#islwyn

[bonusdragons]

November 9, 2023:

Peridot Primary, Guardian, Jester.

Islwyn of Xenamorph's Dame Blanche Manor!

[kethsi]

Happy Moment

It was the happiest moment of his life, and Arianwyn was supposed to be proud of him. --- Warnings for mentions of death, war, and what can be interpreted as child neglect. Takes place immediately after this, so you might want to check it out for context. --- Islwyn knew this day wouldn’t be a very good one when he woke up inside an unfamiliar a tent to worried chatter and distant screams. He sat up and looked around before turning his attention to his hands and feet. They were not bound or shackled or broken in any way. He probably wasn’t taken prisoner by the Iorwerths. Good. He also spotted his crystal bow, just out of reach. He got up to his feet, immediately noting how exhausted he was. He felt like his body was fried from the inside. He took a few steps before collapsing near his bow. He sighed and sat up again, adamant to pick it up and examine it. It emitted a low, brief sound when lifted, the crystal seemed happy enough to have its owner around. He smiled when he saw and felt no signs of damage to it. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised – Crystal bows made by his family were sturdy, and no one, aside from the nastiest of Iorwerths would want to damage a weapon so lively and of such quality. All crystals were a gift from Seren, surely even the misguided understood that. Still, he was grateful. Islwyn checked his pockets for the old green shard, too. He felt panic rising in him when he didn’t find it immediately, but he kept checking his pockets with shaking hands. Luckily, it was still there. He took it out to look at it. It was emitting a weak, calming magical signature as usual. He relaxed slightly. His few possessions were safe. At least he had that going for him, if all else was about to get worse.

