It was a sharp contrast.
The dreamless night was a fleeting compassion shown, for its sweet taste is what makes my current visions all the more sour.
Gone are the dark corners where my many Visages hide, gone were the shades of strings, all replaced by a dominant tower that looms over the mindscapes conjurations.
It filled me with dread, to gaze upon it. It's stony conterance giving rise to some soul deep fear that exists in everything. It has no name, no point of origin, no family, master, or creator, it simply is. That is why it exists, to mock those who gaze upon it and know that it should not.
Why? Why is my dream so consumed, so obsessive with this? It may never be answered for the waking world's clarion call sounded over the oppressive wind that deafened me.
I wake calm, mind recalling only faint snippets of the strange horror I had in my dreams. They have been vicious ever since I found a place amongst the elves. One that is still under scrutiny, yet after several weeks of being amongst them with no incidents, all but the most paranoid have dropped their guard and no longer glare with an icey spite whenever they see me.
Renna had helped greatly, with my comprehension of language still proceeding slowly she has spent much more time with me as a teacher and companion then anyone else, and as such has grown an ever so slight fondness of me that has caused the perpetually stutter to dissapear and convince her to speak up with claims that I am not the beast I have named myself to be. Other elves look on with caution, but that was the push needed to grant neutrality.
Experiments continued underneath the watchful wooden eye of Morthil. Many more samples were taken, and many concoctions made, but he has reached the point in which he has confidence that I am not contagious or infected with anything any longer. It was a long and painful process, stricken with unseen reactions and the body wracking pains brought upon by powerful potions that purged the abrasives and impurities. He even went so far as to construct a ritual and contract a few vindictive mages to purge my soul over the course of a torturous few hours. Morthil was happy by the end of everything. Not only had he successfully 'cured' me by most metrics, he had multiple samples of unique humors that were collected after I had expelled them in one way or another. His most prized one being a supposed curse laid upon my soul. Unsure of were it was from all he could explain was it seemed like something cast with a dieing breath, for it likely wouldn't have even done anything but alert any sensible user of the winds that something was wrong and little else. How he turned it into a vibrant green fluid is beyond my knowledge, but it does feel as if a weight is lifted.
Things progresses steadily. Lessons made progress, I now know the surprisingly nuanced elven alphabet that consists of a diffrent amount of curves, lines, or letters depending on season and moon cycle at the time its written. Honestly, the why is something I will never know, but the application of any particular set is easy enough. From here out it is the refinement of writing and learning the correct pronunciation, enunciation, and patterns in which they are spoken. For the moment all I can say with any conviction is 'Tree' and 'Asrai'.
My eyes reflect out of the water. They seem greener then I remeber but I could hardly say I have a solid memory of my own apperence. I've been here to long thinking, today is the day after I have been completely cleared physically, so Rennas new assignment is to introduce me to a trainer instead of taking me to see Morthil daily. My hearts faint thumps deepen with a sense of anticipation. I was never the most lustful for blood, but a good fight is something to appreciate. With all the flaws Orks have, they have that right.
I doubt I will have a 'propa scrap' with what is supposed to be an instructor. I imagine that while they will most certainly fight and beat me, it will not be a true battle of wits, or strength. Merely, them using their strength to temper mine, their wit to hone mine, their skills to break mine and forge them anew. It is something I eagerly await.
Outside of the hut has not changed beyond the path looking slightly more tread, and Renna now stands on the other side of where she stood the first time I saw her here. The weather has certainly improved, changing into the warm wetness of spring without any hints of the possible hot humidity of summer. A familiar orchestra of early morning life rings around us, but the silence between us is comfortable.
Breakfast this time consists of a light meal of greens and eggs. Followed by the short walk to the library to work on my studies. Rennas plan for this day was to do a quick and simple refresher before heading to the training grounds that we are supposed to attend in an hour or so. As such most of the time sequestered away was spent reciting the phonics of the spring alphabet, which had a much more airy sound to it then the sharp, gruff pronunciations of the winter set. This presented a whole new set of problems for me to overcome, for the winter was heavy in throat and jaw movements as opposed delicate strings that must be plucked with mouth and tongue in the eve of growth.
"Why must differ between seasons?" I bluntly ask once more, not expecting much of an answer. Yet I got one to my surprise.
"I asked around about that" she begins, perfectly whispy voice the current goal I strive towards, "The elders claim that it's because of the spirits. Their souls are fundamentally diffrent with each season, so for us to understand each other they had to adapt the 'words' of their souls for each season. Moon phases have less of an effect outside of a few rare trees that I don't belive reside in this forest."
