Of a Falling Leaf

[danielmn]

Still pondering the why of it, he slowly leaned back against the enormous trunk behind him. The fountains splash nearby did little to distract him from his thoughts as he stared out over the sea of stones. Perhaps there were some things he would never fully understand. Steadfast had spoken riddles into his ears...he was still unsure of the why. Perhaps it need make no sense at all...perhaps it is an act of the heart, much like his mother and father.

The mans words still rang in his ears...but he did not expect less from one of his kind. They were men of deep belief in tradition...no matter if the tradition brought more ill than good. He did not think less of the man...he was what he was. As Sarian was what he was. He leaned his head against the trunk, and not for the first time thought of how much easier it would have been for all if his mother had followed Steadfasts advice...

The gravestones in front of him replied with silence.

[danielmn]

Sarian gazed, as he often did, into the blue of sky. Her almond eyes came back to him....just a wish...now but a memory gone by. The tears refused to come anymore...they had refused for years. He saw her dancing around the fire...laughing playing on her flute. The memory threatened to choke him once...but no more. Not for the first time he drew his dagger and felt the release of blood. Her face faded away as the ground eagerly soaked in the spots of red. Red tears. He slowly leaned his head back against the trunk, staring up at the sky. Just a wish. Just a memory. Nothing more.

He winced, then pulled his pack from behind him. The box. Why she who fought with fists had given it to him he knew not...other than she had no need of it's contents. He had no need of it either...and the metal rattle it produced helped none. Still...it was given. He would find something appropriate for the return. He moved the pack behind his head. His eyes caught the wheel of the Miller...and his mind strayed to the night....

He watched her signal and waited for a sign of them. Two appeared, charging, speeding toward her. He slowly drew the arrow back, breathing evenly. The breeze blew...the wind brushing his long hair away from his back, and the whisper. Elena's whisper. "I love you." The arrow flew, and landed directly in between the eyes of the beast. He returned the whisper... "You are dead. Leave me alone!"

Sarian grimaced, then rose, putting his pack back on. A jaunt into the woods would clear his head. It always did. He rubbed his neck unconsciously, then started his sprint among the oaks and evergreens.

[danielmn]

Manners. As he laid down the coin for the patches, thread and needle, the elf smiled slightly, but her eyes said something else. Her eyes said "I'll do business with you, I'll smile, and I'll be kind for propriety's sake, but you are not one of us, and you don't belong here." The eyes speak volumes...manners.

Sarien would rather speak openly, be open, than to hide behind such things. Masks. Did he disdain the man's ways?

Disdain being akin to disgust...no. He felt nothing for the man...nor the elf for that matter. Nothing...but a small knot of pain and anger at the sight of his arm around her. Immediately seeing 80 years down the road, to children as he is now....for a split second wanting to yell. But only a split second. For it was not his business. Disdain? Try patient constraint, for their knowledge was not his own....

And perhaps a small bit of concern at the limp as she strode away. The man spoke of a preist, and his worry ceased, faded and blinked out of exsistance.

He synched his cloak tighter, and strode off to the east in the darkness. Somewhere out there lay fires of hate...and the balance of things needed to be tipped.

[Misty]

nice!


not that anyone has a clue, but very nice!

[danielmn]

Sometimes there is no choice. The only choice is to live. He smiled at the thought, smiled in remembrance of her hung head. There is shame in living when it would lead others to their grave...shame in watching one die and being able to do nothing. In many ways, they were like beings...
and in many ways not. She had chosen the hard angled path, rigid and unwavering...perhaps because of the guilt inside. Sarian supposed guilt was just as good a start of a path than anything else....after all, his own path started much the same years ago, but the rigidness had worn. Yes...he could return to The Wealdath...but did he want to? One day he would return from whence he came, want or no. He would need to face his own guilt...but these forests were fine for now. He had his own vigil to attend...like an arrow in the wind. Focus.