Next, tried to estimate what time of day it might have been. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get a decent estimation from inside the tent. He assumed it was midday, maybe the afternoon, as there was a lot of noise from outside. Probably arguing. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but there always was the slim possibility that he was captured by Iorwerth scouts and taken Seren-knows-where. They could be deciding on an interrogation method for him right now. Or maybe they already did. Maybe that was the reason beyond his unnatural exhaustion and the dull pain he began to feel all over his body. What did he do? He tried to remember what happened, what led him to this situation. He recalled going north of Lletya. He remembers reaching the river. He remembers walking in. The cold water rushing past him, reaching his knees and filling his boots. He took a look at the sun, back then, in the memory, and then-- No. There’s no way.Right…?He tried to stand up again, this time using a nearby crate to support himself, but fell over again the moment he tried to move forward. When he could move again, everything hurt. The pressure on his limbs, his back, his ribs, his skull… It was too much. It was painful enough to knock him out the first time and forceful enough to crack his bones even now. Islwyn couldn’t help but smile.The noise he made must have alerted the elves outside. Islwyn understood that too late. He prepared his bow, but someone entered the tent before he was ready to fire. Islwyn tensed for a moment before relaxing. Just Lletyan hunters. - Recovering was only mildly painful.He is vaguely aware of Dalldav lecturing him. He kept talking for what seemed like forever, saying something about Islwyn scaring everyone senseless with his actions. Islwyn wasn’t really listening anymore. Not after he mentioned finding Islwyn lying in the mud, a four hours march north west of Lletya.Not far from an unnatural meander in the river that wasn’t there before.He was overjoyed.It worked. The magic. He’s been practicing for so long. Building energy reserves, travelling across the land, interacting with the forest life and the little ponds and the trees. Catching Pawyas with his bare hands. learning, practicing, setting up traps to not be followed- “Are you listening to me?!” Dalldav shouted, waving a hand in front of his face. Islwyn smiled politely at him. “Not really,” he said sincerely. The older elf got angrier. “You should,” he crossed his arms. “We’ve told Lord Cadarn that you were found. He was worried sick! He was expecting you today, and you just disappeared without a warning! You’ve earned yourself an earful, young Islwyn!” “I’m sure,” Islwyn said absently. It wasn’t often that a short response would adequately answer every part of an entire scolding directed at him. He decided to take the little victory while he still could. “Save your breath then, Dalldav” he added. “If Lord Cadarn’s prepared a speech, you wouldn’t want to steal his thunder.” Dalldav seethed. -- Islwyn sighed. He wanted to talk to Arianwyn sooner, but everyone insisted he rest first. So they took him home to Lletya as soon as he was able to stand upright.  Islwyn caved in shortly. He was still exhausted, after all. He ended up asleep for longer than he meant to. When he finally got out of bed, he brushed his hair and dressed up. He wanted to head out immediately – never let it be said that he was avoiding uncomfortable conversations. He was almost out of the door when he turned around, wondering if there was anything he forgot. The old shard was with him, and his bow was waiting near the door to be picked up. He did see a few loose floorboards near the wall opposite the window, rotting in the filtered sunlight. He let go of the door handle and went to take a good look at them. They looked horrible. Dead, discoloured, denting when touched. He should replace them. He should get another window, too. The tree was fully blocking the view at this point. He was barely getting enough light. He almost felt guilty for procrastinating, even though being exhausted and on the verge of death were as good excuses as any. He took a saw from his drawers and used it to help remove the rotting section. It was slightly slower than he intended, and left an uneven cut on the floor. He realized too late that he didn’t have any planks with him. He’ll need to go buy some after his visit to Arianwyn.   He was so busy staring at the exposed ground that he didn’t hear the knocking, or the door opening, or the footsteps that followed. By the time he stopped staring and thinking, his name was being called from basically right in front of him. “Islwyn?” Islwyn turned. “Lord Cadarn!” He greeted the older elf with a smile. “I was just about to come over, but we can talk here, if you’d like. Would you like a drink?” Arianwyn shook his head briefly, before getting right into the conversation he came for. So much for greeting and pleasantries… “Islwyn, do you understand what you’ve done?” “Of course!” Islwyn jumped to his feet. “I’ve found my calling! The magic of Baxtorian and Glarial – I can use it! I—“ “Briefly,” Arianwyn corrected. “You could use it briefly. Then you lost all of your power, and then, you nearly died.” “But I can use it!” Islwyn insisted. “I’ve been able to grow trees. I can raise the ground. I’ve redirected the flow of the Teif! Surely you’re aware of it!” “Yes, I suppose I am. And by now, the Iorwerth clan must be aware of it, too.” “As if! It could’ve been a landslide, for all they know. It rained a week ago, some flooding could’ve—“ “Do you really think they’ll buy that?” Islwyn stopped. The older elf made no sense to him at all. None of them made sense. He has just achieved the biggest accomplishment of his life – he had finally reached a level of magic so powerful it was considered a legend. There were elves today, of Arianwyn’s generation, whose parents were alive to see Baxtorian’s abilities with their own eyes, yet grew to think it was some pathetic gnomish illusion trick. Every living being in the world doubted the power he held had even existed at all. And instead of sharing his joy, everyone told him off for it. “I don’t see why not,” Islwyn retorted. “Took you long enough to believe this was my doing. And you always insisted to be good enough to outsmart them. What changed?” “Islwyn, please understand. What you did out there was reckless. The Iorwerths will monitor the area from now on. It brings them closer to Lletya. Every step they get in our direction is a step closer to our annihilation. It’s something we were trying to avoid before you were even born.” “Ari, please. We can take them out. They don’t have to be a problem anymore! Let’s kill the scouts! I can create another curve in the river. We can finally gather some fish, feed the entire town, and prepare for anything they might throw at us. We can push them back! I could drown them—“ “You’re not ready!” In what world was he not ready? Islwyn stared, trying – in vain – to understand. What was Arianwyn’s point in arguing at all? Lletya has unlocked – through him – the door to victory. What reason would they have not to go through with it? They could attack as soon as he recovered his energy. Everyone would gladly give their life for Prifddinas. Islwyn would, too. “Then let me train with the mages!” Islwyn begged. “Expand my energy reserves. I could turn the tide of battle. Break their ranks. Shatter the sealed gate. We can reclaim Prifddinas!” “No, we can’t!” Arianwyn snapped, “Do you really think Baxtorian didn’t try? Do you think you’d do better? You’re not some special miracle child. You’re not ready to step into Baxtorian’s shoes. Don’t compare yourself to him, boy, you can’t finish one spell without having to be picked up and carried away like a corpse. If you think you can step onto the field with what? A mere decade of practice, wave your hands a little and defeat a clan that our combined might has hardly managed to push back, you’re out of you mind, Islwyn!” Islwyn remembers Lord Cadarn being angry. Of course he does. He was a difficult child to help raise. The sheer hate in his voice, however… That was new. Cold, cruel, painful… Every word dripping enough venom to coat a hundred traps in. Islwyn took a step back, hurt. Then the old fool had the nerve to look remorseful, his hand raising to cover his mouth. “You know, I never expected you to praise me” Islwyn started. “But this? That’s low even for you. Who are you to make fun of my magic? I did great, for someone who never got help from you and your soldiers” “Islwyn, I’m sorry. I didn’t—“ “And why didn’t I get that help?” Islwyn continued, ignoring the other elf. “Because you forbade it. You forbade me from actually improving, actually reaching professional levels in the one thing I’m good at. I never expected much from you, but I thought you’d be happy for me, at least. That I’d get some support.” “Of course you have my suppo—“ “This was the happiest moment of my life,” Islwyn hissed. Ironic. He never thought he’d be speaking of his greatest, most impressive feat while simultaneously feeling suffocated, belittled, and on the verge of tears. He shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching them into fists. He wanted to calm down. He wanted to feel joy again. But of course, Arianwyn Cadarn just had to ruin it for him. “The one achievement I’m proud of, the one thing I managed, that you can’t. And I can’t even have that.” Islwyn continued. “It’s funny. I genuinely thought you came all the way here, to tell me you’re happy for me.” Islwyn looked around. Anywhere he could, just not at Arianwyn. His eyes fell on more floorboards that began to rot. He frowned. The remnants of his natural magical surge that remained about him for days since the Teif were seeping from him into the ground like blood from a wound. And they were working just as the original surge had: fighting to remove whatever was in their way. Arianwyn was speaking again. Islwyn didn’t care. He couldn’t listen to this anymore. He didn’t want to hear the excuses and lies of someone who didn’t bother. So he turned his back on the other elf, took his book from his drawers, and headed for the door. He only stopped when Arianwyn caught his arm, trying to pull him back, physically slowing his progress. Like he always did. “You know, sometimes I wonder,” Islwyn turned around, glaring at the clan leader, “Why did you bother promising my mother that you’d look after me, when you never actually planned to?” Arianwyn gave him an alarmed look. “It’s a shame that she had to die. We wouldn’t have to be in this situation if only you died instead.” He used that moment to try and pull his arm free. When Arianwyn didn’t immediately let go, he smacked the crease of his elbow harder than he physically hit anything in his life. Arianwyn flinched momentarily, releasing him. Islwyn took his crystal bow on his way out.

