protagonist spamming his starter-attack over and over at them.

He, on the other hand, was going to hit things in the face very hard, and laugh when things hit him very hard. He was going to wear heavy armor, use very big weapons, and throw himself into danger with absolutely no regard for potentially wasting a thousand-year lifespan by dying young.

Naturally, this meant he was running away from home at the ripe age of twenty.

Longstanding cultural, legal, and religious policy among Elvenkind held that an Elf wasn't really an adult until they were at least one-hundred years old. Not because they actually physically mature slower than humans did, but rather that when you lived a thousand years, you tend to look down on anyone with a two-digit number for their age. Biologically, he was a young adult, and he was going to be for the next nine hundred years or so.

More than ready to ditch his home, full of people he really couldn't stand, and head out to start hitting monsters in the face with something heavy and made of steel. Step one being actually finding something made of steel. The only metal elves here used was mithril, and mithril was entirely too expensive for him, the son of a very-minor elven noble house, to afford.

At the moment, he was stuck with a bow, wooden spear, and wooden sword. They were made out of 'Ironwood', a classic material of elven design made some thousand-thousand years ago when an Elf was bored and crossbred trees over the course of his entire life to make super-strong wood. This wood is then heated and pressed together in crossed layers to produce a material that is very strong and rather lightweight. It also wasn't steel and thus wouldn't help him gain much muscle if he stuck to it.

Clad in a mixture of ironwood plates and boarhide leathers, with a large backpack full of supplies over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows over the other, sword at his waist and spear in hand as a walking-stick, he was ready to take on the world.

"...Master Rasil?" A voice called out to him, just as he was placing his hand on the doorknob. He turned a flat expression back towards the source of the voice, revealing the long-time head maid in service to his family. Long black hair, bright blue eyes, inexplicably vaguely-french style maid uniform despite this supposedly being an entirely different world with its own cultural evolution, she was as beautiful as every other female elf he has thus far seen in his twenty years of living in these woods.

"Teresa." He replied blankly. "Do you need something?" He asked, knowing full well that she was attempting to silently convey a question about where he was heading off so early in the morning. It was well known by now that he had very little patience for the games of interpretation and implication that every other elf seemed obsessed with. His parents were worried that he was stupid for the longest time, which was fairly insulting of them to think.

She took several moments to overcome both elven instinct to rely on unspoken words and natural subservience to his bloodline, eventually getting out a direct question. "...May I inquire about where you are going, clad in your plate and burdened with bags, through the door before even breakfast has been served?"

"Camping. Again."

She took another few moments to work up a clarifying question. "I see… without Lady Titania?" The woman in question being his assigned bodyguard and martial tutor. When he had made clear his interest in martial prowess to the exception of everything else, his parents had relented and sought the services of a warrior from the elven capital for such a position, at the requirement that he keep up with his magical and religious studies as well.

She was trying her best to teach him how to avoid hits. Rasil was keen on not being such a fucking loser.

"I'm more than experienced enough to go camping on my lonesome." He replied with an irritated twinge to his expression and tone. "Five summers now I've spent nights in the woodlands of my household under the supervision of Lady Titania, and she has taught me more than enough for me to manage on my lonesome. A mere week alone is well within my abilities."

This was, of course, a complete fabrication on his part. It wasn't out of reason by any means. Many times he had gone camping over the years specifically to make this excuse incredibly plausible, to make it seem all-but inevitable that he would eventually seek to go off sleeping under the canopies and stars on his own, and eventually come back home covered in twigs and dirt.

The trick was, of course, he had absolutely no intention of ever coming back. He was going to go into those woods, emerge on the other side in human lands, and keep walking until this place was a distant memory. These elves were almost intolerable to be around, with how much they flipped between cutesy shit and entirely undeserved elitism.

It was fairly well known among the township that Rasil, lone son of the creatively-named Greenwood House, did not enjoy company. It was not known that it was more that he just couldn't stand other elves. At least, the elves of his homeland, who were seemingly pathologically incapable of having fun in a way that doesn't involve comparing status and mocking their fellows for tiny differences in style and dress.

"...Is this to avoid Mistress Mariella's visit?" Teresa asked, clearly struggling to get out the question in the face of his hard stare.

Mariella Greenwood, the third of his three older sisters, was a perfect Greenwood elf. Highly educated, talented, beautiful, other descriptions for generally valuable, and also constantly making snide remarks and mocking jabs at just about everything he did. Allegedly it was to try to help him by disencouraging unhelpful traits, in practice it only ensured that he didn't have any interest in interacting with her. Ever.

"Yes." He was exceptionally blunt with his reply, making Teresa flinch back. "I'm leaving now. I'd appreciate it if you refrain from mentioning where I've gone until someone directly asks." He wasn't wording it as an order, but rather just an indirect request, which was way more effective for bossing her around.

Knowing elves? That would be at least a day.

He didn't bother sticking around to hear her reply, opening the door and stepping out into the cool early morning of the Greenwood estate. From the front doors to the surrounding woodlands. From the woodlands and into the rest of the world.

Mayhaps he'd even meet elves that weren't snobbish, implication-obsessed pricks in slutty clothing.

—

The Greenwoods were very minor nobility in elven culture, being the equivalent of something like mayors. Their control was over a single elven settlement and the surrounding lands, serving on behalf of a higher noble and having a small number of knight-equivalents sworn to serve them. The higher noble in turn served Elven Royalty, who was the supreme ruler of all of Elvenkind.

Save the Dark Elves, who were ancestral enemies of the Elves on the basis of the content of their character and color of their skin.

Of course, being elves, even the minor nobility ruled over relatively vast swathes of land. The size of a very small country in total, with a central urban township built around an ancestral estate surrounded by a reasonably large ring of farmland, which in turn was surrounded by miles of well-cultivated wilderness. This wilderness, whatever form it might take, was the religious-obligation of Elvenkind to maintain and defend.

This wilderness was kept in good shape through an absence of any and all roads. Elves did not have roads, did not use roads, and did not build roads. Elves moved from township to township via central courtyards ringed with magical stone waygates, allowing for rapid transit across the whole of their empire and ensuring that the most distant buildings around each settlement were probably farmhouses, pastures, or watchtowers.

The waygates didn't connect every location to every other location, but they were quick enough that he could walk to the other side of the world in maybe half an hour. Very impressive, magically speaking, and totally useless to his intended goal of getting away from other elves.

The Greenwoods lived in a very temperate part of the world anyways, which was perfectly fine by him. That and those gates were constantly monitored, which meant another person would know where he had gone if he moved through one. Not ideal by any means.

Instead, he went due west for half a day, then into a relatively shallow but wide river which ran due south. He stepped out to the middle, then started walking south for another half-day or so, and stepped out on the opposite bank and kept walking until nightfall and it was time to make camp. Walking through the water would disguise his tracks and scent, and necessitate checking the entire length of the river to find where he had gotten out.

Which would make it harder again to follow in his path, as by the time they had checked the entire riverbank, his tracks would be that much older.

He ate a loaf of waybread for dinner and slept in one of the trees that night. A loaf of waybread supposedly could feed a single elf for a week, but that was both a slight exaggeration and only when comparing to much scrawnier, normal elves.

Rasil had been exercising his entire life, with both calisthenics and homemade weights, and was substantially more brawny than most of his peers. A loaf of Waybread could tide him over for about a day, which was still very impressive for a brick of honey-flavored hardtack made of tree-nut flour... and honey.

About halfway through the next day of travel, Rasil exited the part of the wilderness that was carefully cultivated by generations of elves and entered the part of the wilderness that was actually wild. Everything within about thirty miles of Greenwood was their territory, which was something like three-thousand acres if he remembered his maths right.

'Minor Nobility'.

This line between cultivated wilderness and true wilderness was denoted by the occasional boulder covered in runes and projecting several useful 'go away' wards to everything that elves didn't like, such as invasive species, monsters, and other races, which were all usually considered the same thing most of the time.

Naturally, the wards didn't do anything to stop him, an elf, from passing through. From here he would actually be in danger from various threats, such as invasive species, monsters, and other races.

His first priority was finding signs of civilization, preferably human, and getting his feet on a proper road for the first time in this entire life. If roads were good enough for the Romans, the greatest empire to ever exist, they were certainly good enough for him. He kept walking until he found another river, then started walking down along it, making sure he was stepping in the water so that it would wash away his footsteps and scent.

That night, he slept in another tree after thoroughly inspecting it, and ate his second loaf of waybread. Naturally, it was delicious and filling. It was a loaf of honey-flavored nut-based hardtack, it would be strange if it wasn't delicious.

He awoke suddenly halfway through the night, rolling off his suspended hammock and landing on the forest floor some twenty feet down. Another roll once he hit the ground bled off the shock of the impact into something manageable, and gave him a look up at his sleeping spot.

Above him, the suspended hammock was now engulfed in webbing, and creeping insectile legs were peaking through the gaps of the foliage. Those keen senses of his had awoken him just in time.

He could hear the acceleration of his heartbeat.

A giant spi-

"There's no need to be like that, little elf." A feminine voice called down from the canopy. "I just want to hold you tight~" Ah, a drider then. Slightly different, and still probably something that wanted to kill and eat him.

Drider then. He pulled up from his crouch, hoisting his wooden spear as he did so. "Truly? Well there's no need for all of that nasty webbing of yours. Mayhaps if you had called out to me and spoken aloud your desire, I would've considered it." He shook his head, doing his best to bury his alarm and sudden panic beneath dry humor. "But now you've gone and woken me up in the middle of the night, and taken my travelbag besides."

"Oh, I'm oh-so sorry. If you come up here, I could make it up to you~" She replied with a sultry tone. He frowned and glared up at the branches, at where he could vaguely make out a feminine upper half suspended on creeping darkness.

"If you truly want to make it up to me, you'll remove your webbing from my bag and toss it down here to me." He pointed his spear up at the monstrous woman, the outlines and glimpses of which could barely be made out through the dark and the branches. If he was a human, she would've been entirely invisible.

"Oh no, I couldn't do that. It's in my web now, you see, and I'm so loath to let go of anything that enters my embrace." She gave a teasing giggle. "Though, for you I can make an exception, you just have to come up and retrieve it. I won't try to stop you."

Rasil considered that proposition for a moment.

"Pft." He scoffed with an amused tilt to his mouth. "Oh well." He shrugged, turning around and starting to walk away.

"W-wait a moment. Where are you going?" The drider called out from the canopy.

"On my journey, of course. Now that I'm awake, I might as well make more progress out of this blasted forest."

"B-blasted forest…? But wait, I still have your bag! D-don't you want it back?"

"Oh yes, going within reach of the monstrous spider who wants to cocoon me, inject me with digestive venom, and drink the food-slurry that was my internal organs afterwards." Rasil rolled his eyes. "There's nothing in that bag that I truly need. You are free to it."

"N-now wait a minute!" She moved through the canopy rapidly, not quite fast enough to actually keep pace with his overland walking pace unobstructed by branches. "I-I'm not going to kill you! A-and I eat normally!"

"I met an old fat spider, spinning in her tree~" Rasil began to sing, walking along at a comfortable pace.

"O-old and fat?!"

"I said, hey old fat spider. I bet you can't catch me. You've grown too fat, you lazy lob, you're just an old tomnoddy~" A smile began to grow over his face.

"You- G-get back here Elf!" The voice was growing more distant by the second, so he increased the volume of his song to compensate.

"Hey attercop, hey attercop, you can't catch anybody~" The smile had grown into a full-blow grin.

"Stop calling me names! I don't even know what those mean!" She had started to wail, thoroughly flustered by this point.

He needed to reach a clearing or something, lose this pursuer before he tried to rest again. She had way more legs than him, and was probably burning way more calories as a result.

"And then the old, fat spider, she spun a final thread~" He kept up the song as he walked away, amusing himself with the reactions.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Rasil of Greenwood

At some point the drider either got too tired to follow him or got massively more sneaky, because he could no longer hear her pursuit in the rustle of the canopy behind him, even after long periods of deliberate silence and careful listening. If she wasn't following him anymore, then he was relatively safe. If she was massively more sneaky, then he was screwed anyways so there was no point in worrying about it.

He could settle down somewhere for a nap, to recover from the interrupted period of sleep, but that would only aid any potential pursuers. Instead, he would simply keep walking along the river, catch something to eat from it, and rest at his normal time later tonight. He'd be extra sleepy, so he'd probably wake up exceptionally refreshed by the end.

The primary issue was that most of his camping supplies were in that bag, and now he was going to have to rely on his wits and the little bit of practical magic taught to him. Elven education was a long and drawn out process that relied on apprenticeships and direct, personalized tutelage. Traditionally each student was given firm grounding in all aspects of the field long before practical applications actually began.

The physics of the field, the history of the field, notable applications and things to avoid, all the various background details that technically didn't actually improve your ability to throw balls of fire around, but certainly allowed fully educated elves to stomp most others when it came down to it. Having more information to work with typically meant winning, and elves were masters of trivia.

The important term there being fully educated, because for elves that was around three hundred years of work. A prodigy might get through all the material and master magic in only one hundred years instead. Rasil, being twenty, had exactly ten years of magical education backing his efforts, the vast majority of his knowledge being metaphysics and broad strokes of historical information. Good to know, but it didn't actually make him better at throwing fire around.

This suited him just fine, because he wanted to hit things with weapons. He already had a way to deliver consistently high targeted damage at a long range, it was called a bow. Not one of those lame tiny bows either, his bow was two-thirds of his height, made of ironwood, and reliably punched through most things he shot at.

In terms of practical magical effects, he had exactly one 'spell'. It was called 'push mana into something'. Mana, being the magical energy that fell from the skies and accumulated upon and within the earth, was something that inherently elevated things by saturation. Just having more mana in a thing made that thing slightly more, better at whatever its particular thing was.

There was also tainted mana, which was used by people who were evil or perverse, or both. It was pretty useless to him, and using it would turn him into a dark elf, so he was just going to avoid it. If he wanted darker skin for whatever reason, he could always just go get a tan, the 'mental pollution' was something he didn't have much interest in.

The 'spell' he did have was already more than versatile enough to cover basically anything he really needed anyways. 'Push mana into a thing to make it better' was an inefficient, brute-force, unga-bunga manner to utilize magical energy, which was perfect for going around and unga-bungaing at things like he wanted to.

Without his flint and steel, he had to resort to it to make a fire for his delicious freshwater fish dinner. Without a cooking surface, he had to resort to a thoroughly cleaned rock and a slow-cook on top of a broad leaf wrapping.

Pushing magical energy into the kindling and making it better at being kindling made the process of rubbing sticks together to produce a spark vastly easier than it normally would be. A process that would normally take a couple minutes instead took about thirty seconds, and the kindling worked exceptionally to bring the small pyramid of twigs into a merry crackling campfire.

Delightful little campfire on a delightful riverbank in a delightful temperate forest, all without a single elf in hearing range. A delighted little smile came over his lips as he took it all in.

Rasil let out a long and contented sigh, leaning back and watching his fillets slowly bake in the ambient heat of the campfire, leaf-bed curling up as it dried out and fish not quite sizzling. A comfortable look grew over his face as he leaned back, casting a gaze up and looking up to the twin moons.

Supposedly they were twin-gods, Alun and Luna, who together were Aluna. There was a great deal of religious significance about how important they were to the world and lesser races, and how enlightened elves were for only worshipping Gaia and Ouranos, their parents, of which Ouranos was currently dead. It was mostly unimportant to him, because he wasn't a priest.

Most pertinent to him was that they looked way prettier out here than they did back in the Greenwood lands.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. The smell of smoke and riverbank filled the air, far cry from the curated placements of fragrant flowers and fruit trees designed to optimize nasal enjoyment no matter where you were and what you were smelling at any point in time. Here the world smelled of bark and pollen and rot, the rough scents of wilderness untamed.

"Gosh, it's a really nice night." He happily declared to the dark wilderness. The song of crickets and other night-insects was his only reply.

The fish was entirely unseasoned. It tasted of freedom and no elves. Naturally, it was delicious.

He made a note to catch more than one tomorrow, because he was still hungry after just the one.

—

Overland travel for a single person traveling through wilderness was about twenty miles per day, assuming that he was maintaining that pace that meant he had traveled about ten miles due west, and about ninety miles due south. Pythagorean theorem here and he was about ninety and a half miles away from home when he first came across signs of people who were not him.

Keen senses allowed him to overhear them well in advance, low and scratchy voices that barked at each other in an unfamiliar language, angry about something and fearsomely debating about what to do. And just like the heroic busybody he was aiming to be, he approached to stick his nose in other people's business. His mostly silent approach went unnoticed under the loud and angry voices, and eventually he had gotten close enough to get a visual.

Short, greenish figures with great hooked noses wearing crudely made armor and wielding battered weapons stood in the midst of a clearing, two keeping a lookout as the other three argued in the middle. In between them was either a tiny woman or a mature girl, bound and teary and doing her best to pretend that she wasn't present as they barked and growled at each other through worn and yellowed teeth.

It was fairly obvious this was some manner of kidnapping by what looked like goblins. The most concerning feature was the battered black powder guns carried by each, rifles and pistols on the same belts that cleavers were carried.

He was somewhat irritated by this, because no one back in Greenwood had bothered to tell him that early firearms were a thing. He made a snap judgement call and decided to side with the group that wasn't ugly, drawing four arrows from his quiver, setting them up in between his fingers, and took aim. He couldn't do this for more than four arrows at a time, because he only had five fingers.

Perhaps he would've been more reluctant to kill them if they were human, or attractive, but as it stood he was unsurprisingly pretty fine with their deaths.

Fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip.

Four goblins fell to the ground, strangled grunts and pained gurgles as the arrows punched right through the gaps in their armor and into their lungs.

The last swerved around, suddenly aware that he was in danger. It wasn't enough to actually help the probable-kidnapper, as a few seconds later a hundred and eighty pounds of elven male plummeted from the canopy above and staked the greenskin soldier to the earth like he was setting up a flagpole.

He grunted slightly, needing to absorb the force of the impact with his knees that time, and pushed himself back into a standing position. Hand on the upper shaft of his ironwood spear, he briefly considered pulling it out to keep using before deciding he was just going to leave it here instead.

As soon as he had a proper shield, he was going to be wading into combat, that instance of sneak archery made him feel dirty. No shame about the dragoon drop though, because he was feeling pretty giddy about actually being able to pull that off. He turned his head to look down at the bound woman, getting a somewhat better look at her now.

Wide-eyed and muffled, the woman was tied in a manner that was more provocative than actually effective. Rasil wasn't quite surprised, being that she had been captured by what were clearly goblins and thus was probably about to be thoroughly molested. Light brown hair, short stature, curvaceous build, and looked like she was a few moments away from pissing herself.

He sniffed.

No, she already had a while ago, it seemed. Stale urine had a distinct scent.

The most notable features were the little horns that curled up from the sides of her head, which meant that he didn't know what she was. Except clearly still scared of the figure that jumped out of the woods to murder a bunch of her captors and was now staring down at her from behind a wooden masked helm. He reached up, taking hold of the ironwood that concealed his face and pulling it off, blond hair bunching up in the helm and then flowing out as he removed it and shook his head.

He gave his best gentle smile, twitching his ears and crouching down to set his helm aside. He raised a hand to tap at his mouth, then pointed at her and miming a 'take off' gesture. She hesitated, before giving a little timid nod and staying still as he leaned forwards to remove the gag.

"You're safe now, do you know why?" He grinned, tossing the gag aside and pointing at himself. "Because I'm here now!"

Unfortunately, the cheesy line was less than effective, because she just swallowed and replied in a language that he didn't understand. "...~~, ~~ ~~~~~, ~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~."

He replied with a furrowed brow and frown, reaching up to scratch at the side of his head in a manner that clearly indicated his confusion, before shrugging. He glanced over at the impaled goblin, reaching over to draw one his crude iron knife out of its sheath, then returned his gaze to the woman and made a gesture of 'can i?' at her bindings.

She stared at the knife, then at his face, before giving a sharp nod and wiggle. He stepped closer to start carefully sawing away at her ropes, gently pulling them away as they came loose and freeing the captive. After a minute or so of work, she was loosened and rubbing at her wrists, still staring at him with nervous eyes.

He smiled, pulling back and standing up again, snatching his helm and putting it back over his head as he did. He looked around at the corpses, giving a deliberate look at the crude leather bags that they were carrying, and the little jackets of thin iron lamellar.

He turned back to the little horned woman, before raising a single finger in a 'one minute please' gesture.

—

Packs laden with loot were often low on supplies, as the adage of the honorable Ancestor went. It was fortunate that supplies and loot were the same thing for him right now, because he was still out of pretty much anything that wasn't on his person yesterday. He took two bags of supplies from their corpses, and left his ironwood spear in payment. Mostly because he really didn't feel like pulling it out and washing it off afterwards.

His newest companion, still smelling vaguely of urine and shooting him the occasional nervous glance, took one bag for herself, and picked out things that weren't too close to any corpse-bit before accepting his offered hand and being led back to the river to wash up and get going.

"Rock." He said, pointing at the stone in question as they moved along the riverbank, down towards the inevitable civilization that would appear at the end. There was always some kind of settlement somewhere along a river, rivers had everything that people needed in order to live.

"~~~." She replied promptly, adding another word to his vocabulary. It was something of a game to facilitate their ability to communicate, a cousin of 'I spy'. She was clever enough to have picked up on his intention relatively quickly, and it was a good way to pass the time. She pointed at one of the trees, repeating a word from earlier. "~~~~."

"Tree." Elvish was a rather tricky language to get right, lots of abstract rules and flowing grammar that changed depending on context and formality, but undeniably beautiful in end result. It was doubtlessly the language of assholes who had entirely too long to learn all the little rules and edge-cases and thought themselves better than everyone else, namely Elves. He pointed at the river. "River."

"~~~~~~." She replied with a nod, before glancing up at him hesitantly. She raised a hand to pat at her chest in a self-referential manner. "Dura." She spoke, clearly introducing herself.

He tilted his head, raising a hand to point at her. She was much shorter than him, standing at eye level with his belly-button, so every conversation was him literally looking down on her. "Dura?" He asked for confirmation.

She nodded, and repeated the name with another pat of her ample chest. "Dura."

"Dura." He repeated with an understanding nod. Briefly, he considered introducing himself with his actual name, but he had already been considering this for the past few years now. If he went around calling himself Rasil of Greenwood, it would just be that much easier for the people back home to track his movements and eventually find him. That would just be unnecessary trouble.

He could avoid a lot of that trouble by simply deciding on a new name for himself.

He had thought about that particular issue for many months, rolling over choices in his mind as he debated symbolism and meanings and other such factors. Eventually he decided that he would pick a name that meant nothing here, something to himself, and was very easy to remember. With that settled, he had the perfect name prepared for his new life.

With a smile, he raised a hand to pat at his own chest, covered in plates of ironwood and varnished into a dark brown.

"Mallorn."

"Malorn?"

He shook his head. "Mal-Lorn."

"Mal-lorn?" She tried again, brows furrowing. He nodded in a jolly manner, returning his gaze back to the riverbank-way and waiting for her to name something else. Maybe find a cool rivercrab to boil and munch on tonight with the goblinpot he took. If nothing else he could alway go fishing again, and it would be easier to cook more with another person helping him out.

Delicious rivercrab ov'r a delightful little campfire, what more could he ask for?

Later that night, he would discover that boiled rivercrab was actually kinda gross.

—

Mallorn

A mere five days after leaving the Greenwood, and two days after rescuing Dura from the group of goblin kidnappers, the first proper civilization came into sight along the riverbank. A logging town by the looks of it, with great sawmills constructed along the river and the occasionally felled log along their path leading to it. Modest farms, basic watermills, a little stone wall, and most importantly of all- actual roads.

Sure, they were basic packed dirt and nothing else, but they were absolutely enthralling to step upon. Wonder, beautiful indicators of mass and consistent overland travel leading from a fishing dock up the river all the way down to the charmingly quaint township and its brightly colored red and yellow banners.

"Dura talk." His shortstack companion declared, looking up at him and asserting herself with some slightly recovered confidence.

"~~~." He replied with the word that either meant 'good' or 'yes'. He wasn't quite sure yet, and either would function in this context. Her smell and mood had improved substantially over the past two days, frequent scrubs in the river followed by being dried out in front the fire, his dark green cloak lent out to cover her up while her silks and laces were drying.

He was fairly certain that she was reasonably wealthy, from the quality of her clothing, but it was hard to tell with how much he had grown used to seeing elves in luxury silks as daily wear. When you had years and years to afford new products, and you never actually changed in overall proportion, eventually all of your clothes become exceptionally high quality through buying them from exceptionally talented local seamstresses who made clothes as a hobby and has been for the last eight-hundred years.

With that in mind, he was hard pressed to actually determine the level of quality of anything around him other than 'worse than his old home'.

Seeing so much lovingly-made but crude products around added a great deal of rustic charm, and he could hardly contain his excitement as they approached the outer gates of the little logging village.

Logging meant sawmills. Sawmills meant steel. Steel meant blacksmiths.

Which meant he could finally pawn off all this elven and goblin shit and finally buy some good steel.

Pep in his step, Mallorn cheerfully followed Dura.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Mallorn

It wasn't all that hard to negotiate, once he had arrived in the quaint little logging town properly, they had an old scholarly type come out who was capable of speaking Elvish and was willing to translate on his behalf. The practical embodiment of 'cozy township old man book-keeper'. Mallorn liked him from the moment he laid eyes upon him.

This revelation seemed to take some of the wind out of Dura's metaphorical sails, but she was still following him around as he went about completing his objectives in the township. Namely, trading out his various recognizable elven knicknacks and goblin loot for good old fashioned steel and basic supplies.

As was perhaps typical with fantasy settings, they had a general goods store in town willing to buy as much of his old stuff as they could afford. In practice this meant all the stuff taken from those goblins earlier, plus his ironwood sword. Somewhat more surprisingly, they weren't using golden coins as was typical, they were instead using little copper chips. Even more surprising was that they also used little divisions of these same chips, half-coins and one-fourth coins, to account for purchases too small for even a single copper coin.

That was a greater degree of thought than he was actually anticipating, one which he really shouldn't have been surprised by in hindsight. Back in Greenwood the smallest unit of currency was a silver coin, but they were rich assholes so that made sense. Rich assholes who paid for everything in silver or favors because you'd be mocked relentlessly by everyone if you were known for not paying people back.

"Ah- Mallorn do next?" The old scholar spoke in his best elvish, which was still pretty stiff and staggered. He didn't speak elvish well, after all, just enough to communicate and translate on his behalf. Dura had been sticking well to his side, but rapidly and quietly chatting with the scholar in between efforts of translating for him.

"A blacksmith." Mallorn nodded, hefting his new sackful of coins. Most of his goblin stuff was exchanged for a new bag and a handful of useful camping supplies. "Replace ironwood-" He patted his breastplate for emphasis before continuing. "-with steel. Good steel."

"Ah… Stay here long then?" The old man asked in a somewhat interested manner.

Mallorn furrowed his brows, trying to see how the two statements connected, before realizing that without whatever forging-magic that elven-smiths used, it would probably take quite a long time to craft a full replacement set for his armor. Even at its fastest, making something new would probably take a few days. He frowned and considered this, before turning to look down at Dura. "Where is your home? Take you there?"

She furrowed her brows, knowing some of the words in the sentence but not all. The old scholarly man translated for her, before nodding and smacking her lips in thought. "~~~~~~~~~~. ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~."

"Father Erem. One of the dwarven holds, near to our lands." The scholar quickly translated back to him.

"Dwarf?" Mallorn returned, blinking and looking down at the short, busty woman with horns. He supposed he didn't know what he was expecting female dwarves to look like, but she was in roughly the correct height range and general profile. The horns had thrown him off though, those were new.

The depictions of dwarves in elven lands were mostly propaganda pieces, with them fighting alongside giants and against dragons and dragon-men, or as the butt of some manner of elven joke. Little helmeted men acting in foolish or unclean ways, or fighting against some other thing that elves liked even less than dwarves. Those depictions had horns too, but he had honestly thought that they were coming out of the helmets and not their actual heads.