[danielmn]

Sarian reached into his pack fumbling for...crystal? No..not crystal....
************************************************************

As he laid the bread down in front of treesisters home, she looked on from behind him. Not a few minutes later, the bread was gone....and in it's place, a small crystal wrapped in a leather thong for each of them....
*************************************************************
Not an ear either....
*************************************************************
He quickly sliced the ear off of the orange beast with his knife. The dwarf noticed, he quickly tucked it away, and turned to eye the other bodies. Upon closer inspection...yes...never leave anything behind, especially a
*************************************************************

"Blunt rusty sword.....mmm, I'll give yeah five gold fer it, mayhaps it'll be usefull.."

Indeed, five gold would do well toward....
************************************************************

He shoved the rope, hook and mirror away in his pack. SOmething was different today. The womans eyes held not disdain...but....looked almost as if she were a baby rabbit cornered by a fox.

THe air was thick....no music...the animals here....were alert.
************************************************************

He eyed her a moment, then turned back to look at the unfinished wall.

"Sir?"

He growled inside....served him right for being inquisitive, now he was on the recieving end.

"Are you with the Dalesfolk sir?"

DO I look like I am a damned Dalesman?
"I am not of the Dalefolk."

"Then you are a new face here...forgive me if we have not met....."
Leave me alone and see to your own, elf.

"The wilderness is my home, I do not come much."
Must be sun elves...maybe moons...only those idiots would make a town out in the open.....turn the tables now...

"I saw a proclamation, there is war coming?"

She answers after a moment.... "Indeed it has."

Time to go....damn curiosity.....

"What is here?"

"You stand in Emerald Springs, a home of the Quessir."

Sarian almost laughs....almost.

You think I don't know what this place is called, or what it houses, elven?! I'm not a blind imbecile. Or or you just that

"What is here? Why is here home?"

"This is the home of my People. It has been for many centuries..."

He replied slowly. "I have never understood cities or towns."

"It is a place for us to gather, to share our lives."

He almost shook his head. It is your doom, your deathtrap, to hide here. Abandon these walls...to the forests and

Share...


She responded. "It does not matter if it is /here/, or elsewhere....

Then leave. Now. This instant. Buildings rise and fall. Build and rebuild. Lives....no. Lives are gone, washed away, death...run, strike at them, nip at heels, flank and retreat...make buildings deathtraps for THEM, not YOU

"If it does not matter then...."

She answers.
"Consider it a responsibility, as my father would say."

RESPONSIBLE?!?!? WAR?!?!? Caging yourself up behind walls....forced to fight or die, Responsible?!

"War comes not just to us, but to the humans here as well" she states.

And I care about as much for humans as I do for elves.
************************************************************
Another strode in as he mentioned being here for a bow. He eyed him a moment, and spoke his tongue to her. And she back. He would find no fault, it was their home.

A break away. She tries to reel him into an introduction, but he makes it plain he leaves.

You can have your deathtrap, Lady Ilsevele....I have my own places to protect.

"May your fight go well...."

Deep within his heart, he did hope that it would.....

But in his mind, he knew damned better than that.

Into the trees, and out toward his lands.

[danielmn]

Sarian sat still under the moonlight, as the alpha roamed near. The shewolf stood further away, sniffing the air, as the larger grizzled male came within the strike....head stretched forward, sniffing the smells of his body. His head remained lowered in submissions to the Alpha, his eyes averted. The muscular grey whom Sarian called Storm sniffed a moment longer, then strode past, seeking prey. Sarian exhaled slowly...meetings did not always go as he would like...this one had gone well.

The She-wolf, a light greyish and white, whom he of coarse refered to as Cloud, began following Storm through the grasses, but then turned her head toward him. After a moments pause, she strayed warily closer to Sarian. He kept his head level this time, but averted his eyes to the ground in submission. Cloud sniffed a long moment...then gently rubbed her muzzle against his shoulder. As he grinned at her playfulness, she raised her leg....and relieved herself on his cloak. His grin turned to grimace for a moment only...then his face calmed as she moved on....

Not an insult....an honor. THe marking of territiory....a sign....

"We are used to you now. We have seen you often. Come and go as we do. When we meet, it will be between equals"

As he strode up the hill, he grinned to himself. He put his hand on the willow, and looked below to the water for a moment. No. He would leave the honor, as musky as it smelled. He had earned it. His slight grin evened on his face, then turned to a frown, as his thoughts wondered to another hill, not so far away, with water...and a grave.