[nargzscape]

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[kethsi]

Nature Magic

Islwyn overestimates his abilities. - Islwyn is also an unreliable narrator at the end. Warning for injuries. -

Here’s the thing about trees: Islwyn doesn’t understand them. At all. It’s his own fault, really. Teclyn and Amaethwr tried teaching him about different tree species when he was younger. Let it be known that he was ready and willing to fight anyone who said otherwise. They tried every method there was to teach him how to distinguish age and subspecies, how to spot whether or not it was diseased by examining the bark and the leaves or the needles. They tried teaching him through fun lessons, games and old songs. There were even field trips that were fun until they ended – Teclyn had accidentally spooked a sleeping grenwall once, and got his leg covered in spikes for his effort to calm the grumpy thing down. Shame he wasn’t as good with animals as he was with plantlife. It wasn’t their fault at all – Islwyn wasn’t a good student. He tried to listen, back in the day. He tried to write down notes in a way that made sense to him. It didn’t help much. He made peace with the fact that he wasn’t going to be the best tracker of Lletya long ago. It was alright. It was a childhood dream once, but he was never much of an archer anyway. Surely he’d be good at something else. Luckily for him, while he wasn’t much of an expert on all things leafy, his memory was quite alright. So he remembered how he helped plant a few trees outside his own house some thirty years ago. They were sitting apart, so that their roots won’t tangle with one another, and they were pretty tall to say the least. They provided shade for his house in the summer and caught some of the snow in the winter, valiantly taking pressure off of his roof. The smallest one he planted a bit too close to the house. It was rather careless, yes, but he didn’t have the foresight to tell it’d be obscuring most of his view from his window. By the time he considered replanting it, Amaethwr was adamant that the damage to the roots would be too severe, and no one had the heart to chop it down. Islwyn really should invest in another window.