Shame on him for not asking questions, he supposed. A lot of this information would've been known prior if he had been reading books on dwarves, but he had seen the word and depictions and decided that he knew everything important about them already. That, and it was hard to fit personal reading in between lessons about elven history and lessons about playing harps.

Dura tilted her head back and looked questioningly at him, clearly understanding that word and his tone. "~~ ~~~ you ~~~~ I ~~~~?"

"What do you thought I was?" The scholar translated, hands folded behind his back, in the manner that old men often did to force themselves to stand up correctly.

"What did you think I was." Mallorn idly correctly with a twitch of his ear, making the scholar give a grateful sound. Mallorn tried to think of an answer that would be satisfactory, before just shrugging and explaining simply. "I thought the horns were on the helmets." He reached up to tap at the sides of his head.

The scholar translated quickly. Dura blinked, before letting out a snort, followed by a handful of giggles. She raised a hand to cover her smile, looking down and away as she continued to find humor in his lack of understanding. Mallorn gave a slightly humored smile, turning to look at the scholar and gesturing at the giggling apparently-dwarf woman. "I get no respect." He declared in an amused tone. "No respect at all."

"A bad situation." The scholar nodded gravely, eyes twinkling. Mallorn was glad that humor was able to translate over, that would've been troublesome.

"~~~ ~~~~~ you ~~~ ~~~~~ on ~~~~?" Dura asked after suppressing her giggles enough to talk again.

"Why will you placed horns on helmets?"

"Why would you put horns on helmets." He corrected again, it was only polite to help the man improve his elvish as payment for the translation services, before giving another shrug. "Decoration."

A translation and another fit of giggles followed in response.

—

Eventually, they had gotten around to actually answering his initial question. Dura was from a relatively close dwarven-hold named 'Father Erem', whatever that was in dwarvish, and did indeed desire to go home. She was expecting a marriage to some charming bachelor-dwarf for the sake of improving clan relations and some manner of trade agreement. A few days ago she had been kidnapped by that group of goblins and spirited far away.

Afterwards, he had found her and the rest was history.

With that in mind, the old man was more than happy to write down directions about how to get to her home from their current location, and it was probably rude to stay in town for more than a day or two. So with a heavy heart, he refrained from asking for a new set of armor and instead just traded his bag of coins for a new steel longsword. It took a full day of work for the blacksmith to complete.

The weight was maybe five pounds, and it felt incredible. He couldn't stop playing with it., hefting it about and juggling it between his hands and going through sword-forms with a stupid little grin on his face. For the first time in a lifetime, Mallorn had his hands on proper steel. The motion of the thing was much different compared to Ironwood, and he endeavoured to get used to it as soon as possible.

Sure it was a basic steel blade, rapidly forged by some random village blacksmith, but it was hard to not feel giddy about the whole thing.

That night in a local tavern-cum-alehouse was paid for by providing music and song, a basic harp rapidly assembled from fishing lines and a particularly bent branch, improved through the generous saturation of mana. It didn't exactly sound great, to his ears, but it was likeable enough to the assorted townsfolk who didn't understand what any of the actual lyrics were and good enough that he got an extra serving of chunky potato-and-rabbit stew.

Delightful little bowls of chunky potato-rabbit stew in a delightful little tavern.

"Happee?" Dura asked with an amused tone, walking alongside him down the wood roads and towards the southern bridge, which led across the significantly-deeper-now river. This bridge connected to another township, which had its own roads, which in turn led to any number of places in the wider world. One of these places was north of this river-town, the mountain hold of the dwarves that Dura hailed from. Mallorn was quite excited to see the dwarves, having never seen one in person.

His ears twitched as he turned to address Dura. Well, he supposed he had seen one dwarf in person. "Yes. Very happy. I have a new sword now." He grinned, brandishing the blade, before chuckling and returning it to its sheath at his belt.

"What wraung uld swaurd?" Dura asked with a raised brow. They had maintained their little game of pointing at things and naming them, and she was now carrying a little lexicon that the old man of the logging village had written for her. A few sheets of paper sewn together, full of scribbled words and their meanings.

Wonderful hospitality thus far, simply wonderful. He had a little lexicon of his own, which translated 'mannish' words into elvish. "Wood." He explained simply, shaking his head. "Not steel. Not good."

"Ah." She replied in a manner that indicated she understood exactly what his sentiments were. "Nat goud. Yees." The conviction of her words and strength of her rapid nodding was all he needed to convince himself that she was indeed a dwarf.

It was still somewhat problematic to communicate with her, because her pronunciation was pretty consistently off, but she was working off about three days of prior communication and a rapidly-scribbled dictionary, so he wasn't about to hold it against her.

The road wound consistently next to the river, which had deepened and strengthened noticeably from its prior upstream levels, little more than packed dirt delineated by frequent posts and the occasional little offshoot road leading up to a shack or farmhouse. Every now and then they would come across a little mini-shrine, like a birdhouse, dedicated to one god or another and occasionally given little offerings of incense or long-extinguished candles.

Elves were aware of many gods, but long standing religious and cultural law held that venerating anyone except Gaia was beneath them. They were, after all, the first born race and thus maintained that they were collectively on par with the first generation of god-children born from Ouranos and Gaia. Venerating your parents was expected, worshipping your siblings was scandalous, and worshipping any of their children was just plain shameful.

Mallorn certainly didn't feel like a god, so that was probably a lie elves used to make themselves feel better about being elves.

The trees had, at some point along the way, stopped being mighty oaks, apples, and ironwoods and turned into pines and dogwood. Much more humble trees with brighter shades of bark and differently-shaped leaves. They broke up a blue sky above with dispersed canopies hanging next to and slightly above the packed road.

He had left his home at the beginning of summer, with the end of the normal elven schooling period and the start of a brief break. Traditionally apprentices were not given any work for the week or so of celebrations that heralded the start of summer in the elven year, and Mariella had sent word about her plan to spend that time with family, returning from her education in the capital.

That was more than a good enough excuse for him to leave, which meant that it was currently the fruiting period for just about everything around. Flowers were in bloom, trees had begun to generate little fruits, harvests had already been planted and little sprouts were shooting up from the tilled rows of earth. All manner of pleasant things.

It also meant that his armor and clothes were unexpectedly rather hot beyond the densely shaded lands of the Greenwood, which tolerated only enough sunlight to grow the little things and warm the earth, and no more. Here in the much more open lands, his armor was warm almost to the point of discomfort and he had to do a great deal of squinting behind his wooden mask.

Like all the other new yet nostalgic experiences he had been having, he embraced it with a delighted little smile.

—

Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

"...Where has my darling brother hidden himself away?" It took Lady Mariella six days to ask that question, one day before her visitation from the capital was scheduled to end. She had been looking, traveling up and down and throughout the household in search of him, always under the guise of refamiliarizing herself with the home and those within it. The real reason was quite obvious- that she very much missed her brother and wished to spend time with him once more.

Titania recalled one particularly long and seething rant from young Rasil, about what he called the elven obsession with pointless obscurements and social games. This behavior of his sister's would most certainly qualify. "Camping." She answered bluntly, wiping her brow with a wetted rag, long hours of martial practice filling her schedule with her student's present absence.

"Camping?" Mariella asked, raising her brow and giving a tiny scoff and a bemused shake of her head. She crossed her arms over her lace-covered chest and declared. "He plays games with me even now. Hiding and forcing me to seek as he has. "

Titania was more than familiar with Rasil at this point to take his declared intentions as blunt truth, as strange as it seemed to her. If he felt the need to talk, he loathed his words being ignored as smoke and veils. "He informed the household that he was camping to avoid your visitation." She declared, obscuring who exactly was the recipient of said information. There was no need for Teresa to be harassed over a spat between siblings.

"A test to see how thorough I'd be searching for him within the bounds of the estate, no doubt." Mariella smirked. "I'd be irritated if his intent wasn't so obvious. As it is, it's simply adorable."

"He is exceptionally precocious." Titania stated, pretending to agree. She placed the rag down, now carrying the scents of her martial labor, and began to loosen her top of leathers and quilts. She would mop away the sweat on her torso, then return to the yard for another round of forms and exercises.

"Well then, if you're here, I suppose he's gone off with another. Has he made a friendship finally, or is there some harlot I need to frighten away?" Mariella asked, politely turning away from the bare chest and continuing to ask about her wayward sibling.

Rasil, as the son of the Greenwood line, would and should have ample friendships among the people. But he was a lonely boy, and his pride was that you treated him as proud or be sorry that you ever said a word his way.

He was very well known for his complete lack of patience for other males, willingness to spew blunt insults at the slightest provocation, and complete disregard for maintaining a good reputation among his peers. It was often joked that there was no elf who has ever been angrier than he, and that at any moment he might catch aflame and burn himself to cinders, that there was nothing but fire and venom under his skin.

His mother, Lady Greenwood, was not fond of those jokes.

Titania had the rare and private privilege to know that he wasn't merely fire and venom. There was anger, yes, but beneath that anger was a beautiful little boy. Well-spoken, well-reasoned, mature beyond his years and possessing a range of awareness that startled her at times. A rude wit, a lively sense for the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness.

And very, very gentle beneath everything else.

That she was one of the bare handful that knew this side of the boy was delightful, thrilling, and something she was quite proud of. That he trusted her enough to share that side was a precious thing.

He seemed to get along fine with girls his age, but his sisters were quite insistent on monopolizing his time, giving any number of threats or insults required to keep other females away. They had tried much the same with Titania, until Titania made it clear that she wasn't about to tolerate threats from little girls.

"Neither." Titania spoke, already knowing what was to come with her next statement. "He has gone alone."

"What!" Mariella swiveled on the balls of her feet to glare into her eyes. All polite precautions against seeing her bare chest now vanished under the sudden panic and anger. "He's gone off alone?! He's just twenty! He's going to die out there!"

The anger sharpened into a fine point. "You… You let him-"

"No." Titania cut off the line with a sharp glare of her own and a refutation. "He left before I awoke, leaving the message behind to greet me when I asked about his whereabouts during breakfast."

"Why haven't you gone after him!?" Mariella almost pulled at her own long blond hair, rubbing at her face and starting to pace about. Her robes, cut in the style of the capital, swished about as she moved and turned and fretted. "You could've followed the instant you learned! Why are you here and not protecting him!?"

"Because he is exceptionally precocious." Titania responded easily, finished wiping down her abdomen and placing the rag down again, beginning the process of typing her top closed.

"Precocious! He's twenty!"

"And he has declared that he would spend a week in the Greenwood on his lonesome, taking his arms and armor with him, and a full bag of supplies." Titania tied her waist-belt closed and looked up again, locking gazes with the sister. "He is more than capable of this, I know this because he is my student. He has declared a week of solitude. I will give him a week, then seek him out. Perhaps I will join him for another week of time spent in the woods, if he has done well for himself, perhaps we will return at once, if he has not."

"Gaah…" The sister gave a long and miserable sigh. "That will be tomorrow then, I suppose? Another day entirely before you set off to find him?"

"Yes."

"Tell him that his dear sister is finding his little games less and less charming as the years continue."

Titania had no intention of doing that.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Text

On the road from Pinefell to Hoofcross, Lands of the World-Tree
Gravelbrook Dura, First Daughter of Clan Gravelbrook

Grandfather often said that the best elf was the one that you never spoke to. Even the best of elves were bothersome on good days, an undeserved combination of arrogance and self-righteousness that infuriated any good and humble dwarf. Anecdotally, he would claim his horns grow an inch every time he's forced to interact with one.

Grandfather was already about ten feet tall, and had horns big enough for all of her younger sisters to hang off of at the same time. She was fairly certain that he was exaggerating, even if every other dwarf of the hold she had spoken to before had claimed similarly. 'Taller goblins that think they're better than you' elves were sometimes described as.

'Thank the saints that they stay in their forests nine times out of ten, it's the tenth of times that you have to be wary of. An elf that feels the need to leave is a troublemaker, sight-seer, or a hero, and if there's a hero riding out then some very bad times are about to fall upon us all.' Great-Grandfather, long having grown too tall to fit in the chambers of their clan and with a beard longer than some of the tapestries of their home, rumbled to her with aged and heavy eyes once, in the brief hours he was awake.

Dura supposed that she was experiencing one of those rare, one in ten encounters with an elf.

Mallorn's ears twitched in response to some sound that she couldn't parse, his head slightly tilting to allow for better hearing. They stuck out of the side of his dark-brown helmet, which covered the back, the top, and the front but left room for them to stick out of the sides and swivel about. Much the same as dwarven helms making allowances for their horns, simply differently-shaped.

The front of the helm was a mask of the same dark material, which was smooth save for the holes for sight and accents of white and gold filigree. From the side of the mask, through the slots that allowed for the ears to pass through, she could see glimpses of his jaw and flashes of neckline. This neck disappeared into a hardened collar of leather and yet more dark brown plates, and then into a sort of half-plate that covered broad sections of his body, but lacked many of the smaller, finer components that would normally cover exploitable gaps.

These gaps were instead covered in shrouds and wreaths of hardened leather, behind which no actual skin save the exposed fingertips were visible. Exposed to allow him to fire those arrows, with a segment of the gauntlet above that folded down to cover the hands in closer combat.

Wood and leather. She didn't know how he had gotten scammed into accepting it as armor, but she couldn't help but pity him for it. Armor was supposed to be made of good metal, bronze or steel or anything, not wood of all things.

She had heard that elves use wooden armor, but she had thought that was metaphorical, not literal.

Mallorn was working to change that, at least, so probably wasn't all that bad for an elf.

"Look at me long time, hm?" He spoke, turning down to look at her and speaking in basic but unstuttered mannish. His tone was teasing behind the featureless warmask, and his ears twitched down in a manner she had begun to recognize as amused. "Melui Naugrhien." Words in elvish she didn't recognize, there were still many of those, despite her efforts in understanding the very strange elf who had taken it upon himself to escort her from his woods.

She assumed they were his woods, at least, mere good fortune that the goblins took her up to someone else's doorstep, and that he was hospitable enough to make sure a guest returned home safely.

She huffed, turning away and looking out towards the long-winded and shoddily-wrought road. Not a single paved stone in sight as they led from the logging village and down towards Hoofcross. The river had no banks built up to control its flows and floods, the road-shrines were made of wood, and overall everything was of rather impermanent construction.

Every dwarf knew two things as truth. The first was that proper construction used stone. The second was that a proper dwarf was uffish.

With that in mind, she had her reply. "Your armor is ugly, difficult to not look." She replied with a matter-of-fact nod.

"Hm! Yes yes. A good reason." He spoke in smooth rolls and turns of the tone, like water-carved tunnels that had never seen the sun. "I trust you." His tone indicated anything but, with a light-hearted undertone and a nod of sincerity. His ears twitched to the side once more, bringing his attention away from her before she could reply.

"...What do you hear?" She asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly and looking up to him. Elves were born rather tall, from what she knew, but stopped growing completely after a point. They were much like humans in this way, in a rush to get large and then falling short at the end. Dwarves, slow and steady as they were, ended up much larger than anything else. It was only natural, after all.

"We are followed." He explained in a casual manner, making her heart skip a beat, a tilt of his ears indicated that he was considering something. He didn't seem overly worried about the current situation, so she forced herself to relax and dismiss the sudden images of green skin and hooked noses.

"B-by what?" She asked after a moment.

"Do not know." His ears twitched again as he raised a hand and pointed. "Wind that way, no scent. Sound is not shoe. It's…" He looked down and to the side, face hidden behind his wooden mask. "Hard foot. Lobrob." Then he made a sort of downwards knocking motion and clicked his tongue a few times.

Hard foot, knocking motion, clicking… She furrowed her brows. "Goat?" She asked, trying to puzzle out what he was referencing, raising her hands up to extend her horns with curled fists.

He shook his head, then made an expanding motion with his hands. "More Big."

"Bull." She changed her hand-shape to a different horn-shape.

"No horns." He waved hands in denial.

Hooves, bigger than a goat, no horns… Her expression turned to one of realization. "Horse?" She raised her hands up in the same sort of clopping motion that he was doing earlier. "Neigh?"

He paused at that, before reaching up a hand to smack at his own face. She tried to hold back her giggle at that clear gesture of 'why didn't I think of that', but was unsuccessful.

"Yes." He replied with a rueful tone. "Neigh. Roch. One I think. Four clop-songs, four hard-feet. That direction." He replied with a point of his finger to their left and back a slight ways.

She frowned and considered that for a few moments. "How do you know it follows us?"

"Direction change." He raised his hands in a prayerlike gesture, then turned one away. "We walk on road. Sound only gets closer. If going to road, then cross road far back." He shook his head. "Follow us, track somehow. Wind not right for smell."

She swallowed, and considered that. If there were hooves following them, then that meant a horse. A wild horse wouldn't be following them like this, so that meant it had to have a rider.

She angled her walking to be a half-step closer to Mallorn, and replied. "What will we do?" She asked, reaching down and grabbing at the manknife at her belt. It was a poor working, but far better than any of the goblinknives she had traded for it.

Not that she had any real expectation of being useful in a battle to come. The daughter of a milling clan preparing for a betroathal and decades of having children hardly made for an effective combatant. Especially not compared to-

Four thunks and strangled gasps of pain. A flash of panic. Her captor's tense and sudden threats. A tall figure falling from above like a furious stalactite. A blank wooden face. Bright green eyes. A gentle smile.

-Mallorn gave a brief hum, before tilting his head. "Wait, then speak." He eventually declared.

She considered that, before giving a somewhat disgruntled noise. "Wait and speak? What if it's an enemy!?"

"Then I fight." He replied easily, reaching up to take the bowstring from where it hung loosely over his neck and stopping to string that heavy longbow carried from hooks on his belt.

"And if they are stronger than you?" She reached up to poke him sharply in the abdomen, hand smacked away quickly by one of his.

"Then I win with smart." He reached up to adjust the quiver on his back, drawing four arrows from the bunch and carrying them in his draw-hand. He still sounded utterly unconcerned with the potential threat approaching them, by his own admission.

"And if you can't?" She was still less than impressed with his reasoning.

He visibly stopped to consider that for a moment, raising a finger to tap at his chin as he thought.

Eventually, he declared confidently. "I die. Very funny."

She grabbed him by the side and did her best to shake him about, an angry growl in the back of her throat, which only intensified with the barks of laughter from the tall, stupid elf.

She was starting to understand the words of her elders.

—

Mallorn

The hoofbeats kept a relaxed pace as they approached, closer and closer from very far away. It was only the breaking of the treeline and the exposure of more open plains that allowed him to hear them at all. It took another minute or two for them to actually arrive after first hearing, more than long enough for Mallorn to gently guide the dwarf under his protection towards more open ground, where his arrows will be more effective.

A horse would be more effective too, but he was betting on being able to hit a moving target faster than the moving target could hit him. This was all paranoia anyways, it was entirely possible that whoever was currently approaching had no hostile intent and was just tracking them for an invitation to a bake sale.

He somehow doubted that, but there was no harm in starting with a friendly chat.

He glanced down at the nervous looking dwarf, who was currently half-hidden behind his leg and torso. Well, no harm in starting with a friendly chat, assuming there are no hostages in the scene. He would've told her to stop pressing her bust into his rear, but he didn't know all those words yet, so he instead resolved to ignore it.

He huffed in faint amusement as the horse and rider came over a distant ridgeline, staring over the plain leading down to the riverside road and pausing to evaluate them at a distance.

Mallorn could make out most of his features from here, and it was most certainly a he. A human man on a grey stallion, with dark gambeson and a hooded cloak, with a crossbow strapped to the saddlebags and a hatchet strapped to his belt loop. He wasn't quite close enough to make out the eye color, but his hair was a deep black, and his skin lightly tanned.

The man considered them for a moment, clearly seeing that they could see him, and raised his hand in a greeting.

Mallorn raised a hand back.

With that, the man dropped his hand and ushered the horse forwards with a relaxed trot, coming down across the field of poppies and haygrass and towards them, hands clearly raised and holding the reins. A show that he was not reaching for his weapons then.

"Greetings!" The man called out, most surprisingly was that his word was in elvish.

Mallon felt an ear twitch. "Greetings, friend. Why are you following us?"

The man was somewhat taken aback by the direction questioning, reaching up to scratch at the thin mustache and beard on his face. The eyes were cold and evaluating, but not inherently hostile. "Why? Well, being blunt with you, friend, my mistress sent me here to extend an invitation."

"An invitation?" Mallorn made sure to let his suspicion be audible.

The man nodded in a distinctly untroubled manner. "Yes, but being honest with you, it's more of an assessment of character. The last elf to come through the way you did left quite the poor impression, and she'd very much like to not let the next go unheeded."

Mallorn sighed, letting his ears fall flat and reaching up to tap two fingers against his mask. Somehow, he was entirely unsurprised, and found that he couldn't exactly blame whoever this mistress was for the reasoning. "And how did you pursue me?" He asked the next pertinent question.

"My mistress laid a spell somewhere that did… uh…" He raised a hand and rotated it around in a lost manner. Eventually, he just gave up entirely and raised his other hand, showing a sort of compass pointed in his direction. "It's some manner of magic. I'll be honest and say I don't rightly understand it."

Detect all elves? That would be too inconsistent. Detect elves that emerge from the Greenwood, or from outside the borders? Again too inconsistent, the world was a big place and there were probably many elves wandering around. Detect elves in a vicinity that are not behind wards? A maybe, but that seemed like the wrong way to go about it.

If you wanted to trap a rabbit, you lay a trap outside its burrow. A spell around the perimeter of the Greenwood that marks elves that pass by, and a compass that homes in on those marked by the spell.

That was annoying, if true. He'd need to ask whoever this mistress is to remove it, and that meant going to talk to her. He didn't have much reason to not go talk to her, with her entirely justified reasoning, but the chance remained that the fellow before him was lying.

"I would be happy to go meet your mistress, but I have a duty to attend first." Mallorn declared, reaching over to pat Dura on the head. She let out a cute lil yelp as her tension was interrupted with the random physical gesture. "I have to escort this one back to her family, in Father Erem. Only after will I be free to follow after you."

She grumbled at him, pulling back and swatting his hand away from her head.

The man nodded his head slowly at that, considering the sentence. "So, you'll be fine with meeting her, but only after bringing this one back to Erem?"

"Correct."

The man shrugged. "I'd say that's fine, but I'd ask to accompany you along the way. If the mistress found out I left you unwatched, she'd probably whip me."

Mallorn once again couldn't fault the logic, and so merely sighed and nodded. "That should be fine, although I warn we have little in the way of supplies or coin to sustain you along the way."

The man waved it off, trotting up to them, closer, and dismounting from the grey stallion. The horse looked relatively healthy, albeit somewhat plain. "I've coin and rations enough, for just a trip to Erem. Down to Hoofcross and over the bridge, right?"

"That's right."

"Rayne the Bastard." The man introduced himself, offering a gloved hand for a shake. Mallorn reached over and took it, giving a firm shake in turn. A strong grip and three quick pumps, before they released and pulled back at the same time.

"Mallorn."

The man raised his brows. "...of Greenwood?" He asked with a raised brow. He knew both elvish naming schemes and the name of the region in specific. That was not improbable with the backstory the man had claimed, with an elf from greenwood previously causing issues in the region and his mistress being familiar with them.

Fortunately, he was wrong.

"Nay." Mallorn replied with a smile hidden behind his mask. There was a delightful little feeling in his chest every time he was reminded of his newly-captured freedom from those woods and the elves therein.

The man nodded contemplatively at that, before looking down at the dwarf woman glaring suspiciously at him. He gave a grin then feigned a woman's curtsey. "A ~~~~~~ to meet the little lady." He introduced in an exceptionally sarcastic manner, with a drawl and a grin, this time in mannish. Mallorn could tell that the word was 'pleasure' from the context of the sentence, and his brain felt all that more wrinkly and robust.

"A pleasure to meet the ~~~~~~~~." She replied with hands on her hips and a flat expression. She had clearly understood bits and pieces of the conversation, and could reach tone and postures well enough to get the general gist of what was going on. At least, Mallorn thinks so, she could be lying.

Rayne the Bastard, as he was apparently named, threw back his head and laughed. He turned a grin towards Mallorn, and pointed a thumb down the road. "Towards Hoofcross then? I suppose I'll walk along, Brutus here could probably use the rest from hauling my ass about the past few days."

"Towards Hoofcross." Mallorn nodded in turn, reaching down to give a reassuring pat on Dura's shoulder and unstringing his bow, putting away the string and hooking the body back to his belt.

He made sure to keep his sword arm low and himself between the new man and Dura. Extending an olive branch didn't mean showing your back, after all, and anyone named Rayne the Bastard was either unlucky or had earned it.

That, and Dura was just so cute whenever he poked the side of her neck and pretended to have done nothing. The glares were almost enough to make him giggle.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Text

The Greenwood
Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

Rasil was always his most relaxed in the quiet of the woodlands, far from the busy conversations of his fellows there he found so much disagreeable about. The first time he had asked to go camping had been fifteen. She had been expecting the same surly and sullen boy at the time, and so proposed a single day, and three if he behaved during the trip.

It was the first time she had seen an unguarded smile on his face. The second day, resting against the crook of an oak root and listening to the sounds of the woodland about him. Not a smirk or a toothy mockery or coldly polite raise of the lips. Lady Greenwood had been cool and unsurprised when Titania told her of it, upon their return. Resigned above anything else.

The first trip turned into a second, then a third. Soon it had become something done every summer, a month in the greenwoods under canopy and star. Just herself and her student, delighted by the space and quiet and company. Private moments and secret jokes exchanged, by a boy finally comfortable enough to let out unguarded laughter.

She cherished those moments.

The dog of unbroken earth trotted up to her, bark-skinned and grass-furred, tail dropped and expression sad as it padded in one spot.

"Not here either?" She asked, dropping into a squat and reaching over to rub the elemental's head. The doglike spirit leaned into her gentle scratching, giving a slight whine.

"No?" She tilted her head. "You did smell him?"

Another padding, then a circle and a point using its entire body. She narrowed her eyes, standing up once more and listening carefully in that direction. The sound of gentle flowing water crept through the trees and brush, reaching her ears and provoking a considerate twitch. That was the western river, which she had not yet had the opportunity to take him camping near yet. She had been saving that for his twenty-fifth year.

Teresa did not report a fishing rod on his person. She frowned and began a series of bounding leaps, great distances covered by each with the strength of her blessings and mana, conquering broad swathes of the woodland with each brief trip through the air.

Several minutes later, she slowed her pace and dropped down from the treeline, landing as softly as she could manage on the banks of the western river with a slight frown. A gentle flow that babbled through rock and root as it wound its way southwards towards mannish lands.

The dog spirit padded about, emerging from a nearby oak and trotting up to the edge of the river, before giving a small whine and looking up at her.

"...The other side?" She asked.

The spirit whined again. Her frown deepened as she considered the stream. It was relatively broad and shallow at this entry-point, more than capable enough to walk within. If Rasil had entered it but his scent did not emerge upon the other bank, then he had waded within the stream for a long enough distance for the scent to emerge elsewhere.

She had taught him to conceal his tracks before, a handful of small, basic lessons. If he had come here during the first day, then traveled along the river for a significant distance, then the current and time would have drowned a significant portion of his scent. Even now, only the faintest traces of his oak-smoke and honey smell remained along the bank.

She glanced up the stream, then down the stream. It thinned out as it went northwards, eventually ending in mountain flows still thawing in the early summer. It strengthened and merged with other streams as it went southwards, eventually combining with the Midden Sea. It ended at the mouth of the mannish port city of Threeway.

He was not camping in any of their previous locations. He was attempting to cover his tracks, traveling in a section of the woodland he was unfamiliar with. He did not want to be followed.

A terrible suspicion began to form in her mind.

Was he impetuous enough to do that?

She considered what she knew of the boy for a moment longer, before her ears fell.

He absolutely was.

She began to move again, this time bounding in a northwards direction along the riverbanks, taking long and deep inhales between each bounce. If he was truly seeking to get away from everyone, then he'd travel upstream, towards the quiet of the mountains and the hidden places therein. It was summer, so they'd be as warm as they would ever be currently, giving him plenty of time to establish a basic shelter and hide in time for winter.