I am sorry human Vance.

[danielmn]

Written neatly on a folded piece of parchment inside a book of the Merry Hin Inn.....

Footfall light, moonlight bright,
Come away and run tonight.
Away from fire, away from hearth
Away from fences, run under stars.

Beyond the walls to keep you in,
Beyond the plants grown in pretend.
Leave your false garden, come with me,
See natures garden on plains, under trees.

If goblin and hobgoblin come, please be wary...
Flee with all haste and leave your berries.
For hands bound will you be found
Almost in a cookpot, but still on the ground.

Run, dodge, hide and breathe.
Come run, come pray under willow tree.
Incsence burning slow this night,
As the falcon enjoys it's flight.

If goblin come with arrow small,
And cause one of you to fall,
Chased into the swamp will he be
By hin, by dwarf, so Lizards see.

Come stalk, come hide, be silent now,
Quick your aim, unfurrow your brow.
Concentrate as golden hair hin,
New path to begin again.

Come stomp, come eat, come fight with axe,
No time for cobbler, no time to relax.
Stout as Dwarf with darkened skin,
Slay what is under foot for friends.

Come out come out, behind those walls.
Come and see, experience all.
Come out, Come out and follow me.
Unlock your chains, come, be free.

[danielmn]

Floating weightless upon his back in an enormous lake of clear water, Sarian watched the full round moon rise ever slowly. So close and yellow, it seemed if he only reached out his hand, he would be able to touch the orb that had guided his footsteps on many a dark night...Selune.

He stared at the moon, water entering his ears. The sound of silence, of nothing. The words formed in his mind as every muscle in his body relaxed, becoming one with the water.

The tree never worries what the world thinks of it. It has no need to defend itself, it is content to be as it is.

Sarian thought long on these words, and what they meant...thought long on his past. Immersed in water, floating..in almost nothing. The rigidness of his mind relaxed slowly....as he let himself be who and what he was. To surrender is to obtain victory. The memories remained, but in a different light. Not enemies of Sarian...but enemies of themselves, as he had been.

His mind wandered through long, deep halls of what was, opening doors of pain and happiness alike. Death gone and birth come.

He approached the darkest of all doors, his hand reached for the pull ring...not yet. He withdrew his hand from the ring, leaving the door closed...still too early for that one...he continued down...

A bright yellow door....Opening to Fennel Glade....

He stood adourned in the flowers upon Midsummer's Eve, Oakeye and Rootgum watching the celebration with slight smiles upon their wooden features. As the pixies flew circles and cartwheels in the air, Methmia approached, a slight smile upon her face...

He retreated....closed the door. He missed her. The weaver of Vines, the great listener and teller of tales....

Another, dark blue.....

Sarian lay in the mud while the other children circled him, laughing. Nelros sneered above him, then looked him in the eye...
"Why don't you go play with your own kind, runt? Oh..wait...there are none, are there, you half bastard of a treechopper?"
He wanted to cry....but the tears never fell.

Sarian closed the door...Nelros had died years later fighting the humans...hatred was his downfall...

A red door he opened...but only to glimpse Elena's face. Before he could see much more, he closed it again....that also, was too soon.



His head slowly bumped a rock, and not long after, his backside floated aground. He slowly rose from the waters, and sat on a large stone and watched the moon as the Green Breeze slowly dried his skin. Much to think on...much to see again...in a different way.

Sarian glanced at the moon slowly, then smiled.

"Thank you, Cooteu."

[danielmn]

Sarian eyed the crisp blue of the late day sky, taking in the spring as it came across the plains. The bear come out of hibernation with cubs bouncing and bumbling wildly in play...the Wolf Sloucher (named so because of the brown fur of his belly, making Sarian think that Sloucher often slouched through dirt and mud) sniffing the soft and slightly crisp breeze, the wind itself promising rain to come...but no longer the rain of unbearable cold, but warm rains.