Making a mental note to ask old lady Ithell for advice later, he sat down against the tree and opened a decorated green book with great care. It was his mother’s, passed down to her by his grandparents. It held detailed maps and descriptions of lands to the east – probably not accurate anymore, not since the war – notes about magic, and potions, and several forms of halberd combat. The magic sections were always most fascinating to him. 

It was a bit of an open secret among the elves that Glarial and Baxtorian were some of the most powerful mages on Gielinor. They could reshape the land itself in any way they desired, be it by creating rivers, raising hills from the flat ground, cloaking an open field with trees… It was amazing. Their empire was magnificent and prosperous, and this was one of the reasons. Their subjects would never go hungry, never experience a drought… He wished he knew this in such detail when he was young. He knows his mother grew up never wanting for anything, in the land of unparalleled plenty, before the war. These thrice-damned Iorwerths changed everything. Sure, Lletya was somewhat stable – the hunters and farmers did everything they could, and Eudav was actually very good at fishing, but pawyas were tricky to catch, the dire wolves were unforgiving, the bears were few and the Teif’s current was swift. The fish? Even swifter. It wasn’t uncommon for them to eat one meal a day. In fact, it was the norm, for most of his life. Islwyn took fishing himself, back in the day. He was better at it than he was at archery, but only because he used magic to help him. He cut his journey there and back by teleportation, fixed broken fishing rods with magic, and would even try to slow down the pikes and the rainbow fish. They didn’t need to zig-zag while swimming, since the river was flowing smoothly, and they’d avoid the rocky parts of the southern shore. The river needed to meander some more, but he didn’t have an army of lunatics with shovels and a death wish at the ready to dig for hours to redirect it. He looked back at the book. He didn’t need an army of lunatics. He had magic. Sure, he wasn’t all that powerful, but coming from a line of mages who reshaped the continent certainly didn’t hurt his chances. He spent the last three decades perfecting his control of nature magic. He should soon be able to use it to benefit them all. He closed the book and turned around. With one hand flat against the tree bark and one pressed to the ground, he whispered a long, familiar incantation. He flinched momentarily when he felt the bark pushing his hand slightly back, but kept going. He only stopped when the amount of light and shadow on the ground visibly changed, and he felt his strength slipping away. He looked up, dizzy, removing his hand from the ground. The tree has grown significantly, he noted. Good. It was only a matter of time.

---

Sitting on his roof at night, watching the stars, was rather lovely. He held a small green shard in his hands. Small fragment of an enchanted crystal, chipped away from a far more magnificent final product he did not possess. It was thrumming with energy, and it was calming. It doesn’t transform with a song, like other crystals do. It’s already enchanted with purpose. He remembered that much. Gwir told him about it, once. It was one of many discarded pieces of crystal Baxtorian had chipped away while trying to create a necklace for Glarial. He wasn’t much of a craftsman, though, and it was a personal gift he refused to ask for help while making, so at some point he just enchanted it in hopes that the crafting process would go smoother. It didn’t. According to Gwir, this crystal was from a stash given for magical adornments during the later years of the second age. Before Seren had to… ah… Leave. He didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe that’s why this shard exists at all. Baxtorian wouldn’t chip away perfectly good pieces of Seren herself, even as a gift. He briefly wondered whether Baxtorian would go to Seren for more crystal, or ask his parents, or sneak around to take more without actual permission.