Monsters dwelt in those places, far from the arrows of elves and men, and they would capture him with great swiftness. A child would understand this danger intellectually, but their perception would be warped by inexperience and ego. Of course they can handle a few monsters, they would think, they're just monsters.

Rasil was more than prideful enough to believe something like that. He was stubborn in how much of his own competence he believed in.

Eventually, an hour or so later, she slowed down once more, coming to stop around much shallower waters, with rocks that littered enough of the surface that it was impossible to step entirely around them. He would've climbed over and around them in making his way further up the stream and into the mountains.

And yet, the scent of oak-smoke and honey was nowhere, not even faintly. Merely the smells of creekwater and moss-laden stones.

She frowned again, taking several confirmatory sniffs before frowning upstream, and turning to look downstream. Civilization was found downstream, she had taught him the basics of navigation, she knew that he knew this. So if he hadn't traveled upstream to avoid others, then he had traveled downstream to join others.

Others who were not elves. Many men and dwarves and dark elves, but very few elves.

She furrowed her brows. Silly boy, has your romanticism overtaken your caution? Running off from home so young to see the world? Could you not wait another twenty years, could you not wait to ask her?

Despite all of his words and glares and little grumbles, Rasil was absolutely an Elf.

She began another bounding run, southwards and downstream this time, leaping over rock and shrub and fallen logs as she did. Not once had he expressed interest in the wider world. The extent of his interrogations was a disinterested hum whenever a detail was revealed, but he was a clever boy, and this is not something he would do without thinking long over the matter.

In hindsight, it was clear that he had never asked about the wider world to prevent any initial suspicion for when he fled in this manner. If she had known of this desire, she might have pursued immediately.

He had not told her of this desire, to flee the Greenwood and leave all these things behind him. Perhaps she wasn't as close to his heart as she had thought.

How shameless of her, to assume. She'd redouble her efforts for the remainder of his time under her care. Ten years was not enough, mayhaps ninety would.

Two hours of bounding run was enough, the faint scent of honey and smoke appearing once more upon the banks of the river, and curving to the side and then scrambling up a tall oak to rest for some time, then down again and continuing along the riverbank. He had sought shelter in the branches for his rest in an unfamiliar region.

She smiled faintly. Just as she taught him.

She continued her bounding pace southwards, following the smoke and honey down to the borders of the Greenwood territory. Another pause, then a frown as she raised a hand.

The spirit stepped forth from another tree, a pine this time, before trotting up to her and wagging its tail. She knelt to withdraw a bit of parchment, emergency inkpot, and fine quill pen. A letter was rapidly written upon the parchment, before held up for the spirit to sniff curiously.

"You have served me well, little one. Please take this letter to the Greenwood estate, and your duties will be complete."

The wooden dog stared at the letter for a few moments, before reaching forwards and gently taking hold of it in a dry wooden mouth. Being made of wood and bark meant very little saliva to ruin her handwriting. Then he reached up with one paw and rubbed behind its ears a few moments more, not yet leaving.

She obliged the noble beast with many good scratches behind its ears and under its neck, after which it waggled over to disappear into the pine. A noble little spirit, the hound of Greenwood was.

'Rasil has run away from the Greenwood. He has fled southwards along the western river, beyond the wardstones. I am following him.'
-Titania

—

Hoofcross, Bridgetown
Mallorn the Elf

"So that's Hoofcross?" Mallorn asked, doing his best to speak in mannish. He wouldn't be learning anything if he stuck to elvish the entire time, even if it was easier than not now that this additional fellow was present.

He had been repeating the words for explaining where they were going a few times in his head, not eager to screw it up later.

The town was significantly larger than the logging village, but not to the degree that he'd call it a proper city. Situated directly on top of the mighty river and surrounded by grey wall, perhaps twenty feet high. The wall terminated in great gates to the east and west, and was broken up by great gates for the river-travel to flow over.

The center of the town could be seen from the little hill they were upon, and through one of the river-gates, and was dominated by a truly enormous bridge of stone and wood, which sloped gently upwards to allow unmasked ships to pass beneath, and for great rows of carriages and carts and cityfolk to pass over. This greatbridge was flanked by two smaller drawbridges, which were currently pulled up, and he imagined would be used for repair and emergency if the greatbridge were to collapse.

All in all, it looked very much like the town of origin for some plucky young adventurer chosen by a Goddess to defeat the Demon King with a special power bestowed upon them. It was almost charming in how nostalgic it was to look upon it.

The only strange thing about the scene was the very clear shanty town built encircling the entire city, wooden structures of exceptionally crude manufacture often stacked on top of each other, doors and windows too short to be useful to humans. The occasional glimpse of green skin told him that these were goblins, and therefore a goblintown, and no one seemed particularly surprised by it.

"Aye, looks it." Rayne replied with a rather unimpressed tone. Then, a laugh burbled up in his throat. "You know why it's called Hoofcross?" He grinned, turning to look at him more directly.

"No." Mallorn shook his head. Dura looked up from her place on his other side to give a similar look of mild curiosity.

"Two stories. The first is that a battle was lost here, when a ~~~~~ fell of his horse, the legs crossed. He died, and the battle was lost, and the victors named the town to ~~~~ them." Rayne waved a hand, clearly showing lot little he cared for that tale, raising a finger and grinning before he begun the second. "The second was that the first ~~~~~~~ was born here."

"...~~~~~~?" Dura asked with a raised brow.

"I don't know that word." Mallorn frowned.

"Centaur." Rayne translated, holding back a laugh.

"...And how was the first Centaur born?" Mallorn asked, a small smirk growing on his face as he read the tone, guessing where the joke was going ahead of time.

"Well, only one way to do it, rightly." Rayne pretended to be serious, before letting a wide grin cover his face as he pointed a thumb at the bridgetown. "A ~~~~ was caught ~~~~~~ their horse here."

Mallorn could tell what the missing word was from context, letting an amused snort out to contrast Dura's offended yelp. "That's dirty!" She claimed, a hot flush on her face.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Bastard." Rayne replied with a mocking grin and a hand on his chest.

"Are there normally this many goblins in towns?" Mallorn asked in elvish, reaching up to scratch at his neck in thought. He wanted to be clear with this question.

"Hm?" Rayne glanced over to him, then over at the shanty that surrounded the town walls. "Not quite this many, no. Hoofcross has a lot of travelers going through, lots of coin to pay for lots of goblins."

So goblins weren't just monsters here, that was good to know moving forwards, he supposed. Briefly he considered that he had done something wrong earlier, before remembering that even if they weren't goblins, they were kidnappers, so he was still probably fine.

Then he grinned and leaned forwards, hands groping the air. "Ah, is the Elf looking to partake in some goblingirls? Short, cheap and eager to please, I bet they'd throw in another discount for a big pretty boy like yourself."

He blinked behind his mask, before tilting his head. "...People pay to have sex with goblins?" He thought back to what the males looked like with a furrowed brow. Either there was significant sexual dimorphism at play, or people here were just desperate. Maybe both.

Rayne let out a long laugh at that, pulling ahead and not answering the question.

"What did you ask?" Dura looked up at him with furrowed brows.

Mallorn pointed a finger at the goblintown. "Green men are many. Normal?"

"T-then he asked if people p-pahaha p-paid to have ~~~ with them or not!" Rayne got through barks of laughter.

Mallorn noted that word as 'sex'.

Dura let out another offended little gasp, before turning to him and latching onto his side as they were walking. "Mallorn! ~~~~~ are very bad! You must not go around them, okay?! Not even once!"

So that was the word for 'goblin'. Mallorn raised his hands to place on her horns and tried to push her away from his side. "I was not! Let go, little dwarf!" He asked in a dispassionate manner.

"Not until you promise! Not one goblin. That's how you become a ~~~~~~~~~~~ and spend all your coin down in ~~~~~~~~~! That happened to my uncle! Now he has ~~~~~~~~ goblin children!" She cried out in a panicked manner, latched on even as her head bent back further and further from his pushing.

Rayne just kept laughing, even as they approached the outer bounds of the goblintown, road patrolled by guards in brightly colored tunics and alleyways crowded with curious greenskins.

Mallorn noticed that the vast majority were either women or children. Children were easy to spot, being tiny implike things wearing scant raggy clothes, running about and smacking at things. The women were likewise easy to spot, on account of their overall proportions, occasionally bit of jewelry or makeup, and scant raggy clothes.

They were also significantly less ugly than he was anticipating, and most of the goblintown smelled like cheap perfume more than shit like he had been expecting. Occasionally, he would spot signs in mannish letters with big arrows pointed at larger doorways, alleys practically choked in loitering females. The signs were advertisements, reading out times and prices in basic, blocky shapes and letters.

Mallorn frowned to himself, ignoring Dura latched to his side and glaring at every goblin who glanced their way.

Now he just felt a little stupid for asking his earlier question. Four hours for a copper coin felt ridiculously cheap.

"Stop looking!" Dura snarled at him, reaching up to smack at his chestplate. Small hand making a hollow thump noise as it impacted his wooden plate.

He rolled his eyes and ruffled her curly hair, ignoring her offended grumble as they approached the gates of the town proper in the light of a setting sun.

"Hail!" The guard at the gate gestured at them with a long spear. Not aggressively, but firmly. "Business in Hoofcross?"

"Just staying the night, we're heading to Father Erem." Mallorn answered in his best mannish. Thankfully, the guard didn't comment on it, which meant that all his mental practice had paid off!

"Eh, an Elf?" The guard reached up to scratch at his head, glancing down at the dwarf by his side and then at the man and his horse.. "Well alright then. You know where the taverns are?"

"I do." Rayne replied, raising a hand and waving off the question. "Thanks for the offer though."

The guard nodded, before leaning back against the wall and pointing a thumb towards the township. "Alright then, no ~~~~~~ business now, you hear?"

The word for 'funny', perhaps?

Mallorn nodded gratefully, and they walked into the township together.

"You've been here before?" Dura asked Rayne with a suspicious tone.

"Hm, yeah a few times." Rayne replied casually. "There's a tavernkeep that I know, and she owes me a favor. We can stay in her place tonight."

"I see." Mallorn responded with a nod and twitch of his ears. The town was exceptionally noisy, especially compared to the vast stretches of wilderness that he had traveled through to arrive here, but it was a new and not altogether unpleasant type of noise. The smell was again better than he had been expecting for a non-elvish town, mostly dominated by perfumes, baked goods, and alcohol.

It was a very 'yeasty' town. Bread and Beer.

Rayne led them confidently through sidestreets, leading his horse by the reins until coming to a stop at a tavern kept in the shade by the watchtowers, walls, and other buildings around it. He lashed his horse around the front, before stepping up to the door.

Mallorn glanced around, feeling eyes upon him but seeing nothing in particular. Mostly just cobbled roads and packed, slightly worn buildings.

He turned from his inspection of the roads behind them to the tavern he had been lead to the doorway of, and paused.

"Marcille! Are you still alive?!" Rayne called out, sliding up to the bar. A woman with dusky skin and pointed ears glared at him from a door leading into the back. Her dress was cropped and revealing, and her eyes were a light pink.

"Hey Bastard, what are yo-" She stopped as she turned to look at him.

More specifically, at his fair ears. She was hardly the only one, as most in the tavern were looking at said ears.

Because most of the people had long ears of their own, save their tanned and dusky skin tones.

Most of the people in the tavern were dark elves.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The Northern Wilds
Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

Honey and Smoke carried along the riverway, in bursts and moments, long stretches spent walking through the water followed by occasional climbs over troublesome rocks past obscuring foliage. He maintained a pace through the river to obscure himself as best he could, and were she less familiar with his scents then she may have doubted her course already.

But in faint wisps of a familiar smoke, his path was made clear to her.

That, and he didn't deviate from his along-the-river path. That made it very easy to follow him.

It was nightfall by the time his path emerged from the river once more, and trailed outwards. She paused in her bounding, landing upon a great river rock with a heavy thump, before rising up to sniff the airs. Aeris was lazy tonight.

His pace and the previous sleeping spot combined told her this was likely another place where he laid his head to rest. She swiveled her head about, ears twitching with the lazy winds as she took in the location, before leading from the bolder and to the shore, making her way towards the likely resting location.

Another bounding leap took her over the lighter, wilder foliage of the riverbanks and into denser wilderwood. Here the canopies were thick and overgrown, and the forest floor was starved of mana-rich sunlight, and the grass and underbrush was sparse and withered. This was a place where danger lurked in the branches, rather than the floor.

She frowned. Another bounding leap took her forwards, then another, then another.

A pause and inhale. The scent was strong and muddied here. Smoke and Honey and Musky Vinegar. The ground disturbed from a landing. He fell from his sleeping place. She glanced up.

She jumped, kicking from the side of the tree and taking hold of a lower branch, swinging around and up with it to land in the canopy of the oak above.

A flat hammock set between two branches, covered in strands of torn webbing. The scent of musky vinegar was thick here, as was the scent of honey and smoke. Too large for any mundane spider. An attack by a monster, followed by a collapse to the forest floor, then a travel through the branches.

He would have reached this place on his second night of travel. Five days since this attack. She rose from her crouched position.

Five days since he was captured. In the dark of the night, Titania's eyes burned a furious blue.

"O' Amarami, Mother of my Mothers, forgive me the violence I am about to inflict." She prayed dutifully, reaching down to take hold of her blade, drawing it from its sheath and letting her soul fill it. Her companion, ten hands long, single-edged, and finely-polished, was engulfed in howling winds.

The mixed scents of honey, smoke, and harlot carried through the canopy. No doubt towards her wretched lair.

She jumped along the trail. The branches attempted to impede her. Her sword removed them from her path.

The forest grew thicker and wilder, dead woods supported by lashed vines and branches tangling. The canopy grew denser, the trees grew older, and the branches grew tangled and malformed.

Howling blades of wind cut through them all the same. Shearing through bothersome bark and wood long before she landed on another set of branches. Behind her, long lines of snapping and sundered branches fell to the forest floor in the wake of her blade, carrying behind her for dozens of feet.

The scent of harlot grew thicker and thicker, smothering the sweet honey and smoke beneath wretched and malefic smells. Her face was impassive, her ears low, and her eyes bright as she leapt to the next branch.

The lair came into view, a shoddy hive of crude planks bound together with ivy lashes and webbing, built to hang between two mighty and long-dead oaks, fallen against one another and supported by a tangle of new growth and vines about. An ugly little garden surrounded the base of the malformed hovel, filled with ugly little flowers and wilted herbs.

She leapt, bringing her blade back and letting the winds howl to the same tune as her fury.

"Aeris."

A howling blade of wind ripped its way free from her swing, and traveled along the tangled forest like an enraged dragon, smashing into the upper half of the horrid little hovel and tearing the roof entirely off. The planks and webbing was ripped from the rest of the structure, flying back and torn into shards.

And the next tree after was torn by the howling blade of wind, and the next tree after that, before finally dying down against the heartwood of the third tree.

The scream of a harlot accompanied the sound of the roof being torn away, drowned out beneath the howling winds and the furious beating of her heart.

She landed in the midst of the hovel, now exposed to the air above. A modest fireplace made of crudely stacked stones, a pot of small game stew, a single table with two seats, and other tiny, commoner-level accommodations. Entirely unworthy of a scion of Greenwood.

A monster had almost tucked herself into one of the corners, ducked and hands raised to shelter her head from the sudden hurricane. Shortly cropped purple hair, a sweater of her own silk, long legs covered in black carapace.

The faint scents of honey and smoke stoked her fury.

"Where is he?" Titania demanded, sword covered in furious lashing winds.

The wretched little monster swallowed fearfully, with the audacity to be confused. "W-wha-?"

Titania took a heavy step forwards. The monster flinched back. "An elven boy. His smell is here. Where is he?"

"E-eh elven boy…? I-I know who-"

"Where."

"H-he got away! I d-didn't catch hi-"

She took another heavy step forwards, looming over the cowering monster. "Lies. His scent is here."

"His bag! I got his bag! He avoided me!" She wailed, ducking low with tears in her eyes. "I tried to get him but I got his bag and I didn't get him and he left and I couldn't keep up and he called me old and fat and I'm not old or fat an-"

"Silence."

The monster quieted down into fearful whimpers.

"...His bag. Where is it?"

"I-it's under my bed… Over in the other r-room…"

She tilted her head. "...Move, and I'll kill you." She stated calmly. The monster whimpered and nodded, doing her best to stop fearful twitches and shivers. Titania calmly stepped from the main room and towards the bedroom. Slovenly, with more a hammock than a proper bed, and a single crude dresser pretending to be storage. Silk clothes hung on strands, in place of proper hangars, and there she could see Rasil's traveling bag sitting neatly next to a little silk-woven doll with pointed ears.

She tossed it aside, taking hold of his bag and inhaling deeply. Sure enough, smoke and honey lingered the strongest here. A robbery, and failed abduction.

She stood from her crouch, taking the bag up with her as she walked from the room and back to the monster. "You have attempted the abduction of Rasil of Greenwood, son of House Greenwood."

"I-I didn't know! I didn't know! I'm sorry!" She wailed, face near the floor and legs twitching.

"You attempted to bring him back here." She tilted her head, staring down at the monster. "Did you think this hovel was worthy of his stature?"

"I…I didn't know! I- I know it's not the best but I worked really hard on-"

She leaned in. "Did you think you were worthy of him?" She asked with a low and frigid whisper.

"I- I'm s-sorry…" The monster burbled and sobbed at the floor.

Titania's eyes gleamed a frigid blue in the dark of the night, brighter than the twin moons. The crime of attempted kidnapping of a noble son, attempted molestation of a noble son, inadequate lodgings for a noble prisoner, and theft of a noble's possessions. A long line of crimes to be punished for. Eventually, she came to a decision.

"Your life or your service. I will have one from you." Titania declared, allowing the monster freedom to choose. "Pick one."

"...I-I donwanna die…" She cried, tears coming down and staining the horrid little floor. "I don't wantta die…"

Titania's ears twitched. "Gather up what you can carry. From this day on, you are a servant. I will educate you on proper mannerisms, and then give you to him as a gift. He will use you as whatever he wishes." She tilted her head. "Your life is tied to his now. Deviate from this and it is forfeit. Do you understand?"

"I-I…" The monstrous servant reached up, trying to wipe tears away with her hands and failing. "I- understand…. I u-understand…" Tiny hiccups came from her. "I understand…"

'How loathsome.' Titania thought, eyes burning in the night.

"We'll be moving at once." Titania declared. "Be quick about gathering your things, monster."

"O-okay… okay…"

He wasn't captured, or dead. Titania found that immensely relieving.

—

Hoofcross the Bridgetown
Lucia, Dark Elf Rogue

She was always proud of how quick she was to jump on an opportunity. "Hey hey, cream and sugar, what brings you into our little watering hole?" She called out, leaning back from the bar and falling backwards, supporting herself with a leg braced under the countertop letting her entire body go horizontal.

With that, a great deal of sighs were had and ears were twitched, glares turned her way and frustrations bled out on hilarious gestures of microcosmal irritation. She let her flirty grin soak in the ambient irritation, delighting in the experience of everyone else being mad at her but unable to do anything about it.

Due to longstanding local tradition, the first to speak to the elf had dibs on them, and she was the quickest in the bar.

The elf was a beefy sort, brawny enough that she almost thought him a half elf, but the length and cute little motions of his ears confirmed that he was absolutely an elf. He was tall and broad in ways elves almost never were, and the hesitation at the door told her all she needed to know about how familiar he was with them.

That is to say, not at all, and she was going to have so much fun with him. She made a note to thank the Bastard later, for bringing such a scrumptious treat directly to her.

The elf turned to look at her, bright green eyes glaring behind a flat mask of ironwood, snorting as he made his way fearlessly into their den and towards the bar. Behind him, the form of a little dwarf followed, even more wary and frightened of all the dark elves around her, clutching to his side like a little girl following her papa. It would be cute if she wasn't a full grown woman, which made it just hilarious instead.

"The Bastard is a good name." The elf declared in distinctly unpracticed Mannish, clearly just now learning the language after however many centuries he decided to stay holed up in those silly forests.

She blinked at the words, leaning up enough to let him pass and eyes tracking as he leaned against the bar, next to the Bastard and next to her. That was perhaps the most blunt thing she had ever heard from an elf.

The Bastard laughed. "Oh come on now! Not even a fight? I thought you elves hated each other or something."

"I wouldn't say that." Lucia purred. "They're missing out on so much, you know, all backed up in their little forests. I'd really just like to show them some things." She swivled around her chair and waggled an index finger. "Dark Elves really just think Elves are pitiable."

"Elves don't think about Dark Elves at all." The Elf replied in simple elvish, his voice a smooth and rolling tone.

Lucia almost fell out of her seat as the Bastard let out a loud, heavy bark of laughter.

"Enough of that." Madam, the owner replied with a stern glare and whap of her knuckles across the countertop. "I saw the look Elfboy here had, this is your fault Rayne. What do you want?"

"Rooms for the night for myself and my companions, and some of your legendary cooking." The Bastard leaned forwards and let his chin rest on his palm. "Oh beautiful, wonderful, gracious, beautiful, and sexy Madam."

"And I suppose you have the coin for it this time, or am I going to have to charge Mistress again?" She let her hands rest on her hips, glaring down at the utterly shameless man.

"The second please. And maybe more for a night of your loving." The Bastard asked with a kissy-face. A ladle smacked into his head, knocking his face into the countertop to the laughter of the patrons.

"Bastard." Madam grumbled, before pointing the ladle at the still and quiet elfboy. "And you! None of that haughty business in here. You're just a customer, which means take that silly helmet off indoors and keep your sword in its sheath, got it?"

The elfboy considered the ladle for a moment, before nodding, reaching up to slide the helmet from his head. Golden locks spilled out like a waterfall as his cute and fair face was revealed to the bar. As with everything elves did, it was very nice to look at.

Golden hair, green eyes, broad shoulders and stern look in his eyes. Lucia smirked. She had rolled jacks with this one, now just to catch him. She couldn't wait to see what his despair looked like.

As with any good seduction, the first step was getting him drunk.

She leaned forwards, catlike, and partially sprawled against the countertop. Madam gave her an annoyed glance, but did nothing to stop her. "You didn't answer my question, cream and sugar." She smiled teasingly.

"I wasn't listening." He replied in a fascinatingly unelven manner, blunt and stern, with green eyes glaring down at her in a way that made her tingle pleasantly.

"Pooh~ No need to be so mean." She flipped around, showing off her modest cleavage and well-toned stomach. Males really like that part of her. "I'm just curious about why an Elf has wandered so far from his safe little forest." She let out a chuckle with his shameless glance down at her abdomen. "Tell you what, I'll buy you some drinks for the story?" She offered with a serpentine wiggle.

"I don't drink alcohol." He huffed. The dwarf sent a shocked and appalled look his way.

"Spoilsport!" She declared. "What do you drink then, hum?"

He stared at her for several long seconds, before raising a brow. "Black Tea, hot and honeyed." He replied, with a deliberate look from her feet and upwards along her body.

She furrowed her brows and thought. Black Tea? That was a pretty elvish drink she supposed, but what about the look he gave-

Her eyes widened and her smile grew smug. He was flirting~

"Madam! Do you have any of that?!" She asked, turning around and smacking at the table, wiggling as she did. "If so, put it on my tab for Cream and Sugar here!"

Madam snorted at her. "Charging extra for it. The only tea in here is from my personal stock."

Lucia cringed and hissed, before letting out a sigh and nodding. "Yeah yeah, alright."

She recovered quickly, bouncing up and leaning over to tap the elf in the side. "Hey hey, you promised me a story in exchange for a drink, I believe!"

"I promised nothing." He responded like he was a dark elf already. "You made an offer and assumed I was taking it. If I was taking it, I would have said that."

"Bleh, don't be that way. You're acting like a dark elf you know?" She stuck out a tongue. "I'm already paying for your drink, be nice and tell me." She tilted her head, before smirking. "Or do I have to get underneath the table for you first?"

"D-dirty! That's dirty!" The dwarf stuck her nose into business that had nothing to do with her, grabbing the elf by the side and glaring at her.

"Dark Elf." She replied simply, raising a hand and laying it on her chest. Before turning back to the elfboy and nudging his leg with her own. "C'mon~ Do I really need to go that far? I just wanna know~"

Elfboy finally relented with a dismissive snort, he reached over and placed a large hand on the dwarf's head. "I found this one captured by goblins. I slew them, freed her, and I'm now escorting her back home." His ears twitched with the statement, even as the dwarf grumbled up at him about the hand on her head.

"Ooh, a regular Hero, huh? A woman likes hearing that." She stood up and leaned forwards, practically draping herself over him. He grunted and glared down at her, and the dwarf hissed. "A big, strong, heroic, hunk to sweep a gal off her feet? That's definitely not unlikable."

"Mayhaps if you were in danger." He responded dryly.

"Oh but I am, I'm scared of the dark see, and the only thing that can make me feel safe are some big strong arms holding me tight~" She whispered into his ear, breathy and smiling.

He reached up and flicked her on the ear, making her yelp and flinch back as the delicate flesh twitched in an aggravated manner.

"Yes, let the dark elf separate me from my ward. Surely nothing nefarious will happen to her while I'm distracted." He glowered at her, ears low and expression unamused. "I'm offended that you thought it would work on me."

She rubbed her ears, briefly confused about why he thought anyone would care about some dwarf. She laughed. "Oh, that's okay, she can watch." She declared happily, the dwarf flushing hot and angrily at that. After all, the dwarf wasn't the target, he was.

"Cup of tea." Madam declared, walking back out from the side kitchen with a kettle and a teacup, expertly pouring out a cup and gently sliding it towards him.

"Thank you." The elf bowed his head graciously, taking up the tea.

"Hmph. Polite for an Elf." Madam responded. "What's your name? I need it for the ledgers."

"Mallorn." He smoothly drawled, blowing on his tea before taking an experimental sip. He considered the taste for a few moments, before looking up at Madam and declaring. "This is excellent."

He seemed to have already forgotten about her. Lucia huffed, a predatory look in her eyes.

That's fine, she could just sneak into his room tonight.

'Mal-lorn' would be a pretty cute name for a Dark Elf.

"Is Rayne asleep?" Madam glared at the motionless man.

"He's been asleep for a few minutes. Your ladle knocked him unconscious." Mallorn replied dryly.

"Oh." Madam scratched her cheek. "I suppose I hit him too hard."

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Hoofcross the Bridgetown
Mallorn the Elf

Fortunately, the tavern didn't burst into immediate violence or threats upon his entry, and lodgings for the night had been secured. A few chats were had with the local dark elves, to be polite, then it was directly off to a secure bedroom for rest until daylight. The largest of the free bedrooms, because 'Madam' was taking the opportunity to charge the still-unconscious Rayne as much as she could for the visit.

With that in mind, they had a lovely little bedroom with two beds. Snoring Rayne was set out on the floor, on a sleeping mat, Mumbling Dura had taken one of the beds for herself, and Mallorn took the other. Not that he intended to actually fall asleep tonight. Actually going to sleep when in a tavern full of dark elves? That was just asking to get robbed and probably killed in the middle of the night. He would deserve it at that point.

No, instead he was going to lean back against the pillow, eyes closed, relaxed and wary as he kept watch for the night. A night without rest was something he could manage easily enough, and if they set out bright and early the next day he could take naps whenever they needed to step and let Dura's short legs rest.

Besides, that tea was full of honey and caffeine and now he was finding it hard to sit still anyways. Armor stripped from his form, bare feet gently tapping the air to a nameless rhythm, and hands crossed behind his neck, Mallorn lounged and listened to the sounds of the town at night. The door into the room had been barricaded with one of the dressers in the room, and it was just about as safe as it could be for the moment.

His ears twitched, and his eyes cracked open with the sound of tiny clicks at the windowsill. The lock to the window that overlooked the exterior street, fiddled with by someone on the outside.

Eventually, there was a slightly louder click, in time with one loud snort from the slumbering Rayne. The window slid open silently, before a delicate hand reached into the room and up to the curtain that covered the window, pulling it to the side before withdrawing. The scent of walnut wafted into the room.

Then a leather-clad foot, and another foot, then a pair of lithe legs and an exposed abdomen half-covered in black leather and white silks. Caramel skin, shortly cropped black hair, and yellow eyes that gleamed in the dim light. The dark elf that paid for his drink slipped into the room, gently closing the window behind her.