The rampart on which he sat was being reclaimed, as was the earthworks in front of him. Flags of White and purple, now worn and torn by weather and time, flapped gently in the breeze...the soil worn down from the works with the test of wind, water, and time. Even the heavy boards were now covered in new growth...vines crawled up the wooden pillars, new grass made its way out of the soil previously piled....new growths of moss making the wood their home. Sarian smiled at the reclaimation....

Humans, elves, Dwarves, Halfmen, they would all lay claim to the land..at a point in time. And the land would always be there to take back what was....to take what was given and make it it's own... to bring down what was futily put up.

Yes...a war was fought on these plains, perhaps no less than a year ago.
Why, Sarian could not say, nor would he venture a guess. He grinned slightly....a year later, and it mattered not why, at least not here. The wood slowly rotting, the metal slowly rusting.

Sloucher departed for his den, and Sarian rose himself, slowly exiting the large platform. Yes, another couple of years, and no one would even be able to tell. Sarian stripped one of the flag remains from it's post, and shuffled it away into his pack...it would do well for bandages.

He faced the swamp for a moment, then frowned slightly. It was good to have it...it was bad that he soon might have need of it.

[danielmn]

"Last I saw you, you had your arm around an elf and peace was still to be found in the Springs...."

Sarian took the mug of warm cider, and nodded his thanks.

"Indeed... and now I carry messages for Captain Shendean."

Sarian shrugged slightly. "Can't say that I know him."

The man responded... "Her"

Again, Sarian shrugged....

Him, her, Captain, private, all the same...

Sarian blew the slight froth from the top of the cider.

"A name worth noting... this would be Zhentarim territory if not for her valor at sword creek."

"Mmmm."

Battles and wars....human affairs.

"Zhent." He snorted slightly after the word....a darkness of mankind was all he knew of them.

"You doubt their ability to invade?"

Sarian quirked a brow, as his tone inferred Sarian himself should worry over human affairs.

"Haven't thought about it....and don't really care."

The human growled low in his throat as Sarian drank from his mug.

"Dalesmen die to keep the lands you stay in safe and you "don't care"?"

He looked up, unable to form an answer, bfore the iron clad man shoved him.... He expected more from a man his size. THe human stared him down, his jaw jutting forward....

Sarian snorted again at the bullying...

"Go pick your fight somewhere else, human."

Bullheaded, foolish humans.

"Go to another Dale if you don't appreciate the sacrifices of this one."

As if your kind were here first.

"I've no time for your childishness..... Back down, now."

He slowly turned his eyes to the man's eyes, his own glare forming. The man did not even flinch....

This one belongs on the field of battle....permanently.

"Or what? You'll not care about not being in Zhent shackles more?"

Shackles?

Sarian knew the human would not back down....so he let himself.

"Or nothing"

I will give you what you want then, human.

Sarian began to clap slowly, eyeing the man.

"Sorry, I do not have a bugle to salute."

He turned back around and took a long drink from the mug.

Let the human have his self-importance.

"Perhaps you wouldn't be a shame to both halves of your lineage if you had some honor, or some valor."

The Iron clad human stared as Sarian slowly turned his back to him. For an instant, he saw bright red, and his hands shook...ached for the touch of the scabbard.....

All of the hatred and anger piled up within one heartbeat, ready to be loosed...no matter if it was he who would die...and surely it would be...the man held himself as if he knew battle, and his heavy armour spoke the same....

ANd for an instant he saw the face of his mother's killer....the anger searing through his mind...vengance running wild...

And like a bell that splits the dark hours of the night, the words came into his head...

The tree never worries what the world thinks of it. It has no need to defend itself, it is content to be as it is.

Slowly his vision cleared, and his thought strayed to the elven woman a moment....

Irony just for you....who is it you think disdains?

He stared at the bar while the man spoke on of his own importance...

"Good men fight demons in Mistledale... Miritar's army deflected Zhentarim not two tendays ago, and marches on Myth Drannor. There are better paths than the caolused one."

Because I care not if man wars on man....or elves war on elves, does not make me caloused...my path is not yours.

He spoke quitely over his shoulder...

"I have my own places to protect, thank you. I have my own people to save, thank you."

