Dusk. The sights and sounds and very texture of the night began to emerge in the forest. Softly at first, the nearly magical voices of the elves, his own house, rose to echo gently through the trees. Moonlight cut through the canopy wherever it found room, bathing the forest floor in a silvery glow.
Somehow, eleven years after his birth, such things had started to lose their mystery; their magic.
He sat alone now, thirty years later, looking out at the same night sky through the dirt stained window of a run down inn. Smoke lingered in the air, weaving its formless fingers through the thick smell of ale and sweat. Drunken shouts and breaking glass rose above the endless murmur of voices; drowning out any memory of silence.
Quietly, he sat, remaining acutely aware of his surroundings, and thought back on the years that had passed since he left.
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Oddly, his mother and father had voiced no objections to their young elflings’ firmly stated desire to “find his own path”. He still believed that his mother, with her knowing smile, had seen it coming, even. And so, after helping him prepare, they watched and waved as their only son, Nuran, left the Wealdath with no destination in mind.
The first few days proved just as hard as he imagined, but upon reaching the trade roads, he swiftly found his way to the city of Athkatla; stowed away in the back of a large caravan. The city sounded larger, and more full of life than he could believe, as the caravan wound its way through the gates, towards its destination. Nothing could prepare him for the sights, however, as his eyes met the open air of Faerun’s largest marketplace, and he stood stunned for what seemed like an age.
A juggler spun daggers into the air, while a group of scantily clad woman swung their hips back and forth; each in an equally mesmerizing fashion. A dark skinned man nearby blew fire from his mouth, while a darker skinned man lead an exotic animal along by a chain. All around him, merchants shouted and cried out of the various wonders they had for sale, while a seemingly intangible number of perspective customers pushed their way through the crowded streets, and clustered around the stands.
He must have seemed as hungry and lost as he had recently forgotten he felt, because suddenly, his hand was taken and he was dragged from his awe to crouch beneath a covered table. As his eyes settled on his captor, a young human girl dressed in rags with matted brown hair peered back at him. Before he could say anything, a piece of the loaf of bread she cradled was pushed into his hand, and he gladly ate.
“Ye looked like ye could use a bite. But keep mum, they’ll be looking for me in th’ next few minutes.”
He didn’t think to ask who ‘they’ might be, instead finding himself staring into her eyes as he chewed the bread. The girl stared back at him, her eyes brown and expressive, alert and intense; decidedly lacking all of the wonder and innocence his own seemed to still hold on to. Despite what lay beneath the surface, she smiled to him as if they were already fast friends; comfortable innocence yet mingled with her untimely maturity. He smiled back and finished eating in silence.
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For the next few years, Nuran and Emilé were nearly inseparable, and he was glad for her company. Both seeming innocent children, it was easy to learn to use that to their advantage, and Emilé was a good teacher.
The market proved an endless resource of food, toys, and amusement for a pair of children with infectious smiles and quick hands, and Nuran proved an apt pupil.
Slowly, Nuran began to loose some of the innocence and wonder his eyes held onto so tightly. Unlike the forest, however, the city seemed an endless span of layers and mysteries waiting to be revealed. So ensnared by this was he, that Emilé began to change before his very eyes, and neither seemed any the wiser.