Mallorn could think of three reasons that she was here, one was to rob him, one was to kill him, and the third was to seduce him. Either that, or any of the above for one of his companions instead. It was quite rare for someone to slip into someone else's room in the middle of the night like a burglar if they weren't up to something nefarious, and she certainly fit the stereotype.

She turned around after closing the window, smiling mischievously. The smile dropped into a much more cautious expression as she came face-to-face with the tip of his sword. She quickly raised her hands, leaning back and staring cross-eyed at the tip, before her eyes slowly trailed up to meet his own in the darkness of the room.

Gleaming yellow met gleaming green.

Mallorn broke the stare to give her a long and focused visual inspection. Her boots stopped at knee-height, and could easily conceal a long thin blade within. Her bottoms were more similar to ye old booty shorts than anything else, essentially a rectangle of leather than connected in the center and little more. This gave way to a completely exposed abdomen, then something akin to a particularly robust bra with a scarf and hood completing the look. The hands were covered in bizarre single-finger elbow-length gloves, leaving the upper arms exposed.

There were straps on all of the limbs ready for a blade to be strapped upon, but all were empty. She had come less armed than standard. His eyes returned to hers. Her expression was practically preening under his gaze.

He looked deliberately towards the window, then towards her, and raised a brow. It was a gesture he had never been able to pull off in his past life, but the expression came naturally to the elven face. It was something he was quite happy with.

She smiled innocently, slowly moving her fingers. One finger came down to point at herself, before curling into a circle with index and thumb. The other finger came down to point at him, then wiggled slightly.

She brought the fingers together, and made an explicit gesture with the two of them. She waggled her brows as she mimed thrusting, biting her lower lip as she did.

So she had come to seduce him.

On one hand, he knew that sleeping with a dark elf was dangerous, both because it might be a distraction, might be an assassination attempt, might be a poison-body situation, or any number of other bad things women could do to men who drop their guard. The reasonable thing to do was to force her out of the room with a stern warning and a glare, because that was the safest option.

On the other hand, could he really call himself a man if he passed by the opportunity for sex with a dark elf? Everything considered, she was an attractive woman in booty shorts currently making an explicit gesture at him, silently, in the middle of the night, at swordpoint.

She might be evil, she might be crazy, and this might be a trap…

…But a man's dick will lead him places that his sword will not.

He glanced over at the sleeping forms of his companions, then back at the elf and tilted his head, raising the other eyebrow.

She stopped making the explicit gesture to bring a finger down to her lips, a clear 'shush' gesture. Then she smirked and licked the digit in a provocative manner.

Welp, that settled it. He was compromised.

He let out exhale through the nose, pulling the sword back and jerking his head towards his bed. He still had to keep an ear on the others, to make sure that they weren't murdered in the night, but his eyes were free to drink in the sight of dark, lean flesh and flirty yellow eyes.

She was much like the snake leading man to temptation. With an apple. The apple being her tight little butt. But who was Eve in this situation? It couldn't be him, because he was the man.

This metaphor wasn't working.

She slunk past him in the dark of the room, eventually coming up to his bed and prowling up upon it like a large cat, keeping her rear up and swaying in his direction as she turned around to smirk at him.

He silently set his sword aside, then slid up to the bed himself, kneeling on the sheets behind her and latching onto her hip and wrist with a near-silent huff. She jumped a bit in surprise, as he pulled her back and up against his chest. His groin pressed into her rear, and he let hot breaths wash over the back of her neck.

It had been more than twenty years since he had sex, and more than half of those were him being a child again. It was effectively impossible to find enough time to himself to rub one out, especially with how sharp the senses of elves were. The sound would carry much farther, the smell would linger longer, and the expectation of privacy was nearly nonexistent from how many servants were about the estate.

Needless to say, he was exceptionally eager to finally get some sweet relief.

"Eager, cream and sugar?" She whispered, faintly enough that only his ears could possibly hear, and only from this distance. Her breaths were slightly hitched, and she wiggled her rear back against him.

"Shut up." He whispered back, tightening his grip on her hip. Her breathing jumped the moment he had squeezed, fingertips next to her bellybutton and thumb next to her spine. With a half-remembered motion, he began a slow and firm kneading of the area. "What's your name?" He demanded, taking the other hand and bringing it around to grab her other wrist, both now captured in a single grip. He had to ensure that she couldn't get up to anything with them.

"L-lucia…" She whispered between muffled squeaks. She let out a little wiggle as he kissed the back of her neck. Little chance of that being her real name.

"A beautiful name, Lu~cia." He whispered to her, provoking another twitch and wiggle. Her hips had begun a near-constant sway and shuddering, tyring both to get away from and lean deeper into his fingers kneading her hip. "It suits you." He planted another kiss on her neck, this time latching on and sucking upon tender flesh in the ambition of leaving bruises.

"F-fweh-flatter-er…" She was doing her best to conceal tiny, pleasured noises. Which was in one way good, and in many other ways unsatisfying. "Y-you're awfully good at this…" She accused with a twitching of her ears, instinctively trying to pull away even as her lower half pressed harder back against him.

"I'm a natural, then. This is my first time." He teased, laying his chin against her neck and shoulder, moving his hand from the grip on her hip up to start caressing her lower abdomen, just above the groin. A strong, firm hand kneading into yielding flesh, and the other keeping her wrists bound and above her head.

"L-luah- liar~" She whined, leaning her head back against his own shoulder, ears wiggling against his shoulder and neck. "N-not fair~ I-I'm suh-supposed to be teasing you, cuh-cream and suhgar."

Instead of responding, he pulled back and gently nibbled on one of her ears.

"G-!"

His hand shot down to cover her mouth, a full body shudder rippling through her as he mercilessly continued his ministrations. She reeked of sweat and walnut. Eventually, the shuddering died down to its previous levels again, and she struggled to breath through his grip over her mouth.

"Quiet, Dark Elf. No need to wake the others up with your slutty little moans." He murmured through a nibbled eartip.

He pulled the hand back, down to her chin, and gently pressed a finger against her lips. Obediently, she allowed access, quietly sucking on the digit and staring half-lidded into the dark of the room.

"Puh… pwease…" She whispered through a mouthful of his index finger. "P-puht it in…"

He removed his gentle teeth from her ear and whispered. "Since you asked so nicely~"

He pulled his hands away from her body, letting her slacken back against him, breathing unsteady and body twitching.

Beneath her rear, he was painfully erect. Her every shudder, twitch, and wiggle was a delightful new torture inflicted upon his member, pressed as it was against her. It was important to focus on attack, rather than defense, because otherwise he'd be crumbling right now.

He hooked his thumbs around the hem of her tiny pants. Instead of bothering with some overly complicated system of buttons and laces or whatever was keeping them up, he instead just forcibly pushed them lower to expose her shapely and soaked flesh beneath.

"Muh- myuh-" She breathed, before leaning back and kissing his cheek. "Duh-do it in my rear."

"Dry?" He huffed, capturing her lips for a moment before pulling back. He reached down, unfastening the strings that kept his loose trousers together and unsheathing himself between her legs. He had enough time to recover as to not burst the moment her flooding lips met blade. "I'll wet myself with your front first."

"B-bwuh… bokay…" She almost protested, before huffing and agreeing, reaching her arms back to tangle in his hair and grab at his thigh.

Slowly, gently, he angled himself at her entrance. Then, with a soft but firm push, he gradually sheathed himself within her. Inch after inch disappeared into her, making her writhe and suppress her voice, before coming to a hilt at last. He had to hold his breath, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and eyes closed in focus.

A little moan of effort was strangled in his throat.

Then, just as slow as he entered her, he pulled away, inch after inch, until his now thoroughly-wetted member slipped away from her to expose itself again.

He reached down to grab her thighs, pulling her up into the air, giving him space to work with. Knowing his intent, she raised her loins and reached down with her hand, wielding him with a firm but gentle hand, and angling him at her back end.

He took the moment to take another deep inhale, before holding his breath once more and pressing against her rear.

"Eheh~ I found your weakness~" She whispered, leaning her head back to look into his eyes. He glared down, reaching forwards to latch onto one of her ears again. She gave another full body shudder, and he began the process of impaling her on his length.

Her legs began to shudder in his grip, as he pushed forwards unstoppably, bottoming out himself in her bottom. Tight and hot and walnut. He let go of her ear and latched onto her neck, toothsome in his grip as he came to a hilt inside her.

"Cream and Sugah likes my dirty hole, eheh~" She mumbled, sweaty and smug against his chest. "How wicked~"

"You're beautiful." He whispered, redoubling his attack. He needed to buy time to recover. She froze up, pressed firmly against him in their vertical spooning. "Lovely, sweet girl. I want to spend a hundred years like this, and a hundred more in every other way with you. Your body is divine, your scent drives me mad. Every inch is beautiful. I want to experience all of it."

"W-wahwha~ T-that's not fwair~" She mumbled, trying to bury her face in his neck, despite the angle. "S-stop saying that~" She whined. His hands explored her body as he whispered. "J-just fuh-fuck me already~"

"As you wish." He whispered back.

He pulled himself halfway from her rear, then plunged forwards again. She writhed and flexed and whimpered against him, lower grip somehow fully yielding and impossibly tight simultaneously. Always allowing him to press forwards but fighting every attempt to withdraw. A battle of tides that he was always losing ground to.

In, out, in, out, hot flesh and delicate hands trailing against his. Fair, calloused palms digging into caramel, smooth thighs as elf plunged into dark elf time and time again. Almost silent in motion and whisper, but heady and intoxicating in scent, the room filled with oak, honey, and walnut.

Simultaneously, they muffled their shared moans with a battle of tongues, as he spilled himself inside of her. White seed filling dark and infertile soil.

Then, slowly, he withdrew, falling back against the bedding and breathing unsteady. She fell back with him, hot sighs against his neck and legs tangled with his.

She huffed, reaching with her shaky feet to kick up the covers of the bedding, then dragging them up by hand until it covered them both.

No amount of honeyed tea could keep Mallorn awake thereafter, and indeed it was honeyed tea that sent him to slumber.

The next day he was awoken with lips around his member and a head of dark hair over his groin, well before either of the other two in the room were roused to wakefulness.

Needless to say, he filled her a second time and strongly considered a third before Rayne began to stir and grumble.

—

"Did either of you smell smoke when we awoke?" Dura asked with a furrowed brow. "Woodsmoke, that is."

"Nah." Rayne responded, loading up his traveling gear upon his horse once more, in the early daylight. "I can't smell a thing, my nose doesn't work."

"I did, yes." Mallorn nodded in reply, glad that his wooden mask kept any expression from his face.

"Do you think the building might not be ventilating properly?" Dura wondered with a concerned expression. "If the smoke from the central fire is leaking out and building up in one of the rooms, that might cause cave sickness."

"Hm." Mallorn considered that for a moment. "Would you like to go warn Madam about this then? I'm sure we can find her inside."

"Ah… Nah, I think I'm quite done with elves for the day." Dura grumbled, before pausing and sending a glance towards him. "Uh… Present company not included, of course…"

"Of course, of course." Mallorn huffed with laughter, hoisting his own bag from the floor and slinging it over one shoulder. "Worry not, I fully understand your sentiment. Elves are bothersome on the best of days."

"Are you sure that you're an elf?" Rayne asked with a grin. "An elf, and not a dwarf with an attitude like that?"

"Is that why you left the safe little forest, cream and sugar?" A familiar voice called out from above. He twitched his ears over to see his midnight visitor, lounging atop a nearby roof and smugly looking down at them.

Mallorn huffed. "Dark Elf. Come to bother us again?" He greeted in turn.

"Mayhaps!" She cried out happily, rolling off the roof and landing on the street, stumbling once before recovering into a straight stand. She took a moment to steady herself, before slinking up to press against his side. "You were rude to me last night, but a girl doesn't give up so easily."

"He barely exchanged two words with you!" Dura exclaimed. Briefly, Mallorn panicked, then she continued. "Buying him tea does not give license to keep harassing him!"

Ah, that part of the night, yes.

"I exchanged many more words with him, in fact!" Lucia shook her head, before pulling back and wiggling a finger. "Much like ivy, I'm clinging to you for the time being. I'll help you along the way, but you're not getting rid of me like I'm any other elf, Mal~lorn."

"It's natural for everyone else to dislike an elf, but why do you dislike elves, Elf?" Rayne asked, finished loading up the horse and leading it forwards towards the cobbled road. Mallorn rolled his eyes and followed, ignoring the dark elf hanging off his arm and the seething glare from the dwarf.

"The same as anyone else, I think." Mallorn replied with a shake of his head. "Irritating, weak, things that brag about how much better they are in pointless things, and how many extra centuries they've lived compared to others."

"Ah, that's right, elves live a long time huh?" Dura mumbled in thought. "How about you, Mallorn? How old are you?"

"Twenty." He replied simply.

"Twenty centuries… That's uhh…" Dura furrowed her brows in thought.

He reached down to ruffle her hair with a teasing grin. "You misunderstand. I'm not twenty centuries. I'm twenty years. I'll be twenty one in June."

Lucia became dead weight, hanging off his arm. Dura furrowed her brows, before declaring. "I-I'm older than you! I'm four years older than you!"

"Only twenty?" Rayne asked with furrowed brows of his own. "Aren't you only adults at a hundred?"

"We grow as fast as men until twenty, then stay that way for life. One-hundred is ceremonial." Mallorn explained as they walked along. Rayne nodded in understanding, curiosity satisfied.

The dark elf unlatched, stopping in the middle of the road. They kept walking, ignoring her horrified look at his back and then at her hands.

Distantly behind him, Mallorn heard a faint. "...oh no…"

Then rapid footsteps as Lucia raced to catch up, mumbling under her breath the entire time.

"You're twenty!" She cried out, aghast. "W-what are you doing outside of the forest!?" She wailed, almost latching onto his arm again before glancing at her hands and giving a horrified lurch back. Her hands fumbled about, searching for something to do as she rapidly cycled through emotions. "T-this- this is- oh Amarami- oh no-"

"I told you, didn't I?" Mallorn huffed. "I got tired of elves."

She clearly didn't know what expression to make, even as Dura gave a resounding 'whoop!' in reply.

And in this manner, the four crossed the central bridge of Hoofcross, and eventually exited the other side of town.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Text

On the Road from Hoofcross to Erem
Rayne the Bastard

"So, why'd you end up leaving anyways? Feel the call for adventure?" Rayne asked with an amused look on his face, knife rapidly whittling away the skin from wild turnips to add to the stewpot. The evening had come, tinting Sehul's light reddish-purple and bringing the world to cool. Soon the dark would be in full, and Mehnot's eyes would be upon them, and things in the dark would dance to her madness.

There was nothing in that darkness for him to fear.

The Elf's ears twitched over to him, as did the ears of the Dark Elf from Madam's tavern. The Dwarf, busying herself with the stoking and kindling of their campfire, likewise heard him but was polite enough to not interject yet. The Elf, knife running through the carcass of a wild boar and rapidly parting its components from the whole for tonight's dinner, gave a somewhat frustrated huff at the question.

The slaughtering process was supposedly rather vile to smell at times, but Rayne didn't know anything about it, his sense of smell had long left him.

Rayne understood why the elf was frustrated, he had been badgered all day by the Dark Elf and her persistent worries over his health. The Elf, after all, was merely twenty. As it was explained to him, about this age they were normally just very big children not expected to do anything but frolic and learn from their elders, and most did not develop maturity until many decades later. How curious was it that 'Mallorn' seemed to hold himself to a higher degree of maturity than even most men of his age.

"Hm." Mallorn hummed, splitting open the belly of the beast, already removed of hide and hanging from a nearsome pine. Organs spilled from the thing, barely nicked by the sharpened blade, and then dropped onto a prepared bed of wide and platelike bark used as an improvised table. Particular organs, the liver and kidneys and other edibles, were quickly seized, cut away from the whole, then set aside on another tray of bark.

The inner section of the wild boar was splashed down with handfuls of water, then rubbed away, and cleaned in less than half a minute of practiced labor. "I have no good reason, being blunt."

The Elf declared as picked up the tray of organs, grabbed the severed head with another hand, then marched out towards the treeline to set both down upon the ground. "Here now, little beast, I can hear you rummaging out there. These are for you." He called out, before walking away in an unhurried manner. It was hard to hear that far, with his left ear being deaf.

Previously unseen, a wild dog crept forwards from the darkness of the treeline, rapidly reaching and chomping down upon a particular hunk of flesh before retreating, prize in maw, back to the darkness. It was easy to lose track, being that only one of his eyes worked.

"No good reason?" Rayne asked to clarify, throwing his amusement at the statement into the air as he rapidly chopped through another wild vegetable and added it to the pot. "Not driven by a sense of righteous justice against the risen Demon Queen, or to make a great name for yourself, or even to join the party of the Chosen Heroine?"

The Elf considered that for a moment, rapidly removing the front legs of the hanging boar and setting them aside as he did. "...There's an active Demon Queen?" He asked with a curious tilt of his head and twitching in his ears.

He let out a long, barking laughter as the Dark Elf groaned and the Dwarf gave him an aggrieved reply.

"How do you not know that?! She managed to defeat the previous Chosen Heroine! She's a threat to every good thing in the world!"

"Of course he doesn't know about it! He's twenty!" Lucia fell back and groaned loudly to the sky about. That was something she continued to harp on about, hovering about and looking worried over every step he took.

"I'm only twenty-four and I know about it!" Dura countered with a wave of her fire-poker, a hardened wood stick now charred at the end. "I learned about it when I was ten!"

"Do you know what Elven education is like?" Mallorn cut off an argument with a shake of his head, rapidly cutting the boar into manageable chunks and setting them aside as he spoke. "It does not begin with useful information. It begins at the beginning, the very beginning, and goes forwards in time from there."

Rayne elected to stay quiet, and let the information come to him without effort.

"...Yes?" Dura replied with furrowed brows. "That's how it usually goes, I think."

"No, you don't understand." Mallorn sighed. "You know what this country is named? The country that we are currently in, that is."

"Aye, we're in Empire lands right now."

"That's more than I knew before." He declared with a nod. The dwarf pulled back at that, with a confused expression. "By the time I left, my myth-tutor had covered the history of the world as elves knew it up to the year two-thousand. These lands were still known as Gwentalath, Land of Many Small Rivers, by that time. They are ruled by a dozen-dozen warring tribes of beastmen, and the strongest among them are the Grimahn, who wield fearsome blades of star-iron."

"...What?" The Dark Elf asked with her own furrowed brows.

"Aren't you an Elf, shouldn't you know this too?" Mallorn asked with a dry tone, cutting away the final hunk of meat from the hanging skeletal remains. He untied the remaining carcass from the ropes, then hurled it out into the forest. A few moments of disturbed movements in the underbrush occurred, before the sound of jaws chewing and crunching bone began to softly carry towards them.

"I- Why would I need to know any of-" Lucia began, before cutting herself off with a look of realization, then a scowl. "No. Mother taught me much more practical things for my education. The locals and the present, to be specific."

"I'm glad for you." Mallorn replied without a hint of sarcasm, carrying the tray of meat over to the fire and setting up the little cast iron pan on one of the rocks, next to the fire. The stewpot was hanging over the actual fire itself, but the dwarf had arranged the pile of rocks into three improvised stoves around it with nothing but time and a keen eye. A dense bit of animal-fat was laid on the pan first, to grease it as it melted. "I was not so lucky."

Rayne almost wished he could smell it, carrying the pot of vegetables over to add to the boiling water above the fire. The hardest stuff first, which took the longest to cook, and then the other ingredients over time. Stew and a side of boar was something of a luxury, especially on the road, benefits of having an Elf travel with you.

"Then it's even more dangerous for you to be traveling about as you are, with how unfamiliar you are with the world." The Dark Elf scolded, reaching into her own bag and bringing out little clay jars of something. The Elf took them from her hands, sniffed them once, before smiling and waggling his ears in thanks. The Dark Elf huffed, looking away at the expression.

"I could spend another few decades sitting around and learning." Mallorn stated simply, rolling the pan and spreading the fat about before wetting his knife and slicing some of the pork into thin strips, laying them about the pan to gently sizzle in the early-night. "Another- fifty, hundred years learning histories, mythologies, magics, refining my skills in archery, swordship, woodcraft, and so on. I could then leave my home just the same, set off into the world, and be far more secure as a result."

"I decided to leave now, and that's all there is to it." Mallorn nodded firmly. "If a man is grown at twenty years, and can set out into the world with a sword in hand and a desire to see it all, then an elf most certainly can do the same."

"That's hardly the point!" Lucia waved her hands about. "They're men! They live and die in the tens of thousands! They barely reach a century if they're lucky! You're an Elf, you can't waste your life risking it needlessly!"

Mallorn pushed a bit of the pork aside and laid another juicy slice upon the hot pan. "It's my life, Dark Elf." He let out a stern glare that was utterly ignored by the groaning Lucia. "Mine. I am free to spend it as I wish. I will spend it in the world, sword in hand, and regrets left at home."

"You're a child! Your family is probably beside themselves with worry!" Lucia waved her hands at him, nose scrunching as he added a light sprinkling of what Rayne could now see was pepper to the sizzling pork.

"I doubt it." Mallorn huffed. "The only one who might care is my war-teacher, and even that's just…" He raised a hand and began to snap his fingers, clearly trying to think of a word. "Not close, mannish word for… merchant relationship?"

"Professional?" Rayne asked with raised brows.

"Professional then." Mallorn nodded. "My education was a job to her. She's good enough to find a better job."

"And your parents?" Lucia growled with flat ears.

"Mother has three heirs already." Mallorn grunted, ears equally flat. "I speak to her maybe once a year, and our conversations are cold. She'll fund a tiny search for me, then go back to management. I'll probably see her again in a few hundred years, and we'll have nothing to say to each other."

There were a few moments without conversation.

"Bacon's ready. Hold out plates." Mallorn bounced back into a cheerful sort of countenance, using his knife to hoist up and display bits of sizzled pork.

Dura was the first to have her tray extended.

—

"So what are you going to do, now that you're out in the world?" Rayne asked, holding his good ear towards the Elf. The hour was far later, the women had gone to bed, and they were taking the first watch. More like he was supposed to take the first watch, but the elf slept little and ate much. Nearly half of the boar had been cooked up and devoured by him alone, and there was still meat left over from where the other three had not been able to finish it and the stew.

"I have no idea!" Mallorn replied happily, quietly enough to not disturb the ladies but clearly in the night. "There's a whole world I know very little about, and there's nothing to stop me from exploring it all!"

"Nothing but the monsters and road-tolls, I suppose." Rayne chuckled, leaning back and looking up at the twin moons. Silver wickedness reflected back at him.

"The monsters are but part of the journey!" Mallorn declared, munching on a slice of pork as he spoke.

"...And the taxes?" Rayne leaned up and asked.

"I am good at navigating the wilds." The Elf huffed in reply.

Rayne leaned back and chuckled. It was easy to get along with this Elf, an unusual occurrence but not an unwelcome one, he supposed. "Well, if you're aiming for anything of note, I suppose you can't go wrong with seeking out the Chosen Heroine and her little band. They're supposedly in the region at the moment."

"Ho-hum." The Elf considered. "She's chosen by Gaia to defeat the Demon Queen, correct?"

"Gaia?" He furrowed his brows.

The Elf waved the question off. "Amarami, Mother of the World."

"...You mean the Chief Goddess?" Rayne asked with an inquisitive brow. "I've heard that Elves are blasphemous and speak her name casualike, but I didn't know she had two names."

"Well, Amarami is what elves call her, but she's clearly a Gaia." The Elf rolled his wrist. "It's easier to remember."

"And you're not worried about being smote? If not by her or her servants, then by any of the men who worship her?" Rayne pointed out, before briefly tensing as he realized what he had implied.

"Hm. I suppose that's true enough. Even if she doesn't care about me, her worshippers almost certainly do. What did you call her again, The Chief Goddess?" The Elf let his ears wiggle inquisitively.

"That's right. You'd have to ask a priest for her many other titles though. I'm just a Bastard." Rayne calmed himself with a grin and a joke. The Elf laughed along, before Rayne spoke again. "And I believe it's heresy to say that she doesn't care about anyone." He advised.

"I'm sure she cares for me in some distant manner. I'm one Elf, ultimately, she has many other, more important things to worry about than I." Mallorn waved a hand about with a sigh. "Great evils and villains and demons."

"I suppose that's probably true." Rayne muttered a reply, reaching up to scratch at his thin beard.

"I might ask to join the Heroine's party, it would be polite to offer aid against the Demon Queen." The Elf mused in a very amusing manner. "Casting myself against tides of darkness until they or I break sounds quite exciting."

"I'm sure the sex has nothing to do with it." Rayne chuckled.

"...The sex?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

Rayne looked over and raised a brow, before letting out another rolling bark of laughter. "Heh. Do you honestly not know?"

"Do people have sex with demons to defeat them?" The elf asked in a flat and disappointed manner.

Rayne considered that for a moment, before letting out another humored string of huffs and puffs. "N-no, heh-heh, no… No see, the Chosen Heroine's party are also her carnal lovers. Always is. Something about 'spreading the power of love around' in church doctrine. The real reason is that it lets her share the magic of the Chief Goddess with them. Makes them all stronger."

The look on the Elf's face, utterly blank and stonelike, was too hilarious to look at directly.

"...The Chosen Heroine fights the Demon Queen with her band of lovers?" Mallorn asked blankly. It was the sound of a man who had learned of a less-than-satisfactory answer to a long-held question.

Rayne was unable to answer, on account of laughing too hard to get any words out.

"I don't know what I expected." Mallorn muttered in elvish, taking a slow bite of his pork strip and staring at nothing in particular. He was exceptionally funny, for an elf.

His eye, ear, and nose burned as the conversation went on. Mistress was quite interested in this one. Rayne almost felt bad for him. The Bastard could only chuckle.

—

The Wilderwood
Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

The scents of wild animals muddled the trail here, scavengers and carrion-eaters picking at the corpses of five goblins, their bones and much of their equipment strewn about the clearing. Behind the scent of death and rot and sulfur, however, was the smell of smoke and honey, and a new scent of root and mushroom.

The most clear evidence of his passing, however, was the lance of ironwood impaling a goblin from above. His lance, staking the greenskin to the earth and leaving it there as an example, flesh gnawed at by wild dogs and picked at by birds. A glance above revealed little, for the branches had already grown back into place if he had disturbed them.

He had approached by treeline, shot down four arrows, then dropped to impale the last. He then…

She sniffed again. The faint scent of urine indicated a fearful response, and the particulars of the scent indicated a female. A captive of the goblins, perhaps.

She smiled in a proud and rueful manner. Grim but good-hearted Rasil, leaping at once to protect a woman from her antagonizers. Another example of his charming side.

Leaving the lance behind… She couldn't see a reason for it other than sloth, or perhaps to deliberately leave a trail. Knowing him, he just didn't want to deal with a goblin corpse and didn't care to take the lance with him after being so thoroughly greased with greenskin.

She reached up to grasp it by the upper section, before ripping it from the earth and flipping it over. The goblin, long drained of fluids by the puncture, was nearly dry.

A strong flick shook the branches of the clearing, provoked a tiny gasp from the monster behind her, and sent the goblin's corpse flying off to splatter against a heavy oak. The meat will fertilize those roots. Another, more powerful flick send much of the fluid staining the wood off to splatter in an arc before her.

She brought up the lance to inspect once more. The scent will never leave the wood now, so thoroughly soaked into the wood. An effective weapon against goblin-kind, so smell the death of their own on its length.

"Carry this, Spider." She commanded, tossing the lance off towards the monster at the edge of the clearing.

It bounced off her unprepared head with a 'thonk' noise, sending the monster reeling and stumbling back, clutching at her head and still gasping to return air to her lungs.

She was not used to exercise, from how wearily she was at even basic distances. Slovenly and sedate, the spider was.

"...oww…" She whimpered, rubbing her head at the spot where shaft met flesh.

"...You weren't prepared." Titania muttered bluntly, lowering her hand and maintaining a judgemental stare at the downed monster. An ambush predator with many limbs and a trap-based hunting strategy, it was obvious in retrospect that her reflexes would be lacking.