She contemplates momentarily.
"It is a rather fascinating subject to hear about, to hear why such things were crafted as such, but the reason why it was created as such has no bearing on why you must learn it the way it is. In this generation, the souls of the Asrai are kin to the forest making such a language more intuitive because our souls natural speak in such ways."
That...makes a large amount of sense. From the stories she has shared before, it does seem as if each species has a calling to a certain language that makes it extremely hard for others to learn. With an exception to the realms of men. They are the only ones that can seemingly pick up anything with ease, leaving the smallest spot of envy on my mind, and a renewed vigor with which I dived back into the fumbling gasps of air I exhale.
Time, was up. Short time shortend even more so by questions and diligence. It is just a minute chore to clear up the small clutter we made before we leave though the arched doorway.
Difference is immediate. The path to my hut is relatively northward, the path to Morthil somewere east, this time we head west. This path is one that directly leads though the proper edge of the elven 'city' in the center of this grove, and it looks a lot more like a city in the likes I've seen in the men's lands, albeit with elven flair. All buildings still grown straight from trees with gnarled bark being the only outside, but the packed dirt street was filled with groups heading from one place to another, various vendors hawk wares at the side. Frankly the only difference, other than decorative, between this and any human or dwarf settlement was the lack of smoke and overall filth.
Renna actually had to pull on my arm to try keep my observations from rooting me in place. It is very amusing to see something so small try to budge something so large, but I relented and began to follow her again.
So our brisk pace down an ever winding path contuines. Sights aplenty keep revealing themselves, slowly turning from a mundane to a more martial influence. Slowly houses turning into ranges, vendors become elves on the backs of beasts practicing daring maneuvers, clearings once filled with sunbeams falling onto couples slowly dancing to their own tunes, become pockmarked dirt with ringing metals and cracking wood.
The elves live with the forest, are one with the forest, protect the forest. So there is not any true training 'ground'. The forest is vast, and it provides all the environments needed to best train skills. This is part of the reason we see so many scattered on our journey towards my trainer. The other being consolidation. While it is acceptable to practice anywere in the forest, Renna let's it slip that most keep it over in this general area in order to contained possible damages and prevent disruptions to others days. It would be inconvenient if a gatherer goes out for herbs only to accidentally get shot by a stray arrow. This does mean that while this area is an agreed upon area, it still isnt offical marked off like how others woud do do.
With this knowledge in mind I walk right past the area chosen to be our trainng ground. It's only thanks to some disgruntled yelling that we turn around and find it with a very irate male standing there.
His hair is typically long, and untypically dark. It stand out as a very obvious feature to comment on as most of the Asrai I've seen thusfar are shades of copper and gold, not one coming close to the reflective onyx of his. His eyes reflect the same color, but are a much duller coal that brings out the myriad of nicks on his face, not scars or mars, just nicks. Almost looking like he ran into a thorn bush and never had the pricks heal properly.
Tall was the next observation, standing close to my shoulder at least. Despite this his clothes had an odd flowy quality and nearly drug on the ground with a billowing cloak completing the set.
"Fools, the both of you."
His voice, while not unpleasant, has an underlying tone to it that does more to grate the ears then truly stand out. Renna does nervously respond.
"Sorry sir, we weren't exactly sure who we were supposed to look for."
"A likely excuse" He snaps back "I will forgive this once, as I doubt you'd recognize me or the importance of the time I'm wasting here."
"Well sir, who are you?"
"I will tell you my name the day I deem this foolish lamb here worthy enough for me to bother learning its name."
Those dusky eyes now attempt to pierce my own, a deep malice bleeding though the pride that would otherwise show indifference to something so beneath him. It might not be today, it might not be this month or year, but I will relish cracking that veneer and proving how much I can do.
"Now enough of this, consider that to be our introductions and move on, I won't spend more time then needed to show this creature what it's doing wrong."
He turns quickly, his pace just as speedy as he heads deeper into the woodline with the billowing cloth behind him not catching on any of the thorny brambles that infest the area. We have little choice but to follow.
A clearing appears, large with naught but springy grass from one side to the distant other. Sir, as I suppose I can refer to him, stands in the middle, surrounded by weapons that pierce the earth.
"By the time I have finished with you lamb, you will have a masters comprehension on every weapon here, or I will have broken you. Now choose one to begin with, quickly."