Glarial got an amulet out of the main chunk of crystal, wherever it was. Gwir was unaware of the exact enchantments woven into it, but the fact that the little discarded pieces kept reappearing around for a while was telling enough. It was probably for teleportation, originally. Well, whatever was the purpose, Islwyn was happy enough with the small shard’s magical signature. It was calming. He got up, pocketed the shard, and leapt towards the tree, using the branches to climb down. The hunters were supposed to return soon, and he promised to help clean whatever they brought. He was still recovering his energy, but he wanted to be helpful around the town as well.

 ---

He teleported north-west at dawn. It was a couple days later, and he felt ready. He’s been thinking about this for a while. Running the idea in his head again and again. Fish were always in short supply these days. He was going to change that. He was sure of it. All he needed to do was push the ground here low enough, and make the ground at the bottom of the Teif rise up slightly. The first of several redirections of the eastern part of the river he had planned to carry out. He looked around him, checking the air for any trace of smoke and the earth for trampled leaves or disturbed animals. Nothing. Good, no Iorwerths to worry about at this moment. He was on the northern shore, a dangerous idea, really, but a sensible one. He needed to stand here for this to succeed. It was a massive undertaking he wasn’t strong enough yet to do remotely. He took a deep breath, momentarily touching the shard in his pocket. It was alright. He’s been training for decades. He planned this. This was fine. Slowly, he knelt down, putting his hands on the ground. He started talking. Pain started rushing over him nearly immediately. Not something he expected, but he shut his eyes and continued. These enchantments were tried and tested. It was okay. He felt his knees sinking – hopefully the ground around him would give way soon – and he could go on south. Truth be told, it was a longer process than he expected. The sun was harsh against his back by the time he felt it. He didn’t dare look around before, but he opened his eyes now that he felt something cold soaking his legs. Thankfully, it was water. Lots of it. He shuddered. The Teif always had a fast current. Soon, he had to get up and move, because the water levels were rising, and he wasn’t done yet. Doing his best to not get washed away, he teleported to the southern shore. He took a few steps. Something was wrong. He felt every pebble as he walked. It was as if he was stepping into jagged rocks. He was up to his ankles in the water when he fell to his knees. He tried to stand back up again, pushing himself up with his arms, but they were firm in the mud and plants at the bottom of this shallow end. He couldn’t move them if he wanted to. Before long he was chanting again. In the back of his mind, he knew that something went wrong. Terribly wrong. He could hardly move, because if he’d try, everything would hurt again. He chanted quicker. Was the water receding? Was the ground rising? …Was anything happening at all? Well, yes. Something was happening alright. Someone was dimming the sun. He blinked several times. It wasn’t the clouds. It was just getting darker. Darker around him. Colder. What was going on? Something bad, surely. He closed his eyes, opened them, and closed them again. But there was no difference. Only the dark.

[kethsi]

Archery Practice

Arianwyn Cadarn is an excellent leader. He’s not a very good adoptive father, though. -- Warnings include unhealthy thought process (what else is new?), Mentions of mild child neglect, mention of animal death (Wolves, Bears, Pawyas), past character death and talk of wars. -- Islwyn Cadarn, last known living relative of fabled king Baxtorian Cadarn and great queen Glarial, is a realist. Really, he is. He looks at every situation through a critical lens, analyzes it, compares the pros and the cons in his mind, and decides what course of action he’d take form here. Really, there’s no reason not to do this. He may only be twelve decades old, but that was old enough to be considered an adult, by elven standards. Besides, this is a method that proved itself effective so far. After all, this exact same approach is part of how his grandfather conquered Kandarin. Naturally, what was good enough for one of the most powerful elves in history was more than good enough for Islwyn. In his current situation, Islwyn wasn’t quite ready to learn more complex magics from the book his mother left him – he simply didn’t have the energy reserves for the more elaborate spells he hasn’t mastered yet, and most elves in Lletya weren’t much help either. Sure, he practiced daily, and he was pretty good at many spells, too, but energy reserves grow and develop with time, as does one’s magical ability. So in the meantime – meantime being the last half decade or so – Islwyn Cadarn went on to practice archery. He knew the basics, of course, he was a member of clan Cadarn, thank you very much – but that alone didn’t make him good at it. So he practiced, using training bows made of pine wood or Kandarinian oak – because using a crystal bow, or a bow made of the local magic trees would be too easy. He’d be tempted to let his soul sing with the crystal, which would guide his arrows to the targets, or sync his magical abilities with those of the magic bow, and all progress will be lost. It wouldn’t truly be his own achievement. Not in archery, at least. It would simply be another way to train magic, but it isn’t what he needs right now. Right now he needs practice.