The spider flinched, covering her head with uncalloused palms. "I- I'm sorry!" Chest still heaving and skin coated in sweat from walking through the foliage after the elf for half the day so far.

Titania made a mental note, setting her expectations for the monster one notch lower than before. It would take a great deal of education to whip her into good shape.

She looked over the corpses littering the clearing once more. Four arrows, one lance from above, no evidence of injury on himself or the captive.

She would have to tell him how proud she was of him, when she found him again.

"Catch your breath, we leave again in five minutes."

The spider made a whimpering noise.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Chapter Text

On the Road from Hoofcross to Erem
Gravelbrook Dura, First Daughter of Clan Gravelbrook

"There's a monastery some miles from here, along the road and a bit aways. They'll certainly offer a room to sleep within if we request one." The Dark Elf stated confidently the next day, ears straight up and stare focused upon Mallorn. Mallorn, for his part, was busy listening to something that neither herself or Rayne could hear. It was his usual habit, and she had grown bored of asking him what he was listening to after the dozenth time he replied with 'an unladen sparrow in that pine over there, see her?'

The answer was always no, Dura could never see them. Neither could the Man. The Dark Elf could, occasionally. The trees he was looking at were farther than a stone's toss away, and a sparrow was much too small and well-colored to be spotted in thickets and branches. When asked how he knew they were unladen, he simply responded with a 'they move differently in the air, swifter' and a humored smile on his face. The smile implied a joke that she wasn't aware of, somewhere in that claim, but she couldn't see where.

She didn't know enough about sparrows to dispute that claim. It sounded reasonable enough to her ears, and that was good enough she supposed, even if the humored smile was quite bothersome.

"It's up to Lady Dura, in the end. I'm merely her accompaniment." Mallorn shrugged off responsibility for making a decision and placed it squarely upon her shoulders in a most aggravating manner. "By extension, Rayne and yourself are merely my accompaniment."

The Dark Elf turned a fearsome stare upon her, ears up and eyes wide and focused, making Dura flinch back for a moment before finding the pride of the dwarves somewhere in her gut. She straightened her back and glared at the Dark Elf. "There's not a need to glare at me like that!" She protested with a scowl.

"I'm not glaring." The Dark Elf responded quickly. "I'm staring, and waiting for you to come to a decision."

"Ah decision over what!?" Dura responded, raising one hand and chopping it at her. "There's not a decision here, a-all you did was mention a monastery. I know entirely too little about it or whatever alternative there is to it to come to any sort of decision!"

"She's just being an Elf, again." Mallorn cut off the Dark Elf before Lucia could respond, then ignored her offended huff. "There is a monastery up the road. We can stop by and ask for shelter for the night, or simply sleep on the road again and ignore it. She is being a worryweed about nothing and is trying to bully us into choosing that option."

"I am not being a 'worryweed'! Moreover, I'm a Dark Elf, not an Elf!"

"All that means is that you have brown skin, Dark Elf."

"All I'm doing is making a good suggestion to aid our travel, Little Elf."

"Why wouldn't we ask for hospitality?" Dura interrupted their spat with furrowed brows. "I- there's no harm to it, right?"

"Absolutely none, we'd be fools not to." The Dark Elf declared, raising her nose to the air.

"No harm to it, no. At worst we simply sleep upon the road again as we have been doing. At best we have shelter, beds, and company for the night." Mallorn agreed with a simple nod. "Lucia is simply being bothersome and insistent about it."

"Eh, if we're spending the night at a Monastery, I'll go ahead and sleep outside." Rayne gave a shake of his head and pointed up. "No harm to it, as was said, but I really prefer to sleep under open sky."

"Huh? You seemed fine sleeping in Madam's Inn." The Dark Elf questioned with a tilt of her ears.

"If you try to sleep out in the open in the city, you're just going to get robbed." The man shrugged carelessly. "If it's in a Monastery, then it's safe enough. I like looking at the stars while I nod off."

"I'm sure the monks won't mind overmuch." Mallorn gave a little nod. "At least you'll keep the stallion company."

"Pheh." The man let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I'm sure the old boy will appreciate that."

"How far away is this monastery, Dark Elf?" Dura asked, looking over to the caramel-skinned woman staring fire into the back of Mallorn's head. Dura wasn't sure what exactly had triggered it this time. The Dark Elf glanced down at her, before pressing lips together and shrugging. "Perhaps half a day? It was a quaint little place last I visited."

"And how long ago was that?" Mallorn asked dryly.

"Not long!" She snapped and huffed. "Maybe uhh…" The Dark Elf trailed off, before reaching up to rub at her forehead. "Maybe ten, twenty years ago?"

"I'll go ahead and assume it's been reduced to rubble since last you were there." Mallorn focused his gaze back on the road. "Horrible monster attack, no survivors."

"You didn't even know about it before I mentioned it, Little Elf!" The Dark Elf was not amused.

"I think I heard about this place in Hoofcross, thirty dead, their remains staked and left outside the walls as a warning." The Elf nodded confidently, a morose twinge to his voice.

"W-what? Really?!" Dura asked, stepping forwards with a worried furrow to her brow and grabbing Mallorn by the hip-plate again. "T-that's terrible!"

"It is, isn't it? It's a good thing I'm lying, otherwise this would be a tragedy."

The faint smile was clear even through his mask. She narrowed her eyes, looking up and trying to puzzle out what the point of that was. "W-what?!"

"That's a terrible joke." The Dark Elf declared.

"Pft." The man let out a tiny laugh. "I'll have to remember that one Elf, it's good."

"Thank you for laughing Rayne. If nobody had laughed I would've cried."

"I-it was kinda funny." Dura averted her gaze, trying to make him feel a bit better for making a terrible joke.

"Lying is a terrible thing to do, Lady Dwarf." Mallorn said solemnly, reaching down to rub the top of her head with his hand. She, having gotten used to the presence of the offending appendage, merely squinted up at him for the touch. "A vile and terrible thing, please feel no need to lie to spare my heart, I'd mourn the loss of your innocence."

"You just lied." Dura pointed out. "As part of some jest."

"Nuh-uh." He denied at once, childishly.

She slapped at his hip. He simply let loose an exceptionally elvish chuckle.

—

"Sing us a song, elf." Rayne requested in a commanding sort of way later on the road, where the stones turned from sandstone to granite and the trees gave way to more open rolling plains.

"What manner of song, man?" Mallorn responded in an amused sort of manner.

"An elven song, I reckon." Rayne chuffed back. "And not a dark elf song, I already know what those are like, and they involve a hair too many screams for my liking."

"They do not involve screams, Bastard." Lucia glowered from the side. "Stop lying to him. They're perfectly good songs."

"Then why don't you sing, dark elf? Prove me otherwise."

"Hmph. I think not, after you just insulted my kind in such a manner."

"That's because I called it right."

"Oh! I think I'd quite like to hear more of your music, Mallorn." Dura nodded vigorously, ignoring the bickering and focusing on her current guardian. "That harp you used in the logging village, I enjoyed it immensely."

"Well, if the Lady requests it, I suppose I have to comply." Mallorn shook his head back and forth. "Give me a moment to remember a good tune. There's a great many Elven songs, you know?"

"And how many of them are about frolicking in trees?" Rayne asked with a grin.

"Less than you'd think, but entirely too many." Mallorn answered swiftly. After a few moments of quiet, he nodded his head again and declared. "Alright, I have a song. It's about the Elven homelands, which by legal tradition, are not allowed to have weather that is too unpleasant."

Dura blinked, then her face scrunched up in befuddlement.

"What?" Lucia questioned with furrowed brows. "I've never heard of that."

"Naturally, you're a dark elf." Mallorn dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"How would you even enforce such a law?" Rayne asked with a puzzled look of his own. "Mages perhaps?"

"It's true! It's true!" Mallorns voice took on a jolly and musical lit. The smile could be hear in his voice, behind the wooden mask. "The crown has made it clear! The weather must be perfect all year~"

"Ah, it's a song-" The dark elf began with a note of realization.

"Quiet!" Dura snapped at her with a pointed finger and glare, wanting to hear the singing clearly. Rolling tones with a light sort of sound to it, much unlike the deep booms of dwarvish singing, the bone-shaking songs of the elders echoing up and down the entire mountain for many miles around. The dark elf gave a little offended look, but stayed quiet and allowed the elf to keep going.

"A law was made some distant moons ago there. The seventh and eighth cannot be a firebrand~" He continued to sing, bringing up his fingers to start tapping on his wooden breastplate, making 'thunk' noises in time with some improvised melody. "And there's a legal limit to the snow there, in El'enland~"

His ears began to flick, in time to some other instrumentation that wasn't present. "The winter is forbidden until the tenth. And exits third, the moment dawn has spanned~"

He bent down and rustled her hair again, making her laugh and shove the hand away as he finished the stanza. "By order summer lingers through the ninth, in El'enland~"

He grabbed hold of her hands, stepping back and dragging her with him in an unexpected dance. She tried to not fumble over her steps, her hands engulfed his his and eyes wide at the sudden motion demanded of her. "B-bwah-" She let out as she was twirled about on the cobbled road.

"I know it sounds a bit bizarre. But in El'enland, in El'enland. That's how conditions are~" Untroubled by her mild panic, the elf continued to sing, hands keeping her standing and going through the motions of the dance even as she failed to keep up with it.

"The rain may never fall till after sundown. By eight the morning fog must disappear~"

Eventually, it was too much, and she tripped over her own tangled feet. She closed her eyes as she tipped over, anticipating the fall to come. The fall never did come, as strong hands caught her before she dropped completely, by the hand and the lower back.

Suspended, half-tipped-over, she cracked open her eyes. One hand held above her head, the other worriedly pulled into her chest, and the tips of her heels barely touching the graveled road.

Green eyes smiled down at her, through the eye holes of a wooden mask. Long blond hair fell down to tickle her face and neck. "It's true I must contend, not more delightful sands, for happily-ever-aftering than there- in- El'en-land~"

She wasn't sure whether to laugh from the sudden thrill or be angry at the elfhandling of her person, so she simply decided to be a little dazed instead. He laughed merrily, standing her up straight and performing an exaggerated bow, first to herself and then to their two-person audience.

She coughed, brushing herself down and glaring at the Elf. "Swinging me about like that- I'm betrothed, you know!?"

"You're smiling, you know?" His ears waggled down at her.

Upon realizing that, she tried to force herself to frown, but found that she could only giggle into her hands. "Y-you- hehe- H-horrible Elf!" She was failing to be mad at the sudden fun.

"I'll make up with your betrothed, and ask him for a dance too, how about that?" Mallorn offered with a hand raised, palm facing upwards.

Briefly, she pictured the elf and her betrothed performing a dance, and found the image marvelously amusing. She huffed, raising a nose to the air. "Very well! I shall allow this!" She put on her best gruffish tone when declaring her approval, before letting out another giggle.

"I believe I see the chimney-smoke of the monastery now, if your wild affair is quite finished with."

"My affairs are quite civilized, I'll have you know." Mallorn promptly countered.

"You're an elf." Rayne pointed out.

"This is true." Mallon shook his head in faux-sorrow.

—

"I was told this was a monastery, but it's truly more of a small town in my eyes, master monk." Mallorn commented to the brown-robed man leading them through a modestly cobbled road up towards the granite and sandstone church at the top of the hill. Rayne had been allowed to head off with his horse, towards the stables, but Dura and Lucia accompanied Mallorn to receive the hospitality of the faithful.

"Oh, no need to lay such titles upon me, master elf." The monk, a grown man with bushy eyebrows and a head shaved bald, replied simply. "I'm but a humble friar. The only one deserving of a proper title is the abbot Ingram, and he'll be too humble to accept it at face."

"Much like yourself then, master friar?" Mallorn teased.

The friar chuckled at that. "Yes, I suppose like myself." He nodded, before tilting his head and bringing the previous topic back. "And yes, the Lecten Abbey is quite the humble jewel. It's difficult to avoid taking too much pride in working these lands and halls." The little smile on his face emphasized the point, and the wistful gaze cast over the sloping hillside reinforced it further.

The Abbey was built around a central church, which took the place of a traditional keep, flanked by two boxlike buildings that surrounded inner courtyards and connected to either side of the church proper. The church was granite, and the walls were sandstone, of newer construction. This great central structure was in turn surrounded by gardens of bright and aromatic flowers, vineyards, and the buzzing of honeybees.

This was surrounded by a low sandstone wall, which was only barely built up enough to impede small attackers and wild animals. This section was in turn surrounded by a number of buildings, mostly of wood and clay brick, interspersed with fruit trees and statuettes and tiny shrines. The most notable of which was half-built over the gentle river flowing besides the hill, down from the mountains and towards a distant pond. These buildings were surrounded in turn by another wall, this being of clay brick and raised earth, and again only just tall enough to ward away man-sized attackers.

This gave way to fields full of sheep and henhouses and pens for merrily snorting hogs, with fences of woven wicker and wood and nails, and the occasional modest farmhouse in the distance tending to fields of wheat and potatoes and onions and gourds and so on.

"I think I've heard of this Abbey." Dura declared with furrowed brows. "Lecten. The name is familiar."

"Ah, perhaps. We trade away a great deal of our excess goods, wines and honeys and such. It keeps us busied and funds the maintenance and expansion of the churchgrounds." The monk chuckled. "Though we're best known for our cheeses, I think."

"That's right!" Dura stated with a look of realization. "My uncle brought home some of your cheese, one time in autumn, and it was delightful!"

"Ah, that's very good to hear!" He smiled down at her. "I'll see about bringing some out then, a little sample is within the spirit of hospitality taught by the All-Mother."

"And certainly not a chance to boast, is it?" Lucia gave a coy grin to the friar.

"Perhaps only a little, Lady dark elf, I'll have to ask forgiveness for it." The friar grinned back. They reached the stone steps of the church. "You just missed evening mass, though I make no presumptions about your attendance. Many are more private with their faiths."

"I wouldn't mind attending the next one, if you'll allow it, though I can't say I'll be much for actually participating." Mallorn requested, walking in through the doors after the friar. "I've never attended a proper mass before, the elven rituals of my home are more like festivals, seasonal."

"Allow it? I think it would be quite wrong of me to forbid it!" The friar laughed, leading them through the sort of entry-hall to the left, towards what seemed to be a set of dormitories that opened up to the courtyard. "We'll welcome your presence, certainly, and ask only that you be polite during the proceedings."

"I can certainly oblige that. Though I must ask, if you have cheeses here, then surely you have milk too. Yes?"

"We do, much in the cellars and well chilled."

"Might I steal one jar from you? I happen to enjoy the taste of milk greatly, and it's been a week or so since I've had any."

"Strange to request a thievery, friend!" The friar chuckled. "I can certainly bring a jarful up to you, though I ask you return the jar afterwards."

"That I can do."

"Here, a room for you gentlefolk." The friar declared, reaching a door and swinging it open, allowing them to see within. "I can have a spare mat brought up, as there's only two beds. We've had a number of folk, mostly dwarves, pass through from Erem asking for hospitality already. I'm afraid most of the rooms are already full."

"That'll be fine, thank you. Myself and Lucia can share." Mallorn waved off, ignoring the sudden sharp-angles of the dark elf's ears at that. "Lady Dura here is betrothed, after all, it wouldn't be right to force her into cot or with another."

Dura hummed at that, walking into the modest room and looking around. There was a window looking over the courtyard and the room was warm in the summer air. Other than that, there wasn't much else to consider.

"Ah, I see, I see!" The friar nodded, then smiled. "One moment, I'll go get some supper and cheese brought to you. I'll come by to tell you when morning mass begins, if you wish."

"Yes please, thank you for your help, master friar."

"The All-Mother's love should be shared, master elf." The friar smiled, waving a hand and walking away.

"We'll share, hm?" The dark elf gave something in between a stern and flustered look.

"I'll ask you no funny business happens while I'm in the same room." Dura declared with a waggled finger. "Good enough of him that he's not making you sleep on the floor, dark elf!"

"I'll ask that you don't put your feet on me, I'm expecting them to be absolutely frigid." Mallorn commented, walking over to the window and looking out, before frowning. He pulled back, and furrowed his brows. "...Dura, this Abbey was famed for their cheese, yes?"

"I believe so."

"...Do dwarves grow hooves, perchance? Or just horns?"

Dura blinked, before pulling back and giving him a confused look. She walked over to the window, before pulling herself up a tad and leaning on her elbows to look out into the courtyard.

There was a woman in brown robes. Little horns on the sides of her head, hooves in place of her feet, and dressed in similar brown robes as the friar. She hummed happily as she groomed the gardens, pulling out errant weeds and repacking soils and occasionally giggling at little bees buzzing about her.

Most notable was how her figure strained the robes, bust and hip just a hair too much for the garment, and the little hole cut in the back to allow a little whiplike tail with fluff at the end to hang out.

"That's a huldra, I reckon." Dura declared. "Dwarves don't grow hooves or tails like that."

"I see." Mallorn nodded, crossing his arms. "I saw and heard no cow pastures."

Dura furrowed her brows at him. Behind them, Lucia fell into a coughing fit. No cows but famed for their cheese…? She tried to remember what the Lecten cheese tasted like, but could only remember 'delicious'.

"Goat cheese, do you reckon?" She suggested. "I saw some sheep, I think."

Mallorn tilted his head. "...I'm exceedingly curious about what their dairy actually tastes like now. I imagine it quite different from elven dairy."

Lucia's coughing fit intensified.

She didn't know that elves had pastures. She supposed that made sense, most people would if they wanted cheese.

And everyone wants cheese, it was simply delicious.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Chapter Text

On the Road from Lecten Abbey to Erem
Mallorn the Elf

Huldramilk, as it turned out, was very much like a thick, rich, sweet vanilla sort of drink. It was just thin enough for his mind to register as 'milk' instead of 'iced cream', but only just, and carried a sweetness that was downright unusual for just milk, as if a spoonful of sugar was added to the blend.

Needless to say, once the strangeness had passed, Mallorn could easily see why people drank it. It was exceptionally tasty.

More marvelous, however, was that they gave him a whole wheel of huldra cheese after he attended their mass ceremonies. Being nice to people means getting free things from them, apparently, and Mallorn decided that he would have to come back to buy their products in the future. Getting an entire block of cheese as a free sample was incredible advertising. They had earned a customer for life, which Mallorn supposed was the point of being so generous to him.

Elves lived a very long time, and had quite a lot of money to spend, so earning one as a customer was simply good business. The cheese was similarly sweet and vaguely vanilla in flavor, and melted exceptionally well. It would be just about perfect for making cheesecake, if Mallorn knew how to do that, and its natural sweetness lent itself well towards habitual snacking.

"You really love that stuff, huh?" Rayne chuckled at him as they walked along the road, ever onwards towards Erem and leaving the abbey behind them.

"I'm quite the large lad, you know?" Mallorn responded, another bite of huldracheese pushed aside to let him get the words out. He chewed slightly more, then swallowed with flickering ears. "I need a lot of food to maintain this frame of mine, I'd hate to let it waste away from too little eating."

"You do eat a lot for an elf." Lucia mused, reaching up to scratch her chin and inspect him. "Half a hog on your own, then whole portions and seconds and thirds at the abbey, then this snacking."

"It goes straight to my thews." He took another bite, chewing with a slight smile and an idle gaze. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. It was almost like candy, except they already gave him a pouchful of hard caramels to snack on too and he was saving them for later. "I get all my exercising done before any of you wake up, but none of my equipment is heavy enough to work up a sweat anymore. It's why I'm on the hunt for proper steel."

"...You're in Ironwood." Lucia pointed out dryly. "That's better than steel."

"No." Mallorn countered with a waggled finger. "It's lighter than steel, and stronger on a per-pound basis, but proper steel still outcompetes it in a direct size comparison."

"Don't you want to have lighter armor?" Rayne pointed out with a raised brow. The stallion he was leading performed a rolling snort..

"Sure." Mallorn nodded. "But at a certain point, making ironwood any thicker just gets in the way of moving your limbs, and you're limited in how much you can carry anyways. If I were a rich elf, I'd buy a set of mithril plate." He shook his head. "As it stands, I'd rather just trade out this ironwood for some steel and chain, and have enough weight to properly exercise and wrestle in it."

"As you say, I suppose." Rayne shrugged. "I'm too common to afford anything better than gambeson, but it serves me well enough."

"Is that why you're aiding Lady Dwarf here?" Lucia asked dryly. "Hoping for some trollsteel as a reward for helping her?"

Trollsteel? Why woul- Actually he could just ask that. "Trollsteel? Why would dwarves have trollsteel?" He asked with furrowed brows.

She blinked, before a warm amusement came over her face. "Heh, you don't know, do you?"

"No, I don't." Mallorn agreed, taking another bite of cheese. "Tis why I asked."

"When men first met dwarves, they didn't know that all the different workers and soldiers were part of the same race. So they called the little ones dwarves, the bigger ones trolls, and the biggest ones giants." Rayne explained with a huff. "Course, later it turned out that dwarves were just the youngest and they kept getting bigger as they got older, but the names were set by then."

"That's not what happened." Lucia refuted with a shake of her head. "The story goes that the first dwarf to set out from his holes was an adult named Torod, and he was soon followed by his son Dauth, and then by his father Gilthat. Torod became Trod, then Troll. Dauth became Dwauth, then Dwarf. Gilthat became Gilat, then Giant. From the three men derived the names for each, who they mistook as different peoples in their travels."

"That sounds ~~~~~~~~~, Dark Elf." Rayne rolled his eyes. "Here, we've a dwarf right here. Lady Dwarf, where did trolls and giants get their names?"

Dura was lost in thought, staring at the cobbles as they walked along the road. Mallorn reached forwards and gently tapped her on the head, making her shake and ruffle briefly, before turning up to squint at him. "Wha-"

"What's got you thinking, lady dwarf?" Mallorn asked with a little smile.

She made a little huffing noise, before looking back towards the cobbles they trod upon. "I spoke to some of my kinsfolk before we left, there's some sort of conflict all broken out at Erem at the moment and I've been puzzling over it."

"A conflict?" Lucia asked with ears perking up in alert.

"I suppose there was a dispute over copper purity again." Rayne mocked light-heartedly.

"That's the thing, they didn't seem to know either." Dura explained in a grumbling sort of manner. "The Steeldikes and the Greymills have broken out into arguments and open brawls over something or another. One or both of them hired up goblins to start sieges and blockades of each other's halls, and it's starting to catch up others in the violence last they said."

"Is there a dwarven king or something to put a stop to this?" Mallorn asked, blinking.

"The elders are sitting this business out, thank the Father." Dura shook her head. "It'll be far worse if they were brawling too, but I don't know what would've provoked something like this. If it were the Gravelbrooks and the Greymills scuffling, thinking I ran away to escape the marriage or some such, I'd understand it, but I've not a clue why the Steeldikes would be conflicting with the Greymills."

"Do they have rival businesses, perhaps?" Lucia asked with a tilt of her head. "I'm not too familiar with the business of dwarves, I confess."

"They shouldn't." Dura tilted her head. "The Greymills have the business of grain and grinding flour and baking, and the Steeldikes are famed for their pipework and canalcraft. That's why I was set to be engaged to Greymill Dawain, the Gravelbrooks make our business with riverflows and dams and just a bit of canalwork, and our marriage was to confirm a new contract for waterflow towards their grainfields."

"But if the scuffle was about the water rights, then it would be Gravelbrook and Steeldike, not Steeldike and Greymill." Mallorn completed the thought for her, reaching up to scratch his neck in consideration. "Canals and mills… watermill disputes, perhaps?"

"I don't think something like a watermill would lead to anyone hiring goblin bands, or all things." Rayne mused, scratching at his own chest as he pondered the issue. "If you've gotten to that point, you're showing a willingness to shed blood and more importantly, coin, over being 'right'."

"Hiring a goblin band… Like the group that kidnapped you, Dura?" Mallorn leaned down slightly to ask the question.

"Aye, like that bunch." Dura pressed her lips together and nodded. "If one was hired up to snatch away with me, and now more are being hired up to fight over this, then they're connected I'm sure of it. I just don't know where or how."

"Perhaps a fourth party hired goblins to kidnap you, blame it on the Steeldikes to provoke the Greymills, and are now funding both sides of the conflict to discredit both and extract concessions from the framed parties once a governing party steps in to stop them." Mallorn mused aloud, recalling the stories of political shenanigans and manuerving he had heard about in a past life.

There were a few moments of quiet at that.

"Is that the mind of an Elf at work? That's courtly planning on a fearsome scale." Rayne was looking at him with a frown and furrowed brows.

"That almost sounds like a plan my mother would cook up." Lucia mused. "Not enough time in bedchambers."

"I-I don't think it's something like that, Mallorn." Dura was likewise looking at him with a concerned expression. "I certainly hope not, at least."

"I-it's the first thing that came to mind!" Mallorn defended himself. "I am simply connecting the threads of knowledge here! That is all!"

"You made a web when a string would suffice." Rayne gave an amused half-grin at him. "They're dwarves, they're probably fighting over losing an auction to the other over a quality batch of rocks."

Dura huffed, but didn't deny it.

Mallorn rolled his eyes and waved it off, taking another delightful bite of huldracheese and focusing on the road once more.

—

"So, did you enjoy hearing men preach at you about your inherent evils for an hour?" Lucia asked with a little grin, lounging as the rest of them went about preparing the night's fire and little feast. Tonight's course was a two dozen wild birds, shot down by his arrows and being rapidly hollowed out, plucked, and prepared for stick-roasting over the open fire.

"Hm? Oh, quite a bit, I think." Mallorn answered back, knife full of mana and quickly working to carve away organs and set them aside on bark-plates for the wild beasts to devour later. Bird was a bit trickier and more time-consuming to prepare, but the work was simple enough after some practice. It was much easier that they weren't bothering to de-bone any of these, otherwise it would be atrocious.

The largest bird, a wild turkey that looked halfway towards being a dinosaur, was already cleaned and slow-roasting under Dura's careful eye, turns of the skewer, and attentions to the fire.

"Their sermons were on the mannish king Agar the Black, ruler of Essa, and his conversion from the worship of devils to the service of the…" He took a moment to remember the name. "All-mother, given conversion-libations by the Chosen Heroine of that era, Seiren. The lesson of the story was that even the most ardent enemies of the High Goddess can become her most devoted servants if allowed to. Then they recounted how the region was eventually conquered by the Empire and incorporated as a province."

He nodded his head back and forth, defting hollowing out another bird and splashing the insides with water before handing it over to Rayne to pluck. "It was interesting. I considered buying one of their holy books to read through on my travels, but it was too expensive."

"Mhn! Dwarven sermons are similar, but not as many books." Dura added with a happy nod. "The storykeepers spend a great deal of time memorizing the old stories from the elders, and carve them down as youth on great tablets. Then, when they are done, they're too big to carve the little words anymore, so they take on apprentices to finish the last few tablets as part of their own training. Every few decades a great moot is held between storykeepers, and the elders tell the stories of their clans in great, booming rumbles for all to hear."

"Men are much too small to have booming rumbles most of the time. Not like your giant elders and whatnot." Rayne huffed with laughter, handing over a now-cleaned bird to Dura, who staked it and mounted it near the fire to gently and occasionally roll.

"You try your best though, and that's what really matters in the end." Dura gave an encouraging smile and little bounce. She then turned back to him and questioned. "Elf learning is different though, you said, right Mallorn?"

Mallorn nodded. "At no point does the historian give implication that there's a lesson to be had, in my experience. They simply relay the history as they know it, in as great detail as they have available, and it is understood that when you are old enough to arrive at the 'correct' answer on your own, then you are wise enough to understand it."

"Records are kept in scrolls, traditionally, long silk sheets covered in every inch by both words and art. Each scene flows from one to the other while the words convey the context needed to understand them. When a split in record-keeping begins, the scroll cites a sub-scroll that is to be hung next to the first in a branching manner, until the whole of elven history unfurls like an immense and often overlapping tree."

Mallorn tilted his head. "To my understanding, the most complete records are held in the capital of elvenlands, a series of scrolls that cover miles in total distance and width, hanging within the Cathedral of the Golden Oak itself. It is distinctly irksome and time-consuming to navigate records set up in such a manner, so at least my own home simply kept the scrolls in cases and stacked up when not needed to be referenced."