THe man retorted...


"Then do the courtesy of appreciating the ones who protect this place.
Good men die every day for it."

Just because I choose not to make my own struggles known to all who would hear, does not make them any less important. Do I demand your appreciation?...No, pridefull one.

"Before you judge, perhaps you would do well to find out the deeds of those you judge.
Ironclad."

THe man left and he thought long....

Honor...Valor. If that is what makes you you....it is your path.....not mine. Go war with your kin, if it makes you happy.

[danielmn]

The grass below moved as if waves of the sea, the spring breeze blowing the sheaves to and fro. Sarian pulled his worn cloak tighter around his body, eyes focused on the lowering sun. Bright hues of purples, pinks and golds....and green....

Green eyes. Instead of pushing away, Sarian clenched his jaw, dug his fingers into the loose soil, and focused.....
...........................................................................................................

She laughed, her arm around his waist, as he stood looking over the immense lake. The sun set in brilliant hues as Sarian smiled slightly at her joy. She ran a hand through his hair, and whispered...

"Come and join, my heart."

Sarian shook his head slightly... "My watch is not over, my heart. I will be with you soon enough."

She grinned slightly, then whispered... "I have made a song, for you."

Sarian smiled as she slipped back into the trees, toward the bonfires, the sounds of many instruments in the air. His gaze turned toward the moon as he wondered....

What else in life do I need?
..........................................................................................................

Sarian stared wild eyed as the vision left, his fingers long since gouging deep furrows in the soil, as if he intended to sow all of his anguish on this hill. His laboured breathing slowed, and he heard a faint whisper on the breeze.

I Love you.

His jaw clenched, he stood swiftly, making his way...anywhere. One foot in front of the other, and eyes wide...pay attention, let nothing in....the bitterness within driving his steps.

Still, somewhere very deep within...he whispered back...

And I you. Always.

[danielmn]

"Tell us a story!" exclaimed Bensa, eagerly grinning in the firelight of dusk. Tulon sat in his rocking chair a moment, watching the eagerness play on the faces of his three grandchildren, his face slowly growing a grin. Of all things left in his life, he treasured these moments the most...passing on words to the sons and daughter of his own son. He lit his pipe, then slowly rocked in the chair, thinking of the story he would tell on this particular evening. He cast his memory back, and it fell into the stream...and the grin faded slightly. They were old enough to hear. He sighed, then looked out the window for a moment, northward to the treeline.

"When I was your fathers age....."

The children giggled slightly, as they always did at the mention of their grandfather being "younger"...

"....the farm was smaller, but still ran along the line of the trees. We would have visitors now and again from the depths of the woods..."

Bensa exclaimed "Elves!!!" as the younger Hernk chimed in "TreeWalkers!"

Tulon grinned wide, and nodded his head. "Yes, elves and Treants...and many others from the woods." His face calmed again, as the memories flashed in his mind. "One year, there was great trouble...three farms not far away burned to the ground, and the families...." he hesitated, then adjusted the story slightly "...taken. There were great troubles in that time...some tribes of goblins had gathered together. The elders sought help from the forest......"

"And so it is, I shall tell you of the Wildman of the Reaching Wood. A young man...but not whole of blood...for the elven line ran in him as well. He was sent here, to watch over us, and the Adkins stead as well. He came on the evening, and hardly ever spoke a word. A great bow hung on his shoulder, and he carried a curved sword at his side."

"It is hard for me to tell of him....for on the one hand, your father was still a babe, and the wildman had a smile every time he would see your father...would pick him up into his arms and rock him for a while. He was gentle, always respectful to us and the Adkinses...but there was a great saddness that followed his feet...his eyes seemed almost lifeless, except for the fire that emerged in them any time the goblins were mentioned."

"He stayed with us here for over three months, helping us in our work in the day when he was not asleep. At night, he would roam and watch and wait while we slept..."

Tulon drew a deep breath in remembrance, then weaved the tale further.

"Three times he saved us. Three times did goblins dare roam close enough to us to be a threat, and three times did the wildman come to warn us, before striding silently into the night. When the day came for the first, six of the beasts lay dead along the treeline...most with arrows in them....one not."