As he implied the selection of weapons was wide, consisting of a Spear, a Glaive, a Short-Sword, Long Sword, Great Sword, Daggers, an axe, a larger axe, and a selection of bows. Either he is a much better teacher then his attitude suggests, the person who got him to train me vastly overestimated my learning skills, or this is supposed to fail. My resolve does not falter, my grip wrapping around the spear directly in front of me as I pull it from the earth.
Sir gives a hum of acknowledgement before a snap of his fingers causes a light to flash. The next time my eyes open all the weapons are gone, and he has his own spear.
The difference of design is immediately clear. While mine is large enough to work well for me, it is plain. There is some vine like motif barely carved into it with the tip being the iconic leaf shape that gleams with unadorned metal. His, on the other hand, radiates power. Air feels charged like lighting Is about to strike, the grass around him pushes back as if the force of thunder rumbles from it. It's haft gleams with carved glowing motifs and designs I don't even recognize, and the tip is oddly enough a shining crystal that nearly blinds me just be looking near it, a miniature sun in its own right.
"I shan't coddle, nor lecture endlessly. I have full permission to teach how I see fit, so let's see if you last long enough to learn, or if you will die like the defenseless lamb you are."
I get no chance to formulate a responce or plan. He is there, and then he isn't, a half heard whisper and a scream of instinct lets me just barely knock away the crystalline tip from piercing my throat, instead having it shaving the fur off to the side.
He jumps back, clothing perfectly obscuring his form under layers of rippling fabrics. He hums, almost seeming contemplative.
"Such an instinctual reaction, but one that saved you. Fine, I'll hold back slightly. I wish to see every way you twitch in a vain hope of staving me off."
This next strike I can see coming. It may be dismal compared to the first one, but is still something that I can just barely react to fast enough to push the tip away, leaving a dripping red line across one of my biceps instead of a spear though the heart. This time has no relief, he pulls back the spear slightly and angles it up towards my armpit. I take a risk and step forward, feeling it sheer though the muscle at the very back of my shoulder, as I sweep my own weapon at him.
I see the sky.
"Foolish, Reckless, I should have slain you for such poor choices."
My chest hurts as I lean up enough to see him, his leg still extended outwards with a long path of flattened grass between us.
"Get up, we aren't done. The choice was a poor one against me, but would have been usefully against a peon. Stay creative, give me some sort of challenge."
I had barely stood before he is once again on me, a flurry of stabs and slashes that all leave marks, each one deflected or dodged so that I may have an infinitesimal chance of survival. Breaths come heavier, whilst his breath is unnoticeable, the blur of his face still pale instead of gaining the ruddiness of exertion.
Slowly, despite exhaustion taking hold, I notice it seems to get easier. Instinct is all I had been able to rely on, being the only thing I could use to react fast enough, but I noticed something, a pattern. We are locked in what could be called a blinding imitation of a dance, each step a mimicry of each other. So I took the desperate shot, and added my own step.
I know this swipe was coming, the shortest move he makes, the hardest to time, to react. It is simply a small swipe with the very tip, aimed at the chest as he swaps grips to stab at my knees, yet it holds the greatest potential. It is what I could consider the biggest opening, for it isn't a true attack, it is merely a dangerous transition. This time I treat it as such.
Block the slice to the neck, side step stabs one two and three, back step the flick of the haft towards my shin, dodge the over head, shift the stab, and the moment comes.
One hand as if covered in grease slides up while the other strikes like lightning to shift down, I can't see the feet but I know they lift and shuffle slightly, so I make the move. instead of the customary near panicking backstep, I step to the side. The tip of the spear tears though half of my chest, rending muscle but not getting deep enough in to threaten bones or organs. I ignore the pain and, with what might I can muster, thrust my own spear forward. His speed helps him react, casually bending away from the strike, but the piercing strike still cuts deep into his mass of clothes and I feel a small semblance of pride, before I hear a sudden influx of wind and black out.
"Is he still alive?" Renna asks Sir.
"It has intrigued me enough that it is."
He lowers his fist and fidgets with the spear caught in his clothes momentarily before pulling it and a messy bunch of threads out with it.
"Took it long enough to realize how blunt I was being. If nothing else, it can recognize a pattern. Or perhaps it was desperate and lucky."
He seems contemplative for a moment.
"We will resume this tommerow. Get it to whatever veterinarian takes care of it."
With a dramatic flair and another flutter of cloth he disappears into the woodline.
"B-but.....how am I supposed to move him?"