Final bird hollowed out, he splashed the interior with water to rinse it out, handed it off to Rayne, and then washed his hands off. That done, he stood up, taking the tray of bird-guts with him. Tray in hand, he strode over to the side of the road and the bush with the creature that thought it was being sneaky, and set the bark-tray down and stepped away.

Much to his surprise, it was not a dog that poked out of the bush to eat at the guts, but rather a little predatory running lizard. The head and back were somewhat feathered, and its little mouth was full of sharpened teeth.

Unlike the turkey-thing, this wasn't 'halfway' to being a dinosaur, this was just a dinosaur. He stared at it somewhat transfixed as it hissed and growled at him and rapidly munched at the tray of bird organs.

"What are you staring at?" Dura asked from the fire.

Mallorn's ears twitched. "A little lizard-beast."

"He's looking at a drachen, one of the little pack-hunters." Lucia looked over, attentive to his movements. "Do they not have such in elvenlands, Little Elf?"

"Not in my old home, at least. Large lizards and such." He replied, sitting back on his laurels and simply watching it chomp away at the organs. "Are they common?" He was doing his best to restrain his excitement at the thought.

He reached a gentle hand out and held it still, fingers raised and still smelling of bird-guts.

"Most common around dwarven lands. They bring a bunch of big lizards with them whenever they start carving into a new mountain." Rayne shook his head. "They come from Giant Country, right dwarf?"

The little raptor rapidly finished the array of organs on the tray, before turning its head inquisitively at him.

"Hmn-hm! There's nothing else big enough to feed a hungry giant than a Hadrun, nothing else you can herd at least." Dura nodded happily, pulling off one well-roasted bird from the fire and holding it up for inspection. "That and they lay dozens of eggs, and the eggs are huge! You can cook a whole dwarven breakfast with just one sizzling on the skillet."

Mallorn stayed completely still, letting the raptor have all the time it needed to consider him. He kept his ears folded down, as to not provoke some kind of aggressive response.

"And when they brought their lizards up from Giant Country, a bunch of the smaller lizards hitched a ride on their ships." Rayne huffed. "Now you can't find a damn place that doesn't have a few of the little bastards running around."

The raptor tilted its head back the other way, then made a little jump over the bark-tray and towards him.

"They're tasty though, so it's all fair, grandfather always said." Dura nodded. "Mallorn! Come over here, one of the little birds is done so start eating!"

The raptor leant forwards sniffing at his fingers, before taking a step back and glaring up at him, then leaning forwards and sniffing his fingers again.

"Wait, what about me?" Rayne asked, reaching for one of the skewers.

He stayed still, hand outstretched.

"Mallorn shot them, so he gets the first bites!" Dura argued back, swatting at his hand.

The raptor lent forwards again, sniffing at his fingers, before making an experimental nip. It wasn't even enough to hurt, how gentle and cautious the little bite was.

"He's going to eat half of them anyways, what's the harm?" Lucia similarly reached forwards, making the dwarf stand up and start swatting more aggressively at their greedy hands.

He smiled, the raptor making another nip before realizing that his fingers weren't food. He scratched it on the side of the head for a few moments, before it backed away and jumped back into the bush.

"Mallorn, hurry! I can't hold them off for long!" Dura wailed at him. "Claim the first bite, before it is lost!"

He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he stood up and brushed himself off, walking back over to the fire and taking the skewer of meat from Dura.

"My thanks for thy valiant defense, lady dwarf."

She gave a happy, bouncing salute at that, and missed Rayne and Lucia snatching skewers of roasted bird for themselves in the process.

Mallorn chuckled, twisting off one leg and chomping down. Just a bit of pepper and salt applied during the early stages of the cook. It tasted like gamey chicken.

It would go excellently with the huldracheese, but he was saving the next bite of that for the turkey-lizard. It wasn't finished cooking yet.

Chapter 11: Interlude 1 : Greenwood

Chapter Text

The Greenwood Estates
Rosalina of Greenwood

"I've returned, Mother." She called out, reaching up to remove her helmet. Mithril shell pulled away from her head and allowed her golden locks to spill over shoulders and onto breastplate. She let her gaze return upwards, towards the woman clad in fine white silks and ribbons, crowned in holly and haloed in her own curtains of gold.

The matured, slight beauty of her mother was something Rosalina had envied in youth, it was only much later that she realized that she had inherited it. All of them had, save their rambunctious brother.

"The house of Yig welcomes you home." Mother responded, stepping forwards and brushing aside locks that framed Rosalina's face. Just a hair shorter than herself, and yet bereft of the heels of her armor, mother was a towering woman. "Gladdened are we, for your safe return. The front holds, we trust?"

"It does." Rosalina leaned forwards into her mother's gentle fingers, taking comfort in the old and familiar traces through her hair and over face. Hands cupped her cheeks, then brought her down to plant a kiss upon her brow before pulling back again. "The front holds, at least another year more, and the power of another rising horde has been broken and scattered. The Elf-Eater banished below again, and her summoner fled to places unknown."

"Wonderful news to receive on this day." Lady Greenwood declared simply, ears and face as calm as ever, but eyes conveying a great deal more now that Rosalina knew where to look. "A shame that you missed the visitation of Mariella, here from her studies in the capital for the waxing summer. Only Florella remains."

She twitched her ears in a rueful fashion. "Such as it is, Marie has little time for visitation these seasons, grown as she is." She spoke a gentle tease. "Much too busy learning from Mistress Myr to speak to any save darling Rasil."

"Her apprenticeship shall be concluded shortly, twenty-nine years yet." Lady Greenwood pulled back, before letting one ear twitch in indication of direction. "Come, the servants have prepared a great feast for your welcome."

"I suppose Flore has already started to partake?" She gave a little, laugh, tension already pouring off her shoulders with every passing moment in her home. "She could never resist a proper feast, the foods and the festivities both."

"You suppose correctly." Mother confirmed, elegant, silent steps carrying her through the halls of their home and towards the feast-hall. The smells and sounds both told Rosalina to expect much fanfare with her return. Already her forces had been dismissed and allowed to return to their families, and now only her squire and mother's handmaiden followed them.

The smell of roasted sweet potatoes, of spiced chocolates and caramels, of puddings and seed cakes. It was a sea of wonderful, beloved, and nostalgic smells. They were long-lost in the decade of campaigning, and their return was almost hypnotic. Mother was absolutely spoiling her in little familiar luxuries, it seems.

The sound of harps and lyres carried through the arched halls, until eventually rising to a delightful crescendo as the doors to the feasthalls were opened, and they stepped through to greet the celebrants.

"Presenting! The Lady Greenwood, and Heiress Greenwood, now returned from war!" The herald declared from his place by the door, voice carrying over the gathered celebrants, the dancers, the feasters and into the arched roof of colored glass. The modest feasthalls of the house of Yig could not compare to the magnificence of other, grander halls. The halls of the Lord General or Queen were grander beyond imagination, and their majesty was almost overwhelming.

She preferred the halls of her home over them, simply because they were her home.

She smiled and stood still as the feasters greeted her with smiles and cheers and applause, and she shook her head and waved her hand to calm them down. She'd be home for a year yet, more than enough time to greet and meet all of them in turn. Half were friends of the household, and the other half were probably petitioners seeking something asinine like betrothals. Either to herself or her siblings.

Naturally, all would be refused. She had more than enough time to wait for the ideal partner.

She cast her gaze about, seeing childhood friends and familiar servants. Her sister was there at the tables of baked goods, and devouring plates at an measured but unstoppable pace. Her ears waggled in merriment, and she took her mothers offered arm and strode over to greet her.

Brother was not present, though that didn't surprise her overmuch, large crowds were overwhelming to his young senses. Headaches and frustrated scrunches of his cute little face and pained expressions whenever introduced to other boys his age.

Nine years since last she saw him… He must have grown up so much in that time! Her ears danced in anticipation of seeing him again.

They reached her sister soon enough, rapidly devouring a great slice of lemon seed cake with eyes closed and head tilted back in delight, ears bouncing up and down with each chew. She was dressed in reds and golds, in silks and tresses, which plunged low and revealed long strips of flawless pale flesh. Florella loved the fineries of their position most of all, and dressed herself accordingly. "I see you're just as famished as ever, Flor." She greeted merrily. "Are your seamstresses paid well?"

Flore's entire body twitched with the sounds of her voice, and she paused in her chewing just long enough to crack open an eye at her. Observed, she closed her eye again and chewed ever more rapidly in an effort to clear her throat and make a reply.

Eventually, she managed to swallow and set her plate down. "Rosalina, back from barbarian lands at last. How many squires have you driven off with your boorish lusts?"

Rosalina grabbed her sister by the shoulders and slammed her into a bone-crushing hug. Flora yelped only for a moment, before returning the hug with equal ferocity. Rosalina inhaled the scents of her sister deeply, face buried between her shoulder and neck, then exhaled slowly. She could feel and hear Florella doing the same.

"I've missed you." They said at once.

Several long moments passed before they pulled apart, Rosalina planting a kiss on her sister's brow as she withdrew. Neither smile nor ears could be contained at the moment.

"You're just as ugly as the day I left." That is to say, not at all.

"And your presence just as unwelcome." That is to say, not at all.

She smiled and shook her head. "Mariella has already returned to the capital, I've heard."

"From mother's lips, then. You heard correct. She was quite frustrated by brother's recent camping trip." Florella's ears expressed her amusement well.

"Camping… I suppose the quiet of the woods would be agreeable to him, how sensitive his senses are." Rosalina expressed with faint humor, knowing that the real reason was probably more to avoid Mariella's playful badgering than anything else. "I believe mother mentioned this habit in one of her letters to me."

"We did." Mother responded between quick bites of a dainty apple fritter. "In the autumn of your third year of campaigning against Sorceress Mala. Rasil first announced his desire to learn woodcraft, and Dame Titania was agreeable to expanding his tutelage, and we were persuaded by his argumentation."

"Did he argue?" Florella mused, reaching up a finger to tap her lower lip. "I seem to recall solely a blunt declaration, then a long period of quietly staring holes into the side of your head."

"You remember correctly." Mother nodded, finishing the fritter and taking up the tea cup held by her handmaid. "It was exceptionally persuasive."

Rosalina and Florella shared giggles at that. "I suppose Titania has yet to ask for a betrothal? She's already wrapped around his fingers, with how much she indulges him." Rosalina shook her head at the antics of her long friend, someone blessed with an abundance of strength and too little self-awareness. She'd make for a fine sister, powerful and of noble line, but completely toothless as a real rival.

"Please, Rosa, your old friend isn't even aware of how much she dotes on baby brother." Florella giggled. "In a hundred years she'll still be just as helpless as she is now. We'd have to push them into the same bed, and it still might not work."

"Titania is currently pursuing Rasil." Mother declared, bringing both of them to a stop. Rosalina looked to the placid matriarch, sipping tea, then back to her sister. Both of them shared a rather concerned expression at the declaration.

"I- I suppose you've arranged a betrothal then?" Florella asked with ears upright and alert.

"We have not."

"Mother, it's one thing to plan for the future, but Rasil is but twenty, twenty one perhaps this year!" Rosalina stepped away from her sister and towards their mother. "And you say she pursues him? S-she's- and you are aware of this? And haven't stopped her?!"

"She informed us as soon as she discovered it." Mother replied, setting the tea aside and turning to face them more directly. "We see no reason to forbid her."

"No reason? Mother! Our brother is a child!" Florella declared, waving her arms about even as she kept her voice low. "A child! Precocious and darling as he might be, he is entirely too young to be romanced by any woman- he- he doesn't even know what romance is!"

"We agree."

That made the sisters stop short, glancing at each other with baffled expressions. "S-so she is pursuing him but… you agree he is too young to be romanced?"

Mother tilted her head. "This is correct."

"...Where is our brother?" Rosalina asked bluntly, dropping any pretenses. "I much desire to speak with him."

"Still camping, last I heard. Lady Titania has been-" Florella stopped short, realizing the same thing that Rosalina realized at once. "...Acting as his escort…"

"...Mother. If she has been acting inappropriately with my brother, I am ending her life." Rosalina declared flatly. "Damn any connections and damn our history, she'll die."

"Worry not." Mother declared, inspecting a berry-sweet before popping it in her mouth. "Dame Titania has been acting as an ideal warden and instructor to my son, I would not allow her so much freedom if she were not."

"...Her pursuit then… It is chaste?" Rosalina asked for clarification. "Entirely chaste?"

"More than merely chaste, it is without romance." Mother responded, popping another berry-sweet into her mouth and chewing placidly.

"...What?" Florella expressed their confusion.

"So, Titania pursues Rasil without romance?" Rosalina asked again, eyebrows scrunched together. "I- Is he leading her on a chase?"

"Yes."

Both sisters sighed mightly, shoulders slumped and tension leaving their frames. Mother had played them expertly yet again, winning the game of words and making them drop their guise of implication in the process. "A footrace. Brother leads Titania on a footrace." Florella rolled her eyes. "He remains my weakness, it seems, I was much too worried."

He was her weakness as well, Rosalina was considering the murder of a long time friend. "A footrace or a game of hiding and hunting. I suppose tis some game or exercise one or both devised, running throughout the greenwood to practice his abilities over greater distances."

"Neither game nor exercise." Mother declared, taking up her tea again and sipping delicately.

Rosalina huffed and decided that she was much too irritable to try playing the game any more. "I suppose he's still in the greenwood at the moment. I'll have to wait till he returns to see how he's grown."

"Oh, he's grown into such a handsome boy!" Florella gushed, bringing up her hands for emphasis. "Every day seeking something new and heavy to pick up and toss about. He's got arms like mid-decennial saplings and is almost as tall! His hands are twice as large as mine, and he makes such cute growls whenever you're affectionate with him! He's become such a delight to embrace!"

Rosalina smiled at the thought, doing her best to picture him but only returning to the chubby-cheeked elfling that glared at his scrapes instead of crying, as if he could bully pain and injury away.

"He is not in the Greenwood."

Florella sighed, rolling her eyes and one of her hands. "I suppose he's run away from home or something like that then?"

Knowing this to be another game of words, he was probably visiting another Wood at the moment or something, camping in a new location or-

"Correct." Mother declared, bringing her line of thought to a stop. "Rasil has run away from the Greenwood and past the wardstones, out into the wider world. He did not declare his intent to leave prior."

"What!" Rosalina yelped. "W-why? And why isn't he being followed!"

"We already informed you of this. Dame Titania is pursuing him." Mother sipped her tea.

Rosalina stepped away from the table, bringing her helmet up to cover her head again. "I'm joining her."

"Nay." Mother declared, making her stop short. "This feast has been prepared for you, you will enjoy yourself and leave the search to Dame Titania."

"To damnation with the feast! He's my darling brother!" She swiped a hand back and growled, ears pulled back in irritation.

"He's my son." Lady Greenwood declared informally, emphasizing the words and locking gazes with her. Rosalina found that she could neither move nor look away from the hard emerald glare. "Do not presume that you care more for his safety than I."

"I-" She tried, before choking out the words. "I have to do something!"

"My familiar has been sent to Dame Titania. She will alert me when he is found. I will be summoned then." Lady Greenwood walked around the table and towards her daughter, bringing her hands up and cupping her cheeks. This was a far more firm hand than before. "We will greet with him then. Currently, there is little more that can be done but wait and gather strength for that moment. Do you hear my words?"

Rosalina maintained a glare for some time, before finally dropping her gaze and sighing. "I hear them…" The words were bitter in her mouth.

Lady Greenwood came forwards and planted another soft kiss on her brow, then pulled her into an embrace. "If you must do something, prepare yourself to hear his words, why he was so miserable to flee us rather than stay another year."

Rosalina considered that for a moment, before squeezing her mother in a tight hug. "I do not want to do that." She admitted softly.

"Then do not, and prepare yourself for the news of the next time he flees."

Mother was as callous as ever.

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

Chapter Text

On the Road from Lecten Abbey to Erem
Mallorn the Elf

"There is marching ahead, and songs of war in a tongue I don't speak." Mallorn declared with a sudden pause. His ears twitching as the sound of many hundreds of feet on stone and dirt carried over the wind, interspersed with the lyrics of a guttural song.

The others paused as suddenly as he declared it, stopping to glance at each other nervously, then back at him. Lucia tilted her head and strained her ears to listen with a scowl of concentration, while Rayne asked more directly. "Well, what are the words?" He leaned forwards slightly, raising a hand to brush down the side of his horse as he did. "And more importantly, are they coming this way or going somewhere else?"

Mallorn listened carefully for a few moments more, before replying. "Ah goth durbus thruk. Aghul us thruk u bag. Usm krimpnuzg achuk esh. Usm snage achuk bub~" The words were foul on his tongue, but catchy in beat and rhythm. It was the verbal equivalent of junk food, from the taste and the way the sentence made his mouth feel after saying it.

"That sounds like goblin words." Dura muttered, nervously. She fidgeted in her boots, looking up along the hill before them from which the sounds of marching distantly carried.

"They are goblin words. An old marching song from the sounds of it." Rayne confirmed with a nod. "The king commands us march, and so we march to war. Our purses are all empty, our women are all whores."

Dura sent a suspicious look towards the man at that, who waved a hand and explained with a sheepish expression. "It's a good drinking song, once you get into the rhythm of it." He turned back to face Mallorn, and asked again. "More importantly, are they coming towards or away from us?"

"Neither, by the sounds of it." Lucia declared after a few moments of straining. She brought up her finger and traced a line across the road in front of her. "There's a crossing of roads up ahead, and they're traveling along it towards the northwest."

"The northwest! That's where Erem is!" Dura cried out, reaching up to grab her horns nervously and yanking her head around. "Hundreds of goblins on warmarch? That's bad news no matter what the reason is!"

"Thrak u krill aghn. Thrak u krull aghn. Thrak aghn, aghn. Uk gimbbubhosh~" Mallorn finished the sound, ears twitching irritably.

"Off to kill again. Off to die again. Off again, again, Off to find a grave." Rayne translated with a considering nod. "Have you any idea how large they are, how numerous?"

"I'll che-"

"Absolutely not!" Lucia declared, reaching forwards to grab Mallorn by the shoulders, using him as a pivot-point to rotate herself around, and staring him in the eyes. She raised up a finger to point at herself, made less effective by how much shorter she was compared to him. "I will go check, you will stay right here where it's nice and safe and not in sight for their handgonnes." She finished her declaration by reaching up to tap at his chest with a scowl.

He could have had many reactions to this kind of babying. He could get mad, he could brush her off. He could pitch a fit and stomp off on his own. He could roll his eyes and scoff. He could do any number of things like that, and they wouldn't accomplish anything.

Instead he leaned forwards and stole a quick kiss, making her recoil, rapidly waving her hands, and flushing in a most amusing fashion. "D-d-don't do that! Tha-that's not good!" She fumbled over her words as she took stumbling steps away from him.

"Stay safe while you're checking them out, okay?" Mallorn ignored her protests and smiled, ears up and alert. "You can handle yourself, I know, but I'd be pretty upset if you got hurt." This was mostly a lie, because he had only known her for a few days. He simply didn't really have the time investment required to care about her beyond their initial moment of intimacy.

He'd probably be upset in a vague sense if she died, but he couldn't honestly say that he would mourn over it long enough to count as 'caring'. It would simply be dishonest of him to think otherwise. However, a gesture and lines like this was quite effective at discouraging her from treating him like he was a child when he was very much an adult.

"Y-you- I- Gah!" She turned quickly and practically sprinted away, running up the path to the crest of the hill, quickly dropping into a crouch, and disappearing over the other side.

The other three watched her go in silence.

"One gesture and two sentences, you reduce a dark elf to a blushing maiden." Rayne shook his head. "That's honestly rather intimidating, Elf, I'm impressed."

"You better not be playing with her heart, Mallorn!" Dura reached up to slap his hip, giving a scolding glare and scowl up at him. "A lady's love is a delicate thing!"

"Oh, I am." Mallorn nodded, smiling as the dwarf let out an annoyed whine to pair with her glare. "But it's the quickest manner to get a worryweed like her to stop fussing over nothing."

"Hrn." She grunted, turning a gaze forwards. "If you're going to kiss her, you better be willing to kiss her again when she asks, you hear?"

"It depends on how clean her mouth is." Mallorn hummed in reply, making Rayne snicker-cough and Dura letting out a grunt of acceptance. He nodded, before taking out his bow, unwrapping the bowstring from around his neck, and quickly combining the two. "Of course, now that I've said that to her, the fates will conspire to have her hurt, so we best follow quickly to save her."

"W-what? Wait, what do you mean?" Dura asked, quickly hoisting her bags and moving to follow. Her little short-toed boots making clopping noises as she dashed along at top speed. Her top speed was about equivalent to his brisk walk, thanks to the difference in stride length. "The fates?"

"A trio of goddesses. I did not know that the Elves heeded them as well." Rayne, being about as tall as he was, was also able to keep up with a mere brisk walk. The horse followed easily along besides him.

"Heed is a strong word." Mallorn replied, having just learned that The Fates were apparently gods here. Each great bound of his legs brought him further up along the hill until he neared the top. "We heed only Amarami, the High Goddess, and for the most part consider ourselves equal to or above all other gods, spirits, and peoples, typically in a most arrogant fashion."

"That sounds right for elves." Dura grumbled as she struggled to keep up.

"Having said that, just because you don't heed other gods doesn't mean they politely avoid you." Mallorn explained low as the top of his head poked over the crest of the hill and down towards the next valley before them. "With lines like that, I practically invited the Fates to bring troubles down on my head. Some manner of horrible fate to befall Lucia, simply for the sake of laughing at my despair."

He had seen this kind of scenario play out once during his time in the Greenwood. A male publicly professing great love, care, and loyalty for his romantic partner, then the romantic partner and another handful of elves being banished for becoming dark elves some weeks later after a rousing round of 'lets cheat on my spouse with a gangbang'. Naturally, the trick to avoid something like that was to simply not care all that much.

Relationship drama can't reach you through an unbreakable wall of 'I didn't ask'.

Sure enough, there was something of a small army of goblins set up along the road, currently brought to a halt and a few making roaming maneuvers, clearly searching for someone or something. There, in the bushes and currently far too extended to be safe, Lucia was hiding with no real path of retreat if the goblins found her and decided to be hostile.

There were perhaps three hundred of them in total, clad in rough leathers and scraps of roughly-painted armor,carrying crude guns and satchels and reeking of sulfur and sweat. Entirely too many to fight off, even if all of them combined their efforts. There were simply too many bodies with weapons there, if they proved hostile.

"Goblins are mercenaries, right?" Mallorn quickly asked, coming to an estimation about her positioning and the situation at hand.

"The men, for the most part." Rayne quickly answered back. Dura was staring in a horrified manner down at the marching orders and their steady approach.

Mercenaries. This many in one place and on the march meant they were traveling for a job. They wouldn't want to be slowed down unnecessarily, but a lone captive woman might convince them to have fun with her while setting up camps.

A male, on the other hand, was a far less desirable target for capture.

Mallorn pushed a great deal of mana into his war-mask as he rose. "Stay here." He commanded quietly, making a merry walk over the ridgeline and starting down the hill, in clear view of the many goblins along the road.

At once they noticed him, with gutural words and barked announcements. Mallorn pretended to just notice them, tilting his head and then raising up a hand in a wave.

The goblins shuffled about, staring up at him along the hilly road. He then dropped his wave, and started down along the road in a non hostile manner, towards the goblins as if he was walking up to say hello to the neighbors.

Lucia, in the bush, visibly restrained an aneurysm at his bold and daring strategy to buy her time to get away unseen. Be grateful woman, his valor was saving you from a probable bad end here.

Half-using his bow as a walking stick, Mallorn walked up to within shouting distance of the goblins. "HAIL!" He cried out, raising a hand to his mouth.

He lowered the hand, and stared at the band of goblins, they stared back at him, grouping up quickly and not quite aiming their guns at him. Eventually, the goblin with a pointy hat called back in rough mannish. "WHADDYA WANT, ELF?!"

"TALK, IF YOU WOULD!" Mallorn cried back.

The goblin with the pointy hat clearly considered this, growling and looking around at the other goblins. They were smart enough to be mercenaries, which meant they were probably smart enough to have risk-assessment abilities. A lone elf, confidently walking up to them like this, a band of three hundred odd goblins?

That implied a great many things.

The goblin with a point hat and two of his buddies stepped forwards from the mass of other goblins, and visibly put their guns away. This didn't mean much, because the other few hundred goblins behind them didn't, but it was a clear demonstration of 'we are not currently aggressive'. It was probably the best he was going to get.

He visibly unstrung his longbow before them, looping the cord around his bracer and returning the bow to 'relaxed' state. That done, he made his way down along the path and ignored the frantic whispering and ear-moving from Lucia hidden in her bush. The goblins could not hear her, but he could, and he elected to disregard her.

She had made the very foolish decision of getting that close in the first place, and now he needed to enter a rather intimidating situation.

Fortunately, he was wearing a warmask and was currently pumping as much mana as he could into it. The function of a warmask was to conceal one's emotions and intimidate others. Adding mana should make it better at doing those two things.

"Hail, master goblin." Mallorn called out once he was within range of a normal conversation, resting the tip of his bow on the road and raising a hand in brief greeting.

"Master goblin, eh?" The leader, having the pointiest hat, replied with a grumble and a glare. His face was almost skull-like, sunken eyes and cheeks, with cracked dry lips and well-weathered features. Were it not for the hook-like nose and the tattered ears, the face would be more concave than extruding. "Politesome, we sees. You've got a talkseems, Elf, out withit."

Mallorn nodded, and making sure his voice was calm, he made a bluff. "I'm in search of a criminal, a dark elf. I'm in pursuit of him along this path when I happened upon you and your band. Did you happen to see him?"

The leadgoblin considered that for a moment, growling softly and looking about before slowly nodding. "Scoutsa heard a bit of rustlinglikes around theseparts, but nothingmores. Maybelikes this Delf berounds, maybelikes not. Can'tells moresome than such."

Mallorn found himself distinctly charmed by the shitty grammar. He nodded slowly at that, casting a gaze around. "Thank you, master goblin. I'll investigate the area more thoroughly before moving along. Before I do, I'd like to ask where you and your band are traveling, if that's agreeable."

The leadgoblin considered that for a moment, then glared suspiciously up at him. "Maybelikes we tells you. Maybelikes we tell you to minds your own businessome. Maybelikes we make a new necklace from the nosysome elf?"

A clear threat. Despite himself, Mallorn was quite nervous at that.

However, showing fear would only ensure he died and got robbed. The only way to respond with the shadow of violence was to cast a larger shadow.

"Mayhaps you tell me. Mayhaps you don't tell me, but if you seek my ears as trophies-" Mallorn slowly reached up and gently laid his palm on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his belt. Staring down at the goblin through a warmask brimming with mana, he finished his own threat. "-I carry a sword for a reason, master goblin."

"I sees only one of you. Seemsome we've a lot more fightinglikes than yous." The lead goblin pointed out, tilting his head and meeting his glare.

"I know what I said." Mallorn replied, tapping his hilt and forcing the glare to stay in his eyes.

A long, tense moment followed.

The lead goblin nodded slowly, dropping the glare and returning its ugly face to a more neutral expression. "We's up to Erem, a greatsome bag back home of shinylikes to buy up all of us for a fight, but knowsome little about what for yet." The lead goblin shook his head and spat to the side. "No target and no boss makes for shitsome marching. No idea what we'll be shootinglikes when we gets there."

Mallorn nodded, considering that in turn. "But you march regardless?" He asked to clarify.

The lead goblin nodded with a scowl and grumble. "Itswhat we do."

Mallorn nodded back. "I see. Thank you for telling me, master goblin. I won't hold you up with any more talkinglike then."

The lead goblin gave a rough chuckle, before turning around and stepping back towards the protection of his fellow goblins, away from Mallorn. Soon they returned to a wary marching formation, and began to sing the song once more up and along the road. Mallorn stood still and allowed them to pass unmolested, eventually giving a tiny wave to the hiding dark elf to indicate that it was safe to come out.

