#rythriel

[moonunveiled]

run

He had been told once that druids traveled to the Dream in their sleep. It made sense. He still wasn't sure if he had ever done as much, despite the few stunningly viceral dreams he could remember. Generally painted with a vivid brush and filled with all manner of flora and fauna, he had wandered several life like dreams over time and wondered where they had come from.

Perhaps now he knew.

This dream was different. The thick forest was the same, and the birdsong, and the crickets. It was night, as it so often was. Or was it dusk? He couldn't tell. The light shifted and moved- he could see a only bit of moon through the trees but there was enough light to brighten his path.

As always these woods felt familiar yet distant, like a memory long locked away.

Malorne hovered as he always did just outside the blood elf's sight. Moving through the dense trees like a ghost, the stag lead the way through the dreamscape. Lyrenn followed dutifully, watching flowers and vines rise from the wild god's footsteps.

He only noticed the quiet when the moon's light failed. Turning his eyes skyward he watched clouds block out the white lady's face.

An eerie stillness reined.

Lyrenn looked around him, dismayed at the change. Where healthy life had been was only death. The birdsong and night sounds had died away and washed in greys the forest seemed sinister. He turned to follow Malorne's path and caught himself before he fell.

The stag was there, facing him this time. Mere feet apart, he could feel the god's breath on his face, his soft gaze ruthless without his love's light touch. Lyrenn held his breath, wordless questions filling his head.

Malorne's gaze didn't waver. And the toneless echo of intent he felt so often from the stag reverberated to his bones when it came.

Wake. It said. Wake and run.

He drew in a silent breath as he woke, eyes open and alert in the empty night. It was dark. Their fire had been snuffed out. Instantly Lyrenn felt afraid.

Tilting his head slightly he could see the outline of Rythriel in the dark. The ranger was knelt to shake him, but his focus was somewhere else. On something lurking in the trees.

@thesunguardmg

pt2: here

[moonunveiled]

Thwak

“Ow!” 

“Move faster.”

“You’re a much worse teacher than Dalheim.”

“Who’s Dalheim? Sunguard?”

“Yes.” He swept low this time, dropping to his knee and swinging in an arc that aimed to take his opponent’s legs.

Rythriel snorted, bringing the butt of his spear around and knocking both Lyrenn and his sword off balance. He pursued the rolling blond, jerking back when Lyrenn came up sword first and slashing at him to give himself space.

“Thats better,” the ranger grunted, stepping back to let his flailing pupil stand properly. “But someone else w-” “Would have speared me on the ground, I know, I know. You realizing I’m still learning right? I haven’t done this for like two centuries?”

“And you wont if you keep expecting me to go easy on you.” Rythriel circled around Lyrenn, hefting his spear and pointing the tip at the blond. “You might be spending your time picking flowers and brushing shoulders with high and mighty military but have they told you yet when they’re sending you out there?” His spear swung to point south. 

“Not yet.”

“You dont usually schedule that shit in advance.” Rythriel glowered before stancing himself again. 

“Again. This time focus on where you see me moving. Anticipate. It’s a spear, I’m keeping you at distance. This should be easy for you.”

Lyrenn wore a frown, biting at his upper lip as he listened. For all the bickering they did he trusted Rythriel to teach him properly. As much as he had Dalheim. As much as he did anyone, really. And he had the added bonus of knowing Rythriel. It was slightly less humiliating to be knocked around by your friend.

Ears ticking back he pounced forward at the word, sword raised in one hand and the other held out at it’s equal. He moved to the side and around, forcing Rythriel to track him and change his stance as he went. Finally he rushed forward, expecting the spear to meet him as he went. He wasn’t disappointed, and threw his free hand out toward the weapon. He both was and wasn’t surprised when the spear was slowed. It didnt stop or stall, but something had pushed it enough give him room to fill the gap between them. He slid along the shaft of the spear, turning until his back pushed against the wood. It was useless to Rythriel now and the ranger threw it aside to reach for a dagger at his hip. 

He didnt make it. Lyrenn’s blade came down and wacked him on the shoulder hard enough to cause a grunt. Even sheathed the momentum hurt. “Damnit thats my bow arm..” He twisted away and was chased by Lyrenn who had dropped his sword to the ground upon connecting. Lyrenn vaulted onto the ranger’s retreating back, wrapping arms around his neck and cackling.

 “Move faster!”

( @bracelet00 for mentions)

[moonunveiled]

There wasn’t much warning before he sat down, crumpling into the grass like a sack of potatoes tossed off a wagon. His leathers were so worn they didn’t even creak in protest to the movement. The only thing that gave him away aside from the sound of old bones hitting the ground was the weary, slightly forced, sigh that escaped him to herald his arrival. 

Lyrenn didn’t immediately respond, but at length looked up from the book in his lap. He’d seen the ranger approaching in the distance, but it was never a sure bet he would actually make an appearance in your life one minute to the next. Better to just keep doing your own thing and if he decided to approach he had the illusion of surprise. Much like one might react to a skittish animal, Lyrenn’s movements were slow and precise. The turn of his head, the reach for the stick in his mouth. Once the crystal candy sucker was removed he smiled at his new lounging companion. 

“Hi Ryth.”

“Hey kid.” The other elf shifted, eyes peering out at the thinning crowd passing by the open market. “Haven’t seen you in a bit in town, thought maybe you’d moved on without telling me.” “I’m living at the Dawnspire now.” Rythriel’s attention turned to him, thick brows raised toward his hairline. One brow shot up slightly higher than the other,  the feathery ends disappearing in the smattering of silver along his temples. It was a silent question and Lyrenn gave a half shrug in answer. “Thought maybe it was time to do something worthwhile.” Rythriel gave a nod, glancing away again. “I thought as much. You came back from the Isles different.” “You didn’t.”

