"Come on, that's it. You can do it." Said the old man as he watched the
little fledging blue jay hope out of its nest and onto the branch.
Reaching into the right pocket of his simple brown robe he fishes around for a second mumbling to himself "no., not it. huh.." then finally "yes" as he produced an elegant looking pipe made from the finest Spruce and with a finely carved image of a horse blowing smoke out it nostrils on either side. Anyone with an understanding of art would recognize the craftsmanship as being Elven and the value as immeasurable. However no man or creature in his right mind would dare to try to plunder that pipe from this seemingly simple hermit with his long grey hair and thick bushy beard, as he is regarded as being one of the most powerful wizards on the soil of Toril.
Reaching into his other pocket he produced a packet of thick dry grass known as pipe weed and placing a choice amount into the pipe, a quick gesture, a knowing smile and a spark ignites the weed in the pipe. Placing the pipe to his lips he sucked deeply enjoying the fragrant aromas that it brings.
Turing his attention back to the little birdie he noticed with a grimace that the little bird he named Tuck had retreated to the comfort of its nest and was looking at the old man curiously.
"Tuck, what are ya doing," scolds the mage to the little bird.
"You have been sitting in that nest of yours for far to long, it is time to go. I don't think I have the energy to keep protecting ya."
Pleading he adds "If ya don't learn to fly soon I fear a snake or more likely a cat will find ya soon enough."
The whole time the little bird just blankly stares at the old man not making a sound, but it does jump out of its nest and on to the branch.
"That's right, good for you" Says Elminster with a smile.
Often trying to take pleasure in the simple things in life is how he met Tuck. He first spotted Tucks mother building the nest outside his small tower as he enjoyed one of his rare walks around Shadowdale. As the days went and then weeks he noticed with growing interest as Tuck's mother finished the nest, lay the egg then hatched it. One day as Tuck waited for his mother, calling loudly for her return, Elminster finally realized in short order that something had befallen Tucks mother, maybe a slingshot or more likely a farm cat and his maternal side overcame his sometimes gruff exterior and he took it upon himself to care for the poor little bird. By this time Tuck was old enough to have a fine coat of feather blanketing his small frame and with the pleasant spring evenings he wasn't too worried about him freezing to death. But he did make sure he had enough to eat and he was fearful that the fate of his mother would also be his fate and so using simple wards against vermin and such he made the nights safe and quiet for Tuck.
"Come on Tuck, spread your wings, come on" Again started the old mage as he waves his hands in encouragement towards the little bird, a thin trail of smoke coming from the pipe at his lips.
From a distant such behaviour from a person not of the Druidic religions would surly be met with concern and trepidation from his fellow town folk, concerns of consorting with fey or even more malevolent creatures. But in Shadowdale Elminster is regarded as a hero to most or just an eccentric hermit prone to more seemingly bizarre behaviour than this and so if a villager walks by and notices that Elminster is staring into the branches of an old oak tree seemingly caught up in a very in-depth conversation it is shrugged off with a strange look and a gentile smile.
Hopping along the branch once then again closer to the edge the little bird unfurls his delicate blue and white wings and begins flapping them rapidly up then down.
"That's it, you are getting it. Now leap!" With a little hop in demonstration Elminster's attention completely drawn on little Tuck, he continues to motions him forward.
Leaping from the branch beating his wings furiously Tuck plunges the 10 feet from the branch of the Oak to the base of it's roots and would have hit the ground hard possibly not surviving but Elminster releasing a stream of insensible words and ending it by gently blowing warm air out of his mouth creating a Gentile breeze that swept in under the oak tree and lifted little Tuck up and out from the branches and into the open sky.
A smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye Elminster takes another suck from his pipe as he watches little Tuck take to the sky flapping his wings and chirping loudly as he circles above the old man until a speck of white like a rain drop fell square on Elminster's face right between the eyes just before Tuck began furiously beating his wings northward away from the wizard and away from Shadowdale.
"Awe Crap!" Appropriately shouted the old mage as he touched his hand to his face confirming the moist white drop of bird shit that lay there.
Waving the hand that held his pipe in the air, with no regard to the pipe weed as it falls clear of the pipe, Elminster sputters to the rapidly diminishing dot that is the blue jay. "Tuck! Damn you, ungrateful bird!"
Walking back and into his stone tower to get a cloth to fully wipe away the bird crap Elminster bitterly mutters to himself. "Damn it, teaches me a lesson, when Mother Nature is involved, stand back, don't get involved, because if ya do all your ever going to get is dumped on, first chance it got, stupid bird!"
With a slam of the towers wooden door Elminster the eminent mage and scholar of Shadowdale learns that sometimes maybe it is better simple not to get involved and to let things take their own course.