Easier said than done, though. All around him, other elves were chattering excitedly at one another. He didn’t know the reason, and he didn’t care enough at the moment to find out. He was training by the flax field, so of course others would be passing by to pick some for their own purposes, from time to time.  Some of the voices were too high pitched to him though, and too laced with negativity. Whines and complaints of children at parents. The seeds of tantrums soon to bloom. He released his grip on the bowstring, slightly irritated. The arrow flew forward with a quiet whistle before hitting the spot he was aiming for, the center of a flax flower he attached to the archery target. It wasn’t that he was keen on destroying flowers, but he needed to justify aiming elsewhere when the true center held too many arrows to keep shooting at. Besides, the flax flowers were calming enough to look at, and he liked having them in his field of vision even when he wasn’t actively aiming at them. “I don’t care!” some child yelled. “We had bear stew for three days! I want something else!” The next arrow hit one of the petals, a bit too high. “I’m sorry, dear,” the woman next to the child – presumably his mother – tried, gently. “There isn’t much else right now.” “Isn’t there any pawya?” Tak. Another arrow missed its mark by about two inches. Islwyn Cadarn wasn’t very good at concentrating with loud noises around. Shame on him. He should do better. “The hunters won’t return until tomorrow morning”, the mother replied.  “We can go get things first thing in the morning, if you want”. “They’re taking too long,” the child whined. “They’re bad hunters. Why couldn’t the good ones go hunting instead?”. This arrow lodged itself in the ground. Islwyn sure felt mediocre now, looking at all the missed spots. He frowned, lowering his bow. Six of his last twenty shots didn’t seem to hit their marks. He would blame it on his own agitation, his own unbalanced reaction to the noise around him, but that would not be fair. “War isn’t quiet”, Arianwyn always said. “The noise” isn’t an excuse he could use to justify missing targets, adversaries that could be lethal to his clan if they ever have to defend Lletya from possible Iorwerth invasion in case it is discovered. Still, he couldn’t prevent his selfish thoughts from gnawing at his mind. He couldn’t stop the passing thoughts that these kids are lucky to be raised like that. With parents they could whine to about anything. He didn’t have anyone to complain to, growing up. He lost his mother long ago. Didn’t even know his father. Islwyn Cadarn had to be a responsible child, because he was raised by Lord Cadarn himself, and because he was the grandson of two figures he never met and whose shoes he was expected to fill regardless, as if it was easy. As if it was possible at all, to become as powerful as two mages who shaped the world around them everywhere they walked. He was expected to shut up and do better, always. The current Lord Cadarn hated it when he complained. Islwyn sighed, walking forward. Lletya was getting busy, noisy, as it always did during the early hours of the afternoon. No sense to continue practicing now. Not here, at least. He won’t make much progress. He decided to pluck the arrows out of the wooden target. He wouldn’t want high and mighty Arianwyn to receive complaints about Islwyn’s behavior, now. It would reflect poorly on the both of them, would it not? Surely, Lord Cadarn shouldn’t be lenient on such displays of laziness. Islwyn himself would be seen as a spoiled princeling who expects everyone to clean up after him because his family ties got to his head. Absurd. He was always judged based on “What would Baxtorian say? What would Eirlys think?” What would it matter? They were dead. They weren’t coming back. Why did everyone insist on lecturing him about the dangers of disappointing a family that wasn’t there to disappoint, anyway? There was only Arianwyn. Being close friends with Islwyn’s mother, he agreed to raise her little orphan son. He always reminded Islwyn of that. Always kept some forced formality between them. Ever since Islwyn could remember, he was expected to treat Arianwyn as a lord, and Arianwyn treated Islwyn like something of the sort, too. Not that he ever let Islwyn make any decision or have an actual say in anything, but he made sure to act as if Islwyn was an adult, effectively erasing any trace of free time or “undesirable” hobbies Islwyn had. Except the magic. Arianwyn never had it in him to prevent Islwyn from studying and practicing that. Regardless, Islwyn never really had a proper childhood. Never had a chance to disagree with Arianwyn on anything. Never got comforted when he cried. He was simply told to act in a way befitting of his heritage. Conveniently, he was also told that his grandfather’s grief over the loss of his grandmother was private. That mighty king Baxtorian would put the morale of his troops above his own need to mourn. Even worse, he was told that his mother would do the same on her deathbed. More concerned about the healers who were supposed to help getting their eight hours of sleep than she was with her own pain. Naturally, selfishness in any form was never allowed. So he kept his selfishness in his thoughts, and kept those thoughts to himself. Good, Merciful Seren, he thought. Thank you for making us incapable of peering into one another’s thoughts. I would’ve gotten an earful for that, too. Having collected all the arrows, Islwyn was soon on his way home. It was the best part of being an adult, really. Lletya wasn’t all that big, but it still had plenty of room for him to construct his own little house, with the help of some ex-members of clan Ithell, engineers