Tulon frowned a moment, but then nodded to himself.

"The wildman had stricken the head of each from its body, and set the heads on stakes at the treeline. THe rest of the bodies were cut up and broken apart, and strewed all in the trees. The wildman said nothing when we came...he continued breaking apart the bodies..."

Serena, the youngest, wrinkled her nose, as Bensa stuck his tongue out in feign protest of the gore. Hernk sat, rapt and attentive, almost hanging on his words.

"The second time was the same, except the goblins came with a larger one of their kind...a furry brut. This time, the Wildman killed them all, but the brut injured him terribly. Still, he remained silent, never even hinting at the pain that must have been tremendous for him."

"The third time...the last month he was with us....he came and asked both me and ole man Adkins to help...for he had seen many...too many for him alone. So Adkins got his sword from the war, and I my scythe, and we followed the wildman...."

"Ten of the goblins came into veiw just as we concealed ourselves along the trees. We waited and watched, until the wildman finally laid his first arrow into one of their necks..."

Tulon rose from his chair, and began mimicking the actions of the battle.

"His arrows flew true as he fired from his great bow, and Adkins and I rose and stood in front of him to defend him...and when they rushed us...he dropped his bow and drew his wicked curved sword...."

"We three fought beneath the watchful gaze of Tymora, for it was only under her watch that we even lived....and the wildman fought with a fury I have never witnessed...not before, nor after. He was stabbed twice, yet kept laying his blows into the creatures...Adkins and I fighting on each side of him. When it was done, I was left with this..."

Tulon pulled up his shirt to show the long scar on his belly.

"....and the wildman....kept cutting into them...even after they were dead. I was in awe...and in fear...this man who had held my own child had so much anger burning deep within...."

"...After another week, the wildman left us, and an elf came to take his place. When I asked of the wildman, even the elf looked wary, before he told me the wildman was called Sarian...and that his love had fallen to the creatures not five months before he came to us. And so it is, that even one as kind as he, can in the next instant be a wind of rage."

As he finished his story, Serena wiped a tear from her eye.

"That's so sad, grandpa...did he ever come again?"

Tulon shook his head slightly.

"It was told to me he left these woods for another place..perhaps three years after...I have not seen him since."

Tulon cast his thought off for a moment....wondering what had ended up happening to the young raging bull of the Reaching Woods....

[danielmn]

He stared into the the soft brown eyes for a moment with a slight smile on his face. It felt...good, that another knew and judged him by what he did. His grin widened slightly, as he slammed the wooden spike through the neck, and slowly slid the head down. He looked into the eyes a moment more, before looking to the other head. Nodding slightly, he picked up the small axe and began cutting into the leathers still on the bodies at the base of the wooden pikes. If the grasses weren't so high, he would burn...but this would serve just as well. He was almost tempted to put the half eaten fish he had found on the bowyer in its mouth, a comical sight...but he decided against comical for a more threatening look.

He looked back a moment for the deer the two had been hunting, but saw no immediate sign. He debated a moment on helping the animal more...but then decided against it. Living would have to be enough, this day. His pack was heavy, and it had been many miles this day.

He turned and proceeded down the hill, the newly aquired...and heavy...jug strapped to the back of his pack making sloshing noises...almost as his stomach had at the smell of the stuff. He stopped at the other two bodies, debating weather four heads would look more threatening than two...but he was weary. And severing two more would take time...and energy. He had marked his territory enough. He hacked quickly at the leathers on the other two, rendering them useless as well. He eyed the torn nose of one a moment, where the copper ring had once been. He grinned slightly...and looked at the falling sun. Hitching his heavy pack to a more comfortable position, Sarian began the last stride ....home?....place of rest fit a little better.

He frowned a moment, considering leaving the map he had found on the one, perhaps with his own territory drawn in so that their kin thought twice about entering his lands....but...what would be the fun in that?
His frown turned to a chuckle...as he strode on toward the fort....and the well...there is much blood in the severing of a head, and Sarian was not overjoyed in the condition he found his hides in.

[danielmn]

dones