The goblins disappeared over another distant hill as the dark elf exploded out of the bush and practically tackled him, panicked mumblings and frantic searches of his person for injury before doing her best to forcibly drag him backwards along the trail and away from where the goblins had been marching.

His heart was beating very fast, both because that was quite scary and because it felt incredibly cool to do.

A silly little, utterly thrilled smile came over his face as Dura and Rayne came down to join them.

—

"I- I can't believe you! I told you to stay back! You could've died!" Lucia growled about him, rapidly checking their vicinity and then back to him as they made camp for the night.

"I know, twas pantaist!" Mallorn laughed, throwing himself back to lay on the soft grass of the roadside and look up to the twin moons, body still full of little shakes and giggles. Pan-taist, Full-Reverence, was the closest word to 'awesome' that the elven tongue could really support.

"No! Twas not pantaist!" Lucia growled wrothfully. "Twast stupid! What were you thinking!"

"It was pretty pantaist…" Rayne muttered in consideration, raising a hand to his chin.

"I was thinking you were massively overextended with no cover to run to, the goblins were looking for you, and they might do many unfortunate things to a lady like you." Mallorn explained calmly, sighing with great satisfaction. "It was only a matter of time before they found you, they had the numbers for it, so I had to do something to get their attention off you."

"And onto yourself!?" Lucia was not confident in her ability to argue against her own tactical blunder it seems, and so ignored it completely. "They could've killed you! If they decided to attack, they'd overwhelm you with ease!"

"You see." Mallorn began with an incredibly smug drawl. "I know that, and you know that, but the goblins couldn't." He raised a finger and began to wave it around in circles above his head. "A lone elf approaches your warband, says they're hunting down a criminal. That implies a maerthor, a holy warrior. Said maerthor confident in their ability to slay three hundred goblins?"

He snapped his fingers. "That's not impossible. That's not a risk many can afford to make, especially as they're clearly marching off to some other task at the moment. The goblin leader sees this, decides that the reward of fighting me isn't worth the risk, and moves on without trouble."

"And if he had decided to attack?!" Lucia snarled, leaping over to poke him in the side viciously. He pulled back like an angry snake, guarding his delicates from her vicious prods. "What then, you fof!?" She was really quite angry then, to resort to calling him a fool.

Mallorn considered that for a moment, visibly thinking the matter through. Eventually, he reached a conclusion and nodded firmly.

"I'd be dead."

He spent the next few moments laughing and fending off sharp prods.

"...They were going up to Erem, you said." Dura spoke out with a greatly worried tone. Mallorn and Lucia paused in their comedy routine to look over to her. "Three hundred goblins like that marching to the mountain… I'm really worried…" She had a deeply troubled expression on her face, staring into the pitiful fire slowly building up to something they could cook upon.

Mallorn frowned, stood up, and walked over to sit next to the little dwarf. Then, he picked her up by the armpits and ignored her yelp and wiggling, setting her down on one of his legs and trapping her with his arms.

"He-hey! Let go!"

"You don't need to worry, you know." Mallorn declared, setting his chin on her head. "You know why?"

Eventually, she grumbled an acceptance of her current position, crossing her arms and replying. "Why?" She asked.

"Because I'm going to be there."

Just like before, a mask of confidence was key.

"T-that's stupid! What are you going to do about that many goblins!?"

"That's simple, isn't it?" He replied with a grin. "I'll win."

A brief moment of silence passed, Lucia staring at them with a complicated expression, Rayne focused down on the fire.

"...That's stupid." Dura mumbled, leaning back against his chest.

Mallorn harshly rubbed his chin into the top of her head, making her yelp and try to retreat away from his merciless attack from above. His arms kept her in place, forced to suffer his deadly assault.

"Beg mercy, dwarf!"

"N-never!"

"Beg!"

"NEVER!"

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Outskirts of Erem
Mallorn the Elf

"Look." Dura declared, pointing up at a distant peak as they rounded a long stretch of gently-curving road. "You can see Father Erem now, sitting atop the mountain."

They had made good time in the night, going wide around the encamped goblins and pressing hard for many hours after. An army could only march so fast, and the dwarf was quite insistent on arriving to her mountain home as quickly as she could manage. After outpacing them and speeding ahead, they relaxed to a slightly more sedate pace to recover, before resuming a brisk pace. With luck, they'd make it to Erem in time to warn of the approaching goblins.

In time, the roads began to widen and turn from packed earth and gravels and the occasional sections of cobble into much more consistent and smoothed pavement, a sort of crude concrete with light grey shades and cutting through clearly-terraformed hills and valleys. Great, immense loads of dirt and stone from sweeping sections of landscape cut away and redistributed to make broad, open, and mostly flat paths for the roads to sit upon.

This newly-moved earth had then been lined with saplings, to root the soil in place, and allowed to grow for at least thirty years from the size of branches. Apple trees, apples and pears primarily, fruit trees to feed however many hungry mouths. It was a scale of environmental shaping not quite to the degree of the elves, but far more obvious. Far more importantly- it included roads.

The mountain that she pointed out was partially shrouded in the distant, rolling mists common to the immense peaks. It was distant enough that he had not even bothered to look yet, so great and remote was it from their present location. And yet, now that it had been pointed out to him, it was impossible to look away.

For sitting atop the mountain, as if it was some immense throne overlooking the world, was a horned figure. The very tip of the mountain had been carved down around it, creating a series of terraces for the megalithic throne to be erected and loom over the surrounding mountains.

"A giant?!" Mallorn whispered with astonishment. From the measure of the hills near to him, and his size compared to the mountain itself, the figure must be-

Dura and Lucia giggled at his amazement, followed by an amused chuckle from Rayne. They were amused, why were they amused by him calling it a giant? Unless it-

Mallorn's ears twitched, before drooping. Unless it wasn't a giant. "Ah, that's just a statue, isn't it?" He asked somewhat ruefully, reaching up to scratch his neck. It supposed it was quite silly of him, even giants probably couldn't get quite that big. Looking more carefully revealed a complete lack of movement, which was probably indicative.

"I suppose you don't see many things like that in elvenlands, huh?" Dura pushed against his side playfully.

Mallorn sighed good-naturedly. "It's not that I'm unfamiliar with immense statues, but hearing of giants and seeing a giant figure sitting on a giant-home and well…" He shrugged helplessly. "I suppose I let my excitement get ahead of me."

"Giant's don't get quite that big, no." Rayne huffed. "Maybe a tenth of that, it's just the mountainfolk have no reasonable sense of scale."

"We have a reasonable sense alright- otherwise we couldn't make things so big!" Dura boasted with a raised finger and a happy smile. She turned back to pat him on the hip. "That's Father Erem, for whom the mountain is named. He earned his sainthood in the Dragon Wars!"

"All giantholds are built to commemorate some dwarven saint or another." Lucia explained with a gentle smile and roll of her wrist. "Of course, doing this takes a very long time, so they've quite the backlog of saints to carve mountains out of."

"We haven't forgotten them, we just have yet to carve them out!" Dura protested with a grumble and wave of her hands.

"What happens when you run out of mountains to carve?" Lucia asked with an amused tilt of her head and mocking grin.

"Bah." Dura waved off, ignoring the question and focusing on him once more. He couldn't quite keep the amused wiggles from his ears. "Father Erem cut off the horns of a dozen dragons, and carved them into drinking-horns! They're the crown-treasures of the mountain now. Even to this day the dragons curse his name, and even to this day he laughs at their seething!"

"He's alive?" Mallorn asked for clarification, furrowing his brows and looking down at her.

"Ah, no, he's dead." Dura shook her head. "Died at three-hundred and forty-four, he fell over and never got up again." She then raised a clenched fist. "B-but if he was alive, he'd be laughing!"

"What she means is there's a great many dragons with a great many grudges with this mountain." Rayne clarified with a shake of his head. "There's an attack every few decades, it feels like."

"Aye, twenty years ago was the most recent." Dura nodded with a scowl. "Malamadr the half-horned, spell-weaver and curse-bringer. She was one of the dragons who lost a horn against Father Erem, and works to get it back even now. She nearly reached the treasure chambers in her last attack." Dura shook her head before continuing. "The Elves of Greenwood rode out and struck her flanks, allowing us to regroup and push her back. The elders didn't know whether to be glad for the aid or wroth that we needed help from the elves."

"I remember hearing about that." Lucia muttered. "There was some great tragedy that day, wasn't there?"

"There were a great many tragedies that day, dark elf." Dura responded with a little frown. Lucia had a little look of realization, before raising her hands apologetically and nodding her head.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Lady Dura." Mallorn reached down to rustle her hair, gently and calmly. Twenty years ago would've been the year of his birth, he supposed.

She huffed at the touch, but leaned into it. "All is well, it's the dragons to blame regardless. I'll have to remember to ask grandfather to tell you the story of that battle, he'd do the tale far more justice than I."

"Hah! Maybe over drinks, I heard dwarves are fond of their ales." Mallorn grinned, even if the expression was hidden behind his warmask.

"Aye!" She chirped up at him. "Ales, meads, beers, wines, spirits and more! There's not a dwarf who doesn't love a good drink!"

"It's the best way to lay dwarven women." Rayne declared with a little grin, ignoring the suddenly scandalized yelp Dura gave at that. "Buy her drinks first, there's a good chance she'll rip your pants off herself."

"There is not! That's not true!" Dura exclaimed, leaning over to punch at Rayne's hips with her little fists.

"If it's not true, then why does it always work?" Rayne asked with a tiny grin.

"Because you're a damn liar, that's why!"

"No, I'm a Bastard." He was almost laughing as he said this.

"Hold still, I'm gonna thrash your shins!" Dura was not particularly amused. Mallorn's attention was still focused on a prior detail.

Twenty years ago, Greenwood elves rode out to fight a dragon. He never did end up asking how his father died. It had never come up in conversation before. He supposed something like a dragon could manage it though.

It was just trivia at this point though, twenty years after the fact. No point in getting too worked up about it.

"I'll have to keep that advice in mind, Rayne." Mallorn declared with a suppressed laugh.

"Absolutely not!" Both Dura and Lucia responded at once, for very different reasons.

—

Eventually the gently-sloping roads gave way to great, expansive plains that similarly bore the signs of great terraforming. Massive stretches of earth and what should be rolling hills dug down and remolded and great stones erected and saplings planted. After a point, the native grasses began to grow thick and tall, enough to cover Dura completely were she to stand in it, and broken up only by those pillars of stone or occasional fruiting tree.

Plains like these should not be native to this area, from the vicinity to the mountains that loomed over the region. The hills should be sharper and rockier, and the valleys should be deeper and wetter. The rivers shouldn't be so straight and well-demarcated, the trees shouldn't be so regular, the road so smooth and gentle.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the touch of an intelligent hand, just enough to turn forests into open expanses. It was just so gosh-darn neat!

The scent of something like mead wafted over the rolling grasses, and the sound of claws dragging on stones and exhales of exertion followed. His ears twitched to listen, as he ignored the conversation taking place between Rayne and Lucia about the best shape for a dagger. There was the distinct sound of a blade cutting through the air, the shift of a foot along the earth, followed by another blade-swing. That pattern repeated consistently as they walked.

Someone was practicing their swordsmanship, by the sounds of it, next to a river. The river was wide and deep, but slow and gentle. Possibly one of the many great canals that had been carved out to feed into this great artificial plains.

"What's the point of a dagger that you can't cut with? Might as well just have a spike at that point." Lucia complained, waving a hand.

"When are you ever going to cut something with a dagger? It's a dagger, you use it to stab or not at all!" Rayne waved a hand back, as if pointing out some great flaw that only he noticed.

"What are you talking about?! You cut all the time when you use a dagger!"

"We have things to cut with! They're called axes and swords!"

"Axes are used to cleave, you buffoon!"

"A cleave is just a better cut, dark elf!"

"It absolutely isn't!"

"It absolutely is!"

Sure enough, as they came over the incredibly gentle slope of the next hill and gained a better sightline, the view of an immense manufactured river was apparent. It cut through the land in a low point, dragging along the shallow valley towards the southwest. The side of the river was lined with a combination of great carved pillars and well-grown peach trees. The river was crossed by a broad and incredibly stout stone bridge, far thicker and stronger than he would think was needed.

Then again, they had giants of some scale, and apparently herds of genuine dinosaurs, so stouter construction was simply prudent.

There at the banks of the river, under the shade of one such peach tree and near one of the immense carven pillars, was a woman swinging a greatsword. Up and down, time and time again, in a steady rhythm. She wore a kind of wide-sleeved gambeson jacket, long enough to serve as something like a skirt as well and tightened around her body with various belts.

Most notable, however, were the non-human features. Her forelimbs, arms and legs both, were sheathed in broad and thick evergreen scales. Almost enough to mistake them for gauntlets and greaves, but capped in large clawed hands and feet. A robust scaled tail emerged from the back of her gambeson skirt, and swished about as she swung the blade time and time again. Her ears completed the look, being a sort of frilled lizard-like crest rather than anything humanoid.

A monstergirl, clearly. Mallorn leaned over to Dura and quietly asked. "Is she a dragon? I'm not exactly sure."

Dura looked up to him, hefting her bags with a huff before looking down to the woman with scaled limbs and a tail. "Nay, no horns on her. She's one of those lizardmen."

Their conversation did not interrupt their walking. "Lizardmen?" Mallorn asked with a tilt of his head.

"Aye, I think they get born whenever a dwarf and man have a child?" Dura reached up to scratch her head. "They come out all funny, they don't get big like they should, and they never grow horns. And if they end up turning into dragons, their wings replace their hands instead of coming out the back. There's a word for what they're called in dwarven, but it doesn't translate well."

"Wait, turn into dragons? Dwarves turn into dragons?"

Dura blinked, pausing at that, before looking up to consider him. "Oh. Did you not know? It's uhh…" She fiddled her fingers together in thought. "Sorta like how elves turn into dark elves, if they get all full of evil and wickedness and whatnot. Elves turn into dark elves,dwarves turn into dragons."

"Hmh." Mallorn responded, ears flicking as he took in the information. He supposed that made sense, in a very classical manner. "And thus a Lizardman is a… half-dwarf, half-man, correct?"

"Something like that." She nodded, reaching up to tap the horns growing from the side of her head. "Dwarves have horns because they sop up all our evil, they don't get horns though, so all their wickedness makes them grow scales and tails and claws much faster. They're decent folk other than that bit of ugliness, my great-uncle married a good ol Salamander. She keeps the forge hot for him."

"...Is this the same one that had all the goblin-children?" Mallorn huffed amusedly, raising a hand to wave at the lizardwoman. She had ceased her swinging, and had walked out to stand in the middle of the road before them, patiently waiting for their arrival.

Dura sighed, and shook her head in a disappointed fashion. "No, that's my uncle. Great-uncle is one generation back. Mother's side of the family is- I don't know what's knocked loose in their noggins', but something is and it needs to be knocked back into place."

"Hail!" The lizardlady called out to them, great scaled hands planted on either side of the rather broad greatsword-hilt. He supposed it had to be that big, otherwise her claws would be too large to effectively use it. A great many tasks would be more difficult if his nice, dextrous fingers were suddenly tiny knives, he imagined.

"Hail!" Mallorn called back, before letting his hand drop. The small group pulled to a stop before the lizardlady, but within range of a rather casual conversation. "I suppose you're guarding this bridge?" He asked, letting his hand rest on his hip.

"Hm?" She responded with a glance back to the stone structure in question. "Ah, ah suppose so? ah'll do my best to turn away any wicked-sorts, but it's not official. I'm here for my training."

"Well, I can say that we're not wicked sorts, but I'm not sure how much good that will do to convince you." Mallorn raised a hand up to scratch at his neck.

"Well, you don't look like wicked sorts, cept maybe those two." The lizardlady responded with a pointed claw at Rayne and Lucia.

"Hmph." Lucia let out, crossing her arms.

"Damn, she got my measure at once." Rayne mused, reaching up to cup his chin with a grin.

"Ah suppose you're heading up to Erem, on business then?" The lizardlady continued, bringing her claw back to rest on the hilt of her sword.

"I'm Gravelbrook Dura, returning home and bringing ill news." Dura declared with a nod. "I got spirited away by goblins. The good Elf here slew them before they could do anything, and has been escorting me home." She then glanced at Lucia and Rayne, before pointing back at them. "And those two are evil as they come, feel free to destroy them."

Mallorn gave her a light smack on the back of the head, Lucia gave another even-larger offended huff, and Rayne gave a sharp bark of laughter. The lizardlady responded with the ghost of a smile, nodding her head.

"Ah see. Ah've no reason to stop you from heading across the bridge then. But Ah have something of a personal request." She patted the hilt of her sword. "Ah'm looking for a swordsman who can best me in a duel, and Ah spot at least one sword among you."

The group turned to look at him in specific, being that he was the only one to carry a sword. Mallorn nodded in turn. "I'm agreeable to a duel, but we're in something of a hurry at the moment. Behind us is a band of goblins at least three hundred strong, and on march to Erem. We'd like to inform the hold well in advance of their arrival."

The lizardlady gave a grave and concerned look at that. "Ah see. That's troublesome news indeed and Ah'll ask to accompany you back to the hold if that's the truth. All the same, Ah'll ask for that duel here and now. It's a matter of clan pride."

Dura inhaled sharply, before nodding seriously and smacking him on the hip. "If it's a matter of clan pride, then it can't be helped. Mallorn, either lose or best her swiftly."

Mallorn huffed in amusement, setting his bags and bow down and stepping forwards. "There's not a need to say that first part, because I'm not going to lose." He hadn't ever been challenged before a bridge by a lizardwoman before, this was a distinctly new experience.

"Confidence is good." Her dark brown hair was tied back in a functional ponytail, and swished in time with her tail as she stepped back to heft her greatsword and brandish it in his direction. "Please be warned, Ah've lost to no swordsman yet."

"Not one? Is there no one in Erem who can best you?" Mallorn asked with an amused flicker in his ears.

"No, there is." She clarified with a nod. "But they don't use swords."

Mallorn observed several things very quickly, right before the duel began.

First, as this was merely a duel to determine skill, she probably wasn't going to be trying to kill him. She'd be holding back her strikes, testing the waters at first, before finally going for a more decisive blow. Possibly an attempt to disarm him.

Second, she was using a greatsword and he was using a longsword. Her weapon was larger, heavier, would build up more momentum, and would be overall slightly less agile. When combined with the first detail, her initial strikes were probably going to be fairly slow.

Thirdly, he was wearing much more covering armor than she was. He could see a bit of her inner thigh from this angle.

Her eyes narrowed. His ears flickered.

At once, they began.

She performed a testing thrust towards him, using her reach advantage to poke at him. She was quite a bit slower than Titania was. He parried her conservatively, pushing the blade to the side with his own and stepping forwards in the process.

She stepped back, pulling up into a more telegraphed swing. But her eyes weren't focused on his upper body, they were focused on his legs.

He dropped one hand from his sword and caught her clawed foot, lashed out in a kick using the sword as a distraction. Sure enough, from this angle he could see that her inner groin was entirely without armor. Her eyes widened as her balance was thrown off.

He yanked his hand back. Her sword came down. He leaned forwards, into it, sword arm low.

The greatsword crashed into his pauldron, shaving off a great chunk of wood and going wide, his arm beneath bursting with great pain. A bruise no doubt.

His ears flickered in amusement. The lizardlady was staring at him with wide eyes, one leg still elevated and clutched in his grip.

The cold flat of his blade pressed against her inner thigh. Had it came at the proper angle, the artery beneath would've been severed and she would be bleeding to death.

"I think that's my win." He declared cordially, eyes smiling down at her. "A very good bout, my lady, but my mentor was by far your better."

He used the flat of his blade to give her thigh a little slap, before pulling back and letting go of her leg. She maintained the position for a few moments, before returning to a normal stand. Her gaze was fixed on him.

Mallorn glanced to the side, feeling slightly awkward, before looking back to her. "I- are you okay?" He asked with a tilted head.

"Will you marry me?" She asked suddenly, expression serious and tail swishing.

"Sur-" He was about to say, before being cut off from a shout.

"Absolutely not!"

Lucia was taking it upon herself to be a busybody, as usual.

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Outskirts of Erem
Mallorn the Elf

"Ah, it's for inheritance then huh?" Dura asked with a nod of her head, some time later. The belongings of the lizardlady had been packed up and they were well on their way, conversation flowing naturally from Lucia's rude interruption in his impromptu wife acquisition.

The lizardlady, who he now knew as 'Goblinwrangle Drana', nodded in response walking next to her kinfolk. Lucia's consistent watchful glare kept her from getting too close to him, which was honestly a shame because Mallorn was in the mood for physical playfulness. "Aye. There's a few conditions for inheriting anything from great-granddad's hoard and Ah don't qualify for any on my own. But if Ah find a husband who is willing to wield his old sword, then Ah'll meet the terms of the will for when he finally passes on."

"Hm, you'd be talking about Elder Goblinwrangle right?" Dura reached up to rub her little chin with an equally little hand, brows furrowed. "I suppose he's getting up there in years, he'd be about two-hundred and eighty soon."

"So why go through all this effort huh?" Rayne asked with a raise of his brows. "If it's just about inheritance, you could probably find just about anyone willing to marry you about that- you're a pretty lass."

"It's my great-grandad's sword, is the issue" Drana shook her head, tail swishing irritably. "Swords aren't popular in Erem, most prefer axes, hammers, and spears. Ah'd seen a number of suitors come up proposing, but they'd sooner drop it on their feet than use it right, and it deserves to have the best hands I can give it."

"But if you're wielding it, then it's not your husband wielding it." Dura nodded with a scowl, planting her hands on her hips. "You won't be meeting the terms of the will anymore."

"That's right." Drana confirmed with a swish of her tail. "But if Ah can find a husband who's better than me, Ah'll have no qualms about him with it."

"Drat." Mallorn shook his head with a little chuckle. "And here I thought it was my fair looks and sharp wit that had provoked the offer. I was so pleased with myself for seducing such a lovely woman."

Drana looked a little bit sheepish at that. "Ah… Ah'm sure you're a very wonderful fellow, and that we could grow to love each other in time. But…"

"...But?"

"...Well, you don't have a beard." She reached up to scratch herself behind the ear-frill, massive claws delicately working at the presumably rather tender flesh. "It seems a bit childish and queer, by my eyes, but Ah'm sure you'll grow one in time."

Mallorn let his head hang despondently. Rayne started laughing. Lucia coughed into her fist.

Drana and Dura blinked, looking at each other and giving gestures of mutual lack of understanding.

"Elves can't grow beards." Mallorn answered with a long sigh, reaching up to fold up the ironwood mask and rubbing against his smooth lower face. "Not a single sprout of hair will ever grow from here, not on jaw or chin or upper lip."

"It looks better this way." Lucia declared with a huff and a nod, planting a hand on her hip and ears twitching.

Dura angled her walking over to him, and took his hip in a comforting hug. "I'm sorry, Mallorn." She looked genuinely sad at his doom, planting a forehead into his side as she offered words of comfort.

Mallorn reached down to gently ruffle her head, nodding sadly as he did. "I've long made peace with it, Lady Dwarf." He turned from her to the awkward looking half-lizard, giving a little smile and nod. "I'm afraid I won't ever be an ideal husband, if the beard is necessary. I'll give no blame if you'd like to retract your proposal, I understand."

"Ah." She was looking away, down at the ground and to the side. "Ah appreciate that- but Ah've got a pride of my own. The offer remains as it is, Ah've made it and now Ah've got to maintain it."

"But you'll appreciate it if I refuse it, right?" Mallorn nodded, to which she shamefully nodded in turn, tail drooped and frills low. "I understand. Terribly sorry, Lady Drana, but I'm afraid I'll have to refuse your hand in marriage. I'd hate to make a lady as lovely as you miserable."

Somehow she looked even more miserable at that, even as she nodded thankfully. Probably because he was being polite about this whole affair. Honestly a shame, because he was looking forward to seeing what sex with a tailed woman was like.

He gave a rueful sniff as the wind turned, and paused on the road. The others quickly turned to look at him, and he followed with another, much more deliberate sniff. There was a distinct scent in the air.

"W-what is it?" Dura asked quickly.

"Death and sulfur on the road ahead." Mallorn replied with a scowl. "Blood, death, and sulfur."

"I smell it too, but it's faint." Lucia responded, likewise taking long deliberate inhales to taste the air. "I wouldn't have noticed for another… half mile perhaps."

"A few days old." Mallorn's right ear twitched. "Two or three, perhaps."

The others watched them sniffing and thinking for a few moments more, before Rayne spoke. "Two or three days?" He asked to confirm, raising a lazy eyebrow. "So it's safe to approach, right?"

"...Probably." Mallorn nodded with a little frown, reaching up to lower his ironwood mask again. "Blood, death, and sulfur… a gonnefight then?"

"Probably a goblin fight." Lucia declared, ears low. "The dwarf mentioned the clans were already in the early stages of feuding, correct? When dwarves feud, it always starts with dead goblins."

"Aye. This far out though?" Dura responded with a troubled tone. "We're not even to Duram-Mandom."

"Duram-Mandom?" Mallorn asked, as they resumed their walking along the road. Feet and claw and hoof carrying over smooth stone, between great seas of grass and stone pillar and fruit tree and underneath the watchful gaze of a mountain colossus. The entire landscape was rather picturesque.

"Ah, it's the name of the mannish settlement near the mountain." Dura explained. "On the other side of the lake we built a few hundred years ago. It's governed by the clan Goblinwrangle, of Lady Drana's relation."

Drana nodded, tail swishing. "Aye. Started as a little trading post a long time ago, before growing into something of a town of its own. By that time, we had goblins showing up and you need to build houses for them so they stay somewhere."

"You need to?" Lucia asked with an incredulous tone. "They're goblins, they'll live in a pile of sticks."

"You need to if you want to stop them from cluttering up the land with piles of sticks." Drana countered sharply. "Best to build something to put them all in, otherwise you'll get their refuse everywhere."

"Which is where your clan gets its name, they were the ones who took to managing the goblins hanging around." Mallorn stated confidently, and received a nod in turn. "I suppose it was a natural step to also manage everyone else who showed up- and in time they had an entire town of men under their control."

"To a degree." Rayne answered this time with a shake of his head. "If it's a mannish settlement, it pays taxes to the Empire, no matter who governs it. The throne isn't quick to tolerate otherwise."

Drana grunted. "Aye, that's true. Goblinwrangle still pays levies to the Empire."

"...And the dwarves of Erem allow this? Isn't this a breach of sovereignty?" Mallorn asked with furrowed brows.

"Yep. Otherwise Goblinwrangle would be much richer than the other clans, and that wouldn't be good for anyone." Dura explained like she was repeating something that she had heard many times before. "If any one clan gets too big- that's bad, that's too much temptation to act frivolously, that's how you get dragons."

"Goblinwrangle already outpaces the wealth of all but clan Goldendoor." Drana spoke with a tone that held a fair bit more personal understanding than the dwarf. "If we weren't paying Imperial Tithes, we'd be the richest by far and probably need to split the clan off again."

"Ah, and with the splitting of your wealth, the two new clans would be near the bottom again, wouldn't they?" Mallorn's ears twitched. "Better to maintain your current place and accept the tax rather than split off again and also provoke potential imperial reprisal."

"That's about right." Drana shook her head. "It makes great-grandad sour to see the tax caravans come by, but he's the most insistent on getting it paid on time."

They were coming over the patch of road that reeked of death now.

Sure enough, there were stains of blood and bowels at this section of the road- but nothing more. No bodies, no scraps, and no bones.

Just stains and the smell.

It was slightly unnerving, if he was being frank.

—

There were occasional spots like that, gorestains and the lingering smell but nary a trace of anything else, as they went along the road. Each time the scent grew fainter and fainter, buried under layers and layers of other scents and soon disappearing under the miasma of civilization entirely.

What was more enthralling were the distant sights of browsing Hadruns- titanic, legitimate dinosaurs watched over by giant shepherds and allowed to consume the thickest portions of the great grasslands. Fifty or so feet at the longest, with relatively small heads and great bulky bodies covered in small greenish-gray scales. Their sedate bellows were enormous and rolled across the fields for miles, and their every moment slow, deliberate, and careful.