“Not much to change at my age.” While Rythriel rarely kept eye contact, Lyrenn’s gaze hadn’t wavered. He studied the ranger’s profile, picking out every new line and scar. “You aren’t going to tell me it’s a bad idea?” “Why would I do that? You’re capable.”  Lyrenn snorted. Now he looked away, sticking the sucker back in his mouth as he thought about the truth or untruth of those words. He’d been starving when he’d met Rythriel. Desperate enough to try foraging abandoned homes on the edges of the city, wandering deeper into the wilderness when all he found were ransacked buildings torn apart by people quicker on the draw than himself. Too stupid to think ahead, too weak to catch anything besides grubs and mouthfuls of whatever plant seemed edible enough to take a chance on. He’d been lucky Rythriel had seen the undead before they’d seen him, but if the ranger hadn’t been there he had no doubts it would’ve stumbled over him eventually.  “Thanks to you.” It was a hushed tone- Ryth didn’t handle praise well. The grunt he’d expected in answer followed, and he smiled as he stuck the candy back in his mouth. “So you’re joining that lot then?” It wasn’t so much a question as a consideration, and Lyrenn glanced back to watch him scratch at the week’s old beard covering his jaw. 

“Why, whats wrong with them?” He wondered briefly at his sudden defensiveness. “Nothing, nothing.” The hand went up in a surrendering motion before falling back across his knees. “They’re outside the state you know, but strong. Lotta good soldiers’ve joined up. We’d be in a lot worse shape without’em.”  A vote of confidence coming from Ryth, and as like a compliment as anyone is likely to get. Lyrenn dipped his head, staring hard at the red crystalize sucker he held in front of himself, elbow propped on a knee. He twisted it, watching the light of the market dance off the crystal edges. “I’m gonna be a druid Ryth. I heard him, I know I did. I don’t know how, or why, but I gotta do this. The dreams haven’t stopped, I dont think theyre gonna, maybe not even after. But I have to.”  The confession was met with silence. This wasn’t the first time he’d told the other of the dreams that had plagued him since childhood. That had only grown stronger after the fall. The dreams that had beckoned him to the Isles with whispers that held no words. The deep dark and the moonlight and the silhouette of a great stag moving through them. Always out of reach, always urging.  “I know.” It was a soft admittance. As gentle a tone as the ranger ever used, despite his normal timbre being soft on it’s own. 

[rythriel]

Like all elves, magic was inherently part of his life whether he used it or not. It seeped into his bones from before his birth, passed down like a silent, unspoken, birthright from a servant mother who stitched clothes for nobles. The same magic had flowed in her as any magistrix who walked the streets of silvermoon. It was the cosmic thread that tied all elves together regardless of station or caste. Sometimes it was easier than others to forget their common ties. When you spent a lifetime relying very little on the arcane it was simple to begin to dismiss it's subtle effects on your life. An arrow sang the same without any enchantments or runes. He could hit his mark without magic's aid. He could not, however, discredit the enchantments that allowed him to trudge through rain soaked forests and wade through chest deep waters with the same bow for centuries. Untended by the magicked runes carved into its wood the wax he polished into the frame would do little to hold out the moisture that so quickly ruined weapons such as this. Rough hands were delicate with the rag he ran back and forth along the bow's frame. Black and fairly unadorned, it nevertheless gleamed with pride of care. The bowstring was removed, allowing the weapon to curve back upon itself unhindered, resulting in a strangely shaped piece of wood he could strap to his back. The string was likewise made to withstand water, to keep its tension even when strung for long periods of time. But this was tradition, and habit, and something to do with his hands when his mind was far away somewhere another lifetime ago. And besides, just because you have the luxury of magic shouldn't mean you forget the old ways too. If he had learned anything over the last few years it was that magic, despite what their people may think, was not a source constant as the sun.

[rythriel]

There was a note attached to the door of his rented room when he returned that morning. ---------------------------------- Uncle, I am making a big supper today please come and eat you are too thin. Lyren P.S. Show early if you don't want Athan to eat it all! --------------------------------------- He pulled the note from the door and smirked, unlocking the door to step inside. He sighed, sitting hard on the bed and running fingers through his hair. Shower then visit the twins. First a moment to breathe. He had some things to gather up as well..

[rythriel]

He woke from the heat of a fire that did not exist. The sweat soaking his skin was real enough though and the elf sat up in bed with a dissatisfied grunt, rubbing his hands down his face and scratching at the stubble that had already formed.

Rythriel let himself fall back into the mattress, a hand groping out in the dark until he’d found what he was after and brought it to his mouth. A flick of his fingers -one of the few spells he could preform near flawlessly- and the cigarette was lit. Pale blue smoke curled up toward the rafters of the rented room, illuminated by the moon through the window above his bed.

And he returned to the dream-that-wasnt-a-dream, though this time by begrudging choice. No, not a choice. The thoughts would haunt him all night if he didn’t simply let them flow again, relive the nightmare one more time. Again and again. The marching dead and the fires they’d set to their own land. The months crawling on hands and knees through muck and gore over a dead earth he’d once tended. Sleepless nights listening to bone rattling screams and shrieks with no earthly source. The never finding what he’d lost. The never knowing, while his mind continued grasping as if it could pluck her up from his memories and drop her here and now.

No amount of blood or sweat could atone for the call he’d made then, but damned if he wouldn’t drain every drop to change it now. She’d black his eye but she’d be here to do it- or neither of them would. There was little comfort in that alternative. And no end to his penance.