and siege weapon operators who married Cadarn elves after the war. Honestly, living on his own without Arianwyn’s judging (or sometimes pitying) glances and annoying, disappointed commentary. Still, he had to pass by Arianwyn’s house more often than not, as it had provided a rather convenient shortcut to Eudav’s general store, where Islwyn would sometimes sell the bones of dire wolves he had slain. Islwyn had no wolf bones in his bag today, but he found himself passing by Arianwyn’s place out of habit. He caught himself and tried to increase his pace. The unmistakable whistles of arrows stopped him in his tracks. He looked around, easily spotting Arianwyn, outside his own house, shooting a target as well. Islwyn wanted to look away, but the clan leader was impressive to say the least. With three shots a second, Islwyn was shocked to see some of the wooden targets held hundreds of arrows, so close together that some were somehow lodged not in the targets themselves but between two other arrows, each target forming simple shapes or designs. He recognized some from his studies. These were the clan sigils. Owl, for Amlodd, hare for Hefin, an acorn and a leaf for Crwys…  He wasn’t sure he recognized the symbol Arianwyn was making at the moment though. It looked like some crystal with a messy background. “Ithell,” Arianwyn said out loud, making Islwyn jump. He did not take his eyes off the target though, nor did he stop shooting arrows. “At least it’s supposed to be. But I can’t make a proper lyre to save my life.” Islwyn nodded, respectfully. “It’s quite remarkable, actually” he heard himself say. “Just a little hard to recognize with two smaller crystals still missing…” Arianwyn nodded and lowered his bow and looked at him. Only, it was more like a stare. The leader was studying him intently, expression unreadable. The younger elf quickly realized what he’s done. “Oh, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you, Lord Cadarn,” he apologized. “I’ll be on my way-“ “Islwyn” Islwyn flinched. “…Yes?” Arianwyn’s expression softened suddenly. He seemed uncertain, just for a moment, before taking a step in Islwyn’s direction and offering him his own bow. “Would you like to add them?” “I- what?” “The other crystals.” Arianwyn answered, gently. “Oh. Sorry, I’d really rather not.” Arianwyn was giving him that look again. The one he didn’t understand.  The leader of the Cadarns was regarding him with some weird, uncharacteristic guarded gentleness, as if Islwyn would vanish into thin air if the other elf dared to make any sudden movements. There was something apologetic in his eyes and in the way he held his bow for Islwyn to take.  Finally, seeing he would get no other reply, Arianwyn nodded. “It’s a shame,” he said. “You have your own bows, I was told you’ve been practicing for a few years now, and you never brought it up.” “I picked it up again” Islwyn shrugged. “Five years ago. I think.” Of course, he was taught archery as a child, too. All Cadarn children were expected to know the basics, after all. Arianwyn just never seemed very eager to teach him. So when he decided to start training on his own, he didn’t feel the need to involve Arianwyn in his decision making. “That’s wonderful” Arianwyn smiled. “do you like it better now?” Islwyn hesitated. He couldn’t say for sure. He enjoyed some aspects, sure. He liked the precision, the sound arrows made when flying towards a target, the way his heartbeat stabilized when he was concentrating… …The fact that training arrows weren’t volatile and wouldn’t explode if he did something wrong, the way magic might… “I think so” he admitted. It was true enough. Even if in all honesty, he was just trying to improve because he genuinely wanted to be better at something than the elf who raised him. Well, after today’s display… Islwyn should certainly cross anything involving arrows off the list. Arianwyn paused again. “Would you join me in training, at least?” “With all due respect, I don’t think you need training, Lord Cadarn.” Arianwyn shook his head. “I do,” he sighed, glancing between his targets and the younger elf. “I shouldn’t waste your time with beginner stuff, though.” “You’ve passed beginner levels long ago, Islwyn. I’ve heard you’ve been developing your own style.” Islwyn shrugged. He was trying, that was for certain. He was pretty handy with a crystal bow, though, having practiced with it for two years. Crystal bows are interesting weapons, offering high accuracy to those who sacrificed raw strength and vice versa, creating their own arrows of pure energy designed to accommodate the user’s style and choices. They were exhausting to use for long periods of time, but the results certainly spoke for themselves. “Not very fair to say that, though,” Islwyn countered. “I think my bow decided to develop its own style. I merely happened to be present to witness it the longest, so I picked up a thing or two.” “You’ve achieved a perfect harmony, then” Arianwyn pointed out. “I could really use a helping hand with that. I think mine doesn’t like me very much.” Whatever Islwyn expected to hear in an answer from Arianwyn… That definitely wasn’t it. He stopped to think for a moment. Arianwyn was great at both crystal singing and archery. There is no reason for a crystal bow to not function perfectly in the hands of the leader. Then again, Arianwyn did mention, once or twice, that this wasn’t his own bow. Maybe… “Well, in that case, I could use some help with improving my speed. I don’t think I can fire ten-thousand arrows an hour.” Arianwyn’s face broke into a wide smile. “Neither can I.” Huh. Who would’ve thought… “All right,” Islwyn allowed a small smile form on his own face. “I’ll settle for nine thousand, then.”