They were just about everything he had been imagining the terrible lizards to be and more, even as boring as their current behavior. The others had a great many chuckles at his naked wonderment and focused attention on the beasts, but he couldn't find it in himself to actually care. There were dinosaurs over there, nothing else was currently important.

Soon the grand artificial lake of Erem came into view as well, and like everything else it was clearly the product of many millions of tons of earth and rock being moved around and re-rooted. The section of earth it was set in, when compared to the surrounding landscape, indicated that it should really either be another valley or another hill. He was going to presume a valley, with the walls built up and smoothed out with great hauls of earth from other sections of the rolling grasslands, but he couldn't discount the other possibility- that this was once a hill dug out to make a lake and soil used to flatten everything else.

The lake was fed by three rivers that trailed down from equidistant trails up the nearest mountains, indicating that they too were artificial.

At the end of the lake, opposite to the mountain of Erem itself, was the apparent town of Duram-Mandom, which was composed half of stone, half of wood, and all carefully organized along the water's edge. It was decorated in windmills, hanging strips of brightly-dyed cloth, chimney-smoke, and the light of many hundreds of hanging lanterns.

In the faint dusk light of the setting sun, the township glowed like a cozy fire reflecting off the lake water and casting light for many miles around.

Mallorn was still mostly focused on the hadruns.

Giant lizards!

"Ah suppose you'd like to look for rooms in town. The suns already setting and Erem is still three hours of walking away." Drana asked with a tilt of her head and a swish of her tail.

"That'd probably be for the best." Lucia nodded quickly, eyes closed.

"Fuck that." Rayne shook his head. "Three hours? We've evening light to walk by still, and the mountain's right over there. Might as well head over and get the warm hospitality of the lady dwarf's clan."

"Ah, yes!" Dura nodded quickly. "I'm sure the Gravelbrooks will reward you richly, for my safe return. I'll certainly speak warmly on your behalf."

"Traveling at night is dangerous!" Lucia scowled, opening her eyes and planting a hand on her hip.

"We're right between dwarves and yet-more dwarves, while doing a favor for a lady dwarf." Rayne rolled his eyes. "An hour of darkness isn't going to kill anyone. Moreover, hospitality means I don't have to pay for yet another night in some inn- I'm not flush with wealth."

"Being near others just makes the night more dangerous, not less!" She reached over to jab at his side, making him growl and slap her hand away.

"The decision lies with Lady Dura." Mallorn declared, cutting through their building argument with a sharp tone, before focusing on the dwarf in question. He smiled down at her and nodded. "Whatever you'd prefer, we'll go with."

She looked briefly conflicted, glancing at the setting sun, then at the town of Duram-Mandom. The decision was clearly made with the wistful look towards Erem, and the gigantic gates faintly visible even from this distance.

"I think… I think I want to go home." She eventually declared, lip wobbling and eyes narrowing. She ducked her head, raising a sleeve to rub at her eyes, before declaring again. "I want to go home right away."

Mallorn grinned, reaching down to ruffle her hair. She leaned into it with a tiny, strained but relieved giggle. "Then let's take you home, huh? No need to wait on Mr. Sun when there's a warm hearth waiting, right?"

Instead of responding verbally, she tackled his side in a massive hug and happy, tearful laughter. He gave a mirthful chuckle in response. Even Lucia couldn't maintain her glare in the face of it, merely huffing and sharing a smile with Rayne.

"Ah… I suppose I'll…" Drana began, before being cut off by Dura.

"Come along too, of course!"

Drana tried to put up something of a defense, but couldn't quite manage. Several minutes later they were going off the road toward Erem and heading along the north-east lake road up towards Erem proper under rapidly dying light.

The road that wound around the lake was suspended on its own earthen layer, which was then rooted with fruit trees with specific ditches on either side to lead away from the road and towards the lake or into the nearby grassfields depending on the angle.

Eventually, the sun disappeared entirely behind the edge of the world, and they walked along by the light of the moons, stars, and of distant Erem. The open expanses and reflection off the lake made the entire area much brighter than a forest might be, and the pale-gray road was still clearly visible even in the night as a result.

Mallorn sniffed again, detecting yet another spot of blood and sulfur on the road ahead, scowling as the assault on the senses once more strengthened. A great deal of goblins had been fighting and dying on these roads recently, which made sense with everything he had been told about the happenings going on. The consistent clip-clop of the horse provided a somewhat comforting rhythm as they walked.

The moons rose higher in the sky, another hour or so of walking passing by his measure. Only another hour before-

The distinct sound of a gonne being cocked back.

He drew his sword immediately, swerving around and senses blazing at their surroundings. The grasses, the lake, the road, the trees-

The trees.

"Run." He commanded his companions, who were looking at him warily after his sudden unsheathing.

"What?" Lucia asked, hands near her daggers.

"Everyone run. Don't stop till you reach Erem." Mallorn swallowed, eyes scanning around. A dozen, two dozen? "Goblins in the trees, all around us. They can't be allowed to capture Lady Dura again."

A shuddering and a step back. Branches began to shake and figures dropped from the trees around them, slowly rising up in a manner that perhaps wasn't very effective but was incredibly intimidating.

"Run! RUN!" Mallorn shouted, stomping forwards and hoisting Dura by the back of her collar. He broke out into a run, followed by Drana, Rayne, and Lucia as goblins continued to fall and gonnes were cocked back. A shot rang out, and the distinct feeling of being punched in the back followed. He ignored it and kept running.

Rayne jumped onto his horse already. "Up here! Up here!" He gestured quickly. "The Dwarf's legs are too short!"

Mallorn tossed Dura up, who wailed briefly before being caught up Rayne's firm grip and hauled up to the saddle. "Go with him, Lucia!" Mallorn declared, glazing behind again and suffering another shot- this time to one of his legs. "To Erem! I'll hold them off!"

"Absolutely no-"

"THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO ARGUE WITH ME WOMAN!" Mallorn cut her off with a furious roar. Another shot rang out. Credit to his character, Rayne was not speeding ahead quite yet, still giving nervous glances back at the bunch of goblins still falling from trees and rapidly approaching. "GO GET HER TO SAFETY! I NEED YOU TO DO THIS! PLEASE!"

"Y-you!" Lucia was torn between rage and despair, and quickly settled on a furious focus. "LIZARD! Protect him!" She ordered in turn, jumping acrobatically to cling onto the side of the horse, glancing down at her meager knives and the beady eyes in the dark.

"Aye!" Drana immediately responded, great clawed hands already on the hilt of her sword. Not a moment of hesitation there, huh? Mallorn was glad to have her company.

Another shot punched him, this time in the back of the head. He stumbled briefly, before forcing himself up.

"FLY! FLY! TO EREM!" Mallorn commanded, jumping, turning, and skidding back to face the approaching band of greenskins.

"Hiyah!" Rayne shouted, pressing the stallion into a full gallop off the paved stone of the road onto the softer soil and then dead ahead along the lake shore.

Drana spun herself, greatsword raised and ready to receive. There was still distance between them, time enough for a change in weapons. He dropped his sword, withdrew his bowstring, and was ready to fire two seconds later.

Along a stretch of road from Erem to Duram-Mandom, the moonlight reflected off the lake and in four dozen eyes.

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Outskirts of Erem
Mallorn the Elf

There was a distinct and looming sense of fear, when standing in relatively open terrain before an unknown number of enemies with gonnes. The primitive bullets would have a difficult time penetrating his armor, but he'd be feeling the bruises from each and every impact. Even now, the pain blooming in the back of his head was birthing a fresh new headache.

The gonnes would take quite a bit of time to reload, and he had twenty good ironwood arrows. Meant for hunting wild game, but the durability of the ironwood process ensured that they wouldn't break on him without dedicated effort. The issue being that he wasn't sure how many goblins there were in the dark, and if he had enough arrows for all of them.

This fear from staring down a firing line was secondary to realizing that half of them had already fired at some point and were instead running straight at them in a sprint. Twelve or more bodies half-shrouded in their own shadows and ratty boots pounding on smoothed pavement. His ears folded back in panic and his hand reached for the first arrow.

The moment his fingers touched the ironwood, his thoughts smoothed over, and suddenly he was just shooting swallows again. Mana filled his bow, and a terrible calm filled his mind.

He stepped back, readied an arrow, and fired in one smooth motion.

The foremost goblin fell, a sharp-thunk as the arrow speared its head and sent both to the ground.

Five psh-booms of gonnefire echoed out, one punching him in the gut, one making his lizard-tailed companion grunt-hiss in pain. Draw-release, and another goblin fell to the ground.

Drana thrust forwards, spearing a hook-nosed, green-skinned figure in the dark. A moment later she pulled back, avoiding the flying tackle of another goblin in the dark. A complete disregard for their lives, or the lives of their comrades.

He continued to walk backwards. Draw-release. A shaft of ironwood flew from his fingers and sprouted in the skull of another would-be tackler. He had to keep her from getting overwhelmed, otherwise he'd be without a bodyguard against the rest.

Five psh-booms of gonnefire repeated. Another punch, this time to the shoulder. Shrapnel and splinters burst from the wooden pauldron even as pain bloomed in his upper arm. One of the goblins running towards them yelped in pain and fell, rolling across the ground before picking itself up again and snarling.

Draw-release. His arrow smashing into something that sounded like a thin sheet of metal and punching straight through, making another goblin fall. It coughed and sputtered up blood as it hit the ground, a punctured lung.

Drana swung, great blade of silver flashing in the dark and cleaving a goblin in twain, the momentum carried into an arcing kick with her great clawed feet. A wet squelch of tearing flesh followed as another greenskin crashed into the ground.

Draw-release. Another arrow flew from his bow and smashed into a goblin near her, sending it to the ground. He had to-

Something hard smashed him in the head, making him stagger back with ringing ears and briefly-blurred vision. The sound of crude wood and metal clattering to the ground followed shortly after.

His hand reached for another arrow, before aborting the attempt and jumping to the side as a shape blurred towards him in the dark. A goblin had just thrown something at him, something like a-

Their empty guns, tossed like heavy wooden boards without care for the weapon, briefly throwing him off. He jumped to the side again and drew an arrow to-

Drana was about to be tackled. A snap-shot to the side downed another goblin on her position, saving her for another moment. She was getting farther and farther from him, they needed to pull back and start kiting-

Another carelessly tossed gun smashed into his arms, throwing off his train of thought. There were two goblins rapidly approaching him, hurling whatever they could get their hands on at him as they moved. They had moved widely around Drana's swings and focused their efforts on him. He needed to fall back and make spa-

Drana was still up at the front, having not moved significantly since the fight began. Wide swings, thrusts, and the sweeping of her claws allowing her to maintain a circle of cutting death. If he fell back now, she'd be left to fend off the bulk of the group on her own- she'd be dead.

"DRANA! FALL BACK!" He roared. There were only a handful of goblins near them, but the remaining had since fired their gonnes and were about to reach her. "FALL BACK!"

He needed his sword hi-

It was over there, by her side at the front, a position about to be overrun with goblins in melee. He had dropped it to quickly draw his bow at the beginning of the battle. There were two greenskins between him and it. They were about to reach him.

Another gun was thrown his way, spinning through the air on a collision course with his head.

He raised his hand.

The barrel made a 'thunk' noise as it met his palm. The pain rippled down his arm and disappeared somewhere in his chest.

He stepped forwards, pouring mana into his new club and swinging.

The club made a satisfying thump noise as it smashed into the side of a goblin's head.

He staggered to the side as he was tackled, the little frame of the other goblin latching onto his bow-arm and holding on as tight as it could.

"Little bastard!" He snarled as its eyes glared hatefully up and little feet ineffectually kicked at his side. He raised his hand and smashed it down into the goblins face, bruising his knuckles in the process.

The goblin held on.

He punched again, staggering to the side and trying to extract the little man from his arm. Something, his fist or the nose of the goblin, broke with a loud crack and hot blood began to spill.

The goblin held on.

He raised the butt of the pilfered gun, smashing it down on the goblin's face and finally dislodging the little bastard, making it fall back. He extracted himself, stumbling away from the grasping hands and turning to-

-be tackled again, another snarling, hooked-nose man grabbing onto his side and legs and stopping him from moving.

His heart thundered in his chest. Mallorn began to scream hatefully, smashing the gun down. Sharp cracks and bloody pulp sprayed from the goblin's face as he beat it down. Once, twice, then-

Another goblin latched onto another limb, sending him to the ground. In the distance he could hear the sharp swings of the greatsword cutting through air and flesh alike, and the claws of the lizardgirl scraping across paved road.

In the vicinity, he could hear the snarling of goblins and see the flashes of shadowed limbs and gleaming eyes.

Desperation fueled his strength.

He smashed a fist into a goblin's face. Then again, then again, then again.

Fists started beating against him. His limbs, his torso, his helmet. Anywhere they could reach. Others approached to kick with boot-clad feet.

His hand slipped free from one goblin's grip, his hunting-knife withdrawn, and wild swings began. A stab between the eyes, a slash of the throat. A stab between the ribs. A slash of the ar-

Something heavy smashed against his head.

Everything went dark.

—

Outskirts of Erem
Lucia the Dark Elf

Hooves pounded on earth as the sounds of gonneshot grew more and more distant behind them, eventually nothing but the exertion of the stallion and the heavy, tense breathing of the people could be heard. The sounds of violence and goblin-shouts unable to break through their shell of hoofbeats.

Not being able to hear any of it only heightened her tension, there was no relief found in ignorance, only an ample fear and dread for what might be occurring far behind them.

Ten seconds. Then twenty seconds, then forty seconds.

Two minutes at full gallop passed before the gates of Erem came into sight. Grand, towering things of heavy woven wood and banded with great bars of overlapping steel. Sixty feet at their highest point, and half that as wide, framed with two great 'arms' of terraced fortification glaring down at an entrance-yard. There was a secondary, smaller gate in the front of these outer fortifications.

Before this gate stood two great troll-sentinels, clad in scaled leather and scaled mail, with great sharpened horns curling out from the sides of their heads and adding another two feet to their height. Hooded lanterns hung from their horns, facing outwards and casting light on whatever they happened to look at. They wore warmasks and chain coifs, and glared at everything that approached the gates they guarded, brandishing straight-angled blades longer than she was tall and shields larger than most doors.

"AN ATTACK ON THE ROADS!" She called out desperately, clinging to the sides of the horse as it galloped up. The Bastard pulled the stallion's reins back just in time for it to slide across packed earth, kicking up dust and soils as it did.

"Huahhh?" One of the trollguards called out, his great voice booming without any effort, raising a hand up to the side of his ear. "Attack eh?"

Dura scrambled off the horse as soon as it stopped, landing heavily on her back before scampering up and running to the trollguards, little boots making clopping noises as she desperately ran. One tremendous warrior, fourteen feet tall at least, ducked down on one knee to better hear her as she approached.

"I AM DURA OF CLAN GRAVELBROOK!" She wailed, practically tackling the trollguard's leg and pulling herself up to his knee. "I was kidnapped! Then rescued! And we were attacked again on the road by goblins! My rescuer is holding them off! Please save him!"

"Hrrngh!" One of the trolls gave a great bellowing grumble at that. "Clan Gravelbrook! I've heard of their missing daughter!"

"Aye! I've heard the same" The kneeling troll suddenly rose up, catching Dura in the palm of one mailed hand as he did. "Uthn! Go with these ones and sort all this goblin business out! Galin! Go tell the Gravelbrooks a little lady claiming herself their daughter is home!"

"Aye, Thorin!" The other trollguard grumbled, voice rolling over and echoed by another trollvoice from the inside of the fortifications. Uthn stomped forwards, massive strides carrying him to them in two and a half steps. He reached down as he did, plucking her from the side of the horse and raising her up to his shoulder. "No need to work that pony anymore, poor thing looks all tuckered out!"

The trollguard rumbled with faint laughter, which was deep and rolling and loud enough to shake her bones and hurt her ears from this distance. She was more preoccupied with adjusting herself on his great swinging shoulder, trying to find an appropriate grip as the trollguard reached down again, snatching the panicked-looking Bastard off his saddle and bringing him up to the other shoulder.

"Hold on, littlefolk! A moment wasted on picking you up again is one not spent running!" Uthn warned, making sure to keep his head still and shoulders straight as he moved.

"You already had the Dark Elf to guide you! Why'd you need me too?!" The Bastard complained, finding a place to set his feet and clinging onto a sort of curved decoration-horn, which functioned well as a handle. She had already found the one on her side, and had pulled herself up into a position to serve as lookout.

The trollguard let out a long rolling chuckle at that, picking up in speed as he did. A rapid walk quickly turned into a colossal run, massive boots crashing into the smoothstone road again and again as the troll began to move in earnest. In proportion it was a steady run, a careful gait required by the immense scale and weight of the troll and his armor.

In true size, it was a land-devouring gallop, each colossal step off the smoothstone carrying them a full horse-length or more. A steady pace that tossed her entire body about with each and every bone-shaking thud against the ground.

Most importantly, it was just as fast as the horse.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump. The boots of the troll made a sound like the beating of wardrums as he troll-sprinted, paired with the shaking of his chain and coat of scales, metal clattering against metal like a heavy thunderstorm.

She had not killed many trolls before, and certainly none quite so heavily armed as this one. She was glad that she was a petty thief on most occasions, and a professional assassin never.

"How far out, littlefolk?" The trollguard rumbled at them through steady and tremendous breathing.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

"Two minutes perhaps, as the horse gallops." Lucia replied quickly, whole body jostled about and fingers quickly growing numb from the force of holding on.

"Huaaah? I didn't hear that!"

"TWO MINUTES MAYBE!" She yelled, ears pulled back in frustration.

"Hrrngh-hum, good! Not too far!" The trollguard replied with a long groan and hum.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

"I don't hear any gonnes." Rayne spoke out with a grim tone.

"Maybe they won!" Lucia growled at him. He pulled back slightly from his grip on the troll's shoulder to give her a troubled expression. It was difficult to make out in the dark of the night, but the moon was sufficient to see a frown and furrowed of his brows. "Or they ran out of bullets! Gonnes take too much time to reload!"

"...Could be." He replied grimly, acknowledging the possibility but tone easily indicating just how much stock he put into it.

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

The smell of death, blood, and sulfur wafted up to her nose and they continued along. The moons gleamed down their twin lights upon the world, and the gloom slowly parted as the troll's pace trampled the distance between them and their destination.

"There!" She called out, making sure to yell and point forwards as she did so the trollguard would hear. "On the road ahead!"

"Hrrngh! I see it!" The troll boomed, pace slightly slowing as he came up to the scene, before pulling to the side and stomping on the dirt next to the road.

Great grooves were carved in the packed earth as the troll forced his immense bulk to slow, boots tearing dirt and dust and grass for a dozen meters to bleed off tremendous momentum. Several long seconds passed for the troll to slow himself safely, and once he was slow enough she leapt from his shoulder and down to the ground.

She stumbled and collapsed as she landed, bones and limbs shaken up to a lush numbness that made it difficult to control any of it. She snarled and forced herself up, rushing forwards to the silent scene under the light of the moons and the twin lanterns hanging from the trollguard's horns.

A great number of goblin corpses littered the roads, staining the smoothstone with their blood and viscera and polluting the air with their sulfur-stink. A great number of wounds over each, with split throats and mashed faces and shattered skulls. Even through thin plates of crude bronze and other- weak goblincraft.

She could smell lingering traces of honey and woodsmoke, but the drowning stench of sulfur made it impossible to determine where precisely. Her senses simply weren't as trained as they should be.

She snarled, moving forwards and disregarding the corpses. The light of the hooded lanterns traced over the scene as the trollguard walked along, carefully evaluating everything as he did.

Amidst a number of bisected goblin corpses, the lizard was laid out, one great clawed hand still clutching her greatsword. She was thoroughly stained in blood and gore.

Lucia flipped her over carelessly, planting fingers on her throat and waiting a moment.

…

Thump-thump.

"She's alive." She declared coldly, standing up. "Bastard, get down here and stabilize her!" She ordered with a snarl, casting her gaze around with an ever-increasing sense of dread.

"I- what do you expect me to do? I'm a Bastard!" He complained, falling off the troll's shoulder and landing harshly on the ground.

"I expect you to look after her while I find Mallorn!" She roared, making the Bastard flinch back and raise his hands compliantly.

"Two then?" The trollguard rumbled down at them, turning his head about and scanning over the road carefully. "I see only one along this stretch."

"He was with her!" Lucia shouted out, frustration and fear gnawing at her. "She was supposed to defend him! I told her to!"

Rayne paused, before glancing down. He bent low and picked up a familiar shape. "I believe this is his bow."

He tossed it her way as he approached the lizard. She caught it numbly, staring at the snapped string and the bloodstains.

Rayne frowned at her, eyes furrowed and expression troubled. He reached down to the lizard and quickly began to check her over, seeing for anything that might be an injury. "A bow in that condition and this many corpses? I think they might've got him, they almost got her too."

Lucia clenched the bow hard enough for her knuckles to pop.

She refused to acknowledge the furious tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Your friend has been taken then." The trollguard rumbled out, a contemplative tone in his voice. "But the Uznarag-girl, she remains here. A very strange thing for goblins to do."

She froze, as did the Bastard, eyes darting over to the trollguard as he mused allowed.

"If they were simply indulging themselves as goblins do, they'd leave his corpse behind and take her living back to their goblin-barrows for molestation." The trollguard shook his head slightly, stomping over and casting his gaze back and forth along the road another time. "If this were a robbery, they'd take her trollsword as well, and leave both their corpses behind."

"But they left her alive, and left her sword." Lucia muttered, eyes focusing into pinpricks as she began to follow the train of thought.

"But he is gone, and she lives." The trollguard wasn't able to hear her, and so simply continued to speak. He raised an immense hand up to rub under the chain coif that covered an immense blond beard. "Goblins have little use for a corpse- save for eating- and they left the corpses of their fellows behind in their flight."

"Hrng-hum." The trollguard nodded, coming to a conclusion. "They were aiming to capture your friend then, and bring them to some employer."

"...How did they know we were coming?" Rayne asked, with furrowed brows and a deeply concerned tone.

"More importantly." Lucia snarled, ears pulling back in hateful intent. "Where do they sleep at night?"

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Rogiers_bro24 on Chapter 1 Fri 31 Jan 2025 06:50PM UTC

By God he doesn't miss
I'm afraid it's another banger with an awesome idea
Also I started reading the coffin of Roboute Guilliman and it is amazing, warhammer is already chockfull of world building and seat admiral certainly stays to that, I love the different perspectives, the interactions, and the humour sprinkled throughout. Definitely recommend for anyone that likes warhammer.

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1. lordzarcon on Chapter 1 Sat 01 Feb 2025 12:48AM UTC
  
  Shame people killed it.
  
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2. 1. Mxl6w94 on Chapter 1 Sat 01 Feb 2025 07:31PM UTC
    
    hat do you mean? is he not working on the robot girly man story any more? i liked that one:(
    
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  2. Sentry76 on Chapter 1 Thu 10 Apr 2025 04:17PM UTC
    
    It’s not dead, more like in hiatus, which he infers to in a space battle forum. Though he did say that he won’t be coming back to it for a while, as book 1 is finished, and because it was frustrating to write cause of the morons who kept flaming and raging for no reason.
    So as fans we should just be patience, let him write other fantastic stories, and finish some of them. Then one day he can come back to the coffin of Roboute Guilliman and continue to amaze us with whatever ideas or plans he has for the ultramarine primarch and the warhammer 40k universe that he was building.
    I just hope he knows that the people that were flaming it were a small yet loud minority, and that the vast majority of people love the story, and love his work in general. I know I for sure do.
    
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WAZDAKKA_DA_MEKBOY on Chapter 1 Fri 31 Jan 2025 07:13PM UTC

EZ NOT BAD FER A ZOGGIN KNIFE-EAR! HE MOIGHT MAKE AN ALROIGHT BOY IN DA WAAAAAAAAGGH!!!

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Tykronos on Chapter 1 Fri 31 Jan 2025 07:14PM UTC

Ok then

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Volpes_Bastion on Chapter 1 Fri 31 Jan 2025 07:44PM UTC

By the Gods Man, how many deities have blessed you to make damn near every story you wright such a banger!

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FrozenCog on Chapter 1 Fri 31 Jan 2025 11:29PM UTC

Bro never misses, just never updates any of his old works.

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lordzarcon on Chapter 1 Sat 01 Feb 2025 12:49AM UTC

I think he's forgotten to tske into account that HE might be in the protagonist seat.

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TheChairIsAgainstTheWall on Chapter 1 Sat 01 Feb 2025 05:30AM UTC

Elf running around in plate with a sword? Fingolfin would be proud.

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Eman (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Feb 2025 01:51AM UTC

Absolute fantastic story

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Ratmor on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Feb 2025 02:56PM UTC

I'm laughing my ass ofd

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TrilbyBard on Chapter 1 Wed 12 Feb 2025 06:23AM UTC

seeing that poem was a nice surprise.

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CromCuach on Chapter 1 Sun 02 Mar 2025 05:15PM UTC

Jajaja, muy bueno

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Rogiers_bro24 on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 11:56AM UTC

Is Mallorn referring to to the big ass trees in lord of the rings? Cause that is what came up when I searched it

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1. Seat_Admiral on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 12:14PM UTC
  
  It tis indeed.
  
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2. 1. lordzarcon on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 06:33PM UTC
    
    Will lemons only be on QQ? If so i might have to join.
    
    Last Edited Sat 01 Feb 2025 06:34PM UTC
    
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  2. 1. HinokamiRonin on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 09:40PM UTC
      
      What's QQ?
      
      Last Edited Sat 01 Feb 2025 09:40PM UTC
      
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    2. 1. lordzarcon on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Feb 2025 01:20AM UTC
        
        Questionable questing, a sister site to spacebattles that allows nsfw content.
        
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      2. HinokamiRonin on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Feb 2025 01:21AM UTC
        
        Is Seat on theree?
        
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        lordzarcon on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Feb 2025 02:25PM UTC
        
        I don't use the site so i can't confirm but i believe so.
        
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lordzarcon on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 03:12PM UTC

I like what you've done with the mana system, very versatile.

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Mxl6w94 on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 07:39PM UTC

i cant wait for him to meet some dwarves so they can be racist against elves together. theyre going to LOVE him.

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Tykronos on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Feb 2025 02:23AM UTC

Nice references this chapter

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Venerable_Ro on Chapter 3 Sun 02 Feb 2025 02:35PM UTC

Titania seems a good sort, admirable clarity.

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Dalan777 (Guest) on Chapter 3 Sun 02 Feb 2025 10:10PM UTC

So now we get the outside POV for what all the snide remarks from his siblings actually mean, which is apparently overprotective big sister teasing. Also, Titania is going to be torn between pride in her student and whacking him upside the head when she catches up to him.

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1. Volpes_Bastion on Chapter 3 Sun 02 Feb 2025 10:20PM UTC
  
  If, magic aside following his trail the normal way would be difficult. Week old Trail, that could have been washed, trampled, or covered by critters and storm. He's left a trail of his existence, but the conclusions of such prissy elves might settle on him simply dying to the spider chick if they kill it before asking questions. As it stands... I give it 2 weeks before they find him, Magic is very useful after all.
  
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Zslaya6251 on Chapter 3 Mon 03 Feb 2025 01:47AM UTC

On one hand, OOOOHHH!!! NEW SERIES!!??? on the other hand, my boy solaire has been resting for a while now lmao. Just kidding, love your work and hope to see more amazing things like this

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Rogiers_bro24 on Chapter 3 Mon 03 Feb 2025 02:35AM UTC

Sounds like his sister have a classic case of NEED TO THEIR OWN DAMN BUSINESS

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SomethingHumourousIGuess (Guest) on Chapter 3 Thu 06 Feb 2025 07:09AM UTC

Fun read. Enjoying the twist on trope and setting differences, getting a bit of a Fable vibe but with a more adult baseline. Also loving the fact you've made Mallorn completely done with elven culture. Can only imagine what would be like to go from this world or similars hustle to the crawl of an elven lifespan.
Do feel tad sorry for the driver, gal gets roasted by her meal and now she's likely to get caught by an angry teacher with her student bag... o7.
Looking forward to more of this :).
Thanks for the read.

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