Reaching into the right pocket of his simple brown robe he fishes around for a second mumbling to himself "no., not it. huh.." then finally "yes" as he produced an elegant looking pipe made from the finest Spruce and with a finely carved image of a horse blowing smoke out it nostrils on either side. Anyone with an understanding of art would recognize the craftsmanship as being Elven and the value as immeasurable. However no man or creature in his right mind would dare to try to plunder that pipe from this seemingly simple hermit with his long grey hair and thick bushy beard, as he is regarded as being one of the most powerful wizards on the soil of Toril.
Reaching into his other pocket he produced a packet of thick dry grass known as pipe weed and placing a choice amount into the pipe, a quick gesture, a knowing smile and a spark ignites the weed in the pipe. Placing the pipe to his lips he sucked deeply enjoying the fragrant aromas that it brings.
Turing his attention back to the little birdie he noticed with a grimace that the little bird he named Tuck had retreated to the comfort of its nest and was looking at the old man curiously.
"Tuck, what are ya doing," scolds the mage to the little bird.
"You have been sitting in that nest of yours for far to long, it is time to go. I don't think I have the energy to keep protecting ya."
Pleading he adds "If ya don't learn to fly soon I fear a snake or more likely a cat will find ya soon enough."
The whole time the little bird just blankly stares at the old man not making a sound, but it does jump out of its nest and on to the branch.
"That's right, good for you" Says Elminster with a smile.
Often trying to take pleasure in the simple things in life is how he met Tuck. He first spotted Tucks mother building the nest outside his small tower as he enjoyed one of his rare walks around Shadowdale. As the days went and then weeks he noticed with growing interest as Tuck's mother finished the nest, lay the egg then hatched it. One day as Tuck waited for his mother, calling loudly for her return, Elminster finally realized in short order that something had befallen Tucks mother, maybe a slingshot or more likely a farm cat and his maternal side overcame his sometimes gruff exterior and he took it upon himself to care for the poor little bird. By this time Tuck was old enough to have a fine coat of feather blanketing his small frame and with the pleasant spring evenings he wasn't too worried about him freezing to death. But he did make sure he had enough to eat and he was fearful that the fate of his mother would also be his fate and so using simple wards against vermin and such he made the nights safe and quiet for Tuck.
"Come on Tuck, spread your wings, come on" Again started the old mage as he waves his hands in encouragement towards the little bird, a thin trail of smoke coming from the pipe at his lips.
From a distant such behaviour from a person not of the Druidic religions would surly be met with concern and trepidation from his fellow town folk, concerns of consorting with fey or even more malevolent creatures. But in Shadowdale Elminster is regarded as a hero to most or just an eccentric hermit prone to more seemingly bizarre behaviour than this and so if a villager walks by and notices that Elminster is staring into the branches of an old oak tree seemingly caught up in a very in-depth conversation it is shrugged off with a strange look and a gentile smile.
Hopping along the branch once then again closer to the edge the little bird unfurls his delicate blue and white wings and begins flapping them rapidly up then down.
"That's it, you are getting it. Now leap!" With a little hop in demonstration Elminster's attention completely drawn on little Tuck, he continues to motions him forward.
Leaping from the branch beating his wings furiously Tuck plunges the 10 feet from the branch of the Oak to the base of it's roots and would have hit the ground hard possibly not surviving but Elminster releasing a stream of insensible words and ending it by gently blowing warm air out of his mouth creating a Gentile breeze that swept in under the oak tree and lifted little Tuck up and out from the branches and into the open sky.
A smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye Elminster takes another suck from his pipe as he watches little Tuck take to the sky flapping his wings and chirping loudly as he circles above the old man until a speck of white like a rain drop fell square on Elminster's face right between the eyes just before Tuck began furiously beating his wings northward away from the wizard and away from Shadowdale.
"Awe Crap!" Appropriately shouted the old mage as he touched his hand to his face confirming the moist white drop of bird shit that lay there.
Waving the hand that held his pipe in the air, with no regard to the pipe weed as it falls clear of the pipe, Elminster sputters to the rapidly diminishing dot that is the blue jay. "Tuck! Damn you, ungrateful bird!"
Walking back and into his stone tower to get a cloth to fully wipe away the bird crap Elminster bitterly mutters to himself. "Damn it, teaches me a lesson, when Mother Nature is involved, stand back, don't get involved, because if ya do all your ever going to get is dumped on, first chance it got, stupid bird!"
With a slam of the towers wooden door Elminster the eminent mage and scholar of Shadowdale learns that sometimes maybe it is better simple not to get involved and to let things take their own course.