[kethsi]

Ok but since Baxtorian never knew that his daughter had a baby (Islwyn), he was definitely born after the Siege of Prifddinas. Islwyn’s, at most, 230-ish years old. With the ages of some elves ingame... he’s basically a baby...

[kethsi]

Eluned and islwyn for the ship asks because we all know that's what you were going for

what I was “going for”, anon dearest, was trying to wrap my head around what my followers ship, not what I do. Regardless-

Send me a ship and I’ll answer:

Gives nose/forehead kisses: Eluned

Gets jealous the most: Islwyn

Takes care of on sick days: Eluned

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day: Funnily enough, I have an answer in mind that I can’t share right now.

Brings the other lunch at work: Islwyn

Tries to start role-playing in bed: Islwyn because he loves pretending he’s literally anybody else, doesn’t he?

Embarrassingly drunk dancer: Islwyn

Firmly believes in couples costumes: Eluned. Not that there’s much variety in the available costume materials before Prif is unlocked.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas: bro they’re broke af.

Makes the other eat breakfast: Islwyn

Remembers anniversaries: Both.

Brings up having kids first: no.

Kills the bugs: Eluned

First to define them as a couple: Eluned

Who hides their guilty pleasures longer: Islwyn.

Snorts while laughing: Islwyn

Thanks for the ask but feel free to ask about ships YOU have, too.

[kylierosebou]

This story brought tears to our eyes. Well done Islwyn school xxx #prom #schoolprom #islwyn #islwynschool https://www.instagram.com/p/BzIj22knmo0/?igshid=13dlgw201efio