This newest chapter is probably my shortest yet, but it is all I have typed at the moment, and am posting it as I have received pleas for a bit more of the tale. I shall try to post it as fast as I write it, but I won't post a section until it is 30 or more pages, so I ask that you be patient a bit more. I have the rest of the plot worked out, now it is just a matter of time, inspiration, and typing. Enjoy. Azurielle
The next day dawned bright and clear, as we were led the short distance to the school by Liralyn. She gave Sera and I the grand tour of the Everall school, introducing us to many of the teachers. Sera was quite ecstatic for they had no less than 7 different teachers dealing with the arcane arts. The four we met were comprised of two humans, a very elderly gold elven woman, and…believe it or not, a dwarven woman. The humans were Courun Ilbraith who taught general magic proficiencies and knowledge, and Lavender Feya, an exquisitely lovely enchanter, who had a sort of otherworldly air about her. The elf was a former resident of Evereska, a commoner by the name of Shelinda Liosellen. She taught Abjuration, protection magic, and she was a thousand, if she was a day. Still, she was quite respectful, and proper, and seemed excited over Sera's becoming her student. As I watched the elven woman speak with my daughter, however, I noticed how worn and frail she seemed…her gold skin almost translucent. I knew that she was very close to Arvandyr…and I wondered if that was how I had looked a few years ago, back before I'd reforged the Fury of Battle.
Then there was the dwarf. Needless to say, after my failures with Hank and Ranon…it seems so long ago…I was a bit leery of meeting another one…especially another unconventional dwarf. After all, I have never heard of dwarves using magic. As a matter of fact, I'd always been told that they were unable to do so, having very little connection to the weave. When I met Miss Joylin Earthfast of Mirabar, I mentioned my having heard this fact to her. She did not seem insulted, or bothered much by the remark. She wasn't very old for a dwarf, but I didn't really think she was young either. Her long brown hair had no gray in it…and oddly enough, she had no beard. I'd always thought all dwarves…even the women had beards. Joylin confirmed my guess on her age a moment later when she replied to my comment.
"Well, Nightstar, you're right that in ages past, most dwarves, being the sensible folk we are, wouldn't have touched magic. It just wasn't done, and furthermore the number of us what had the skill was minute. Then, about 1306, dalereckoning, the Thundering occurred."
"The…thundering?" I asked, curiously.
"Aye, the Thunder Blessing, bestowed upon the dwarven people by our Father, Moradin. As you probably know, the dwarves, like your own folk, have never been particularly… fertile," she explained. If only, I thought to myself, ruefully, the elves were not quite as…fertile with humans. But I suppose I cannot really regret Kelly that much. Rosaleen seems to love her, and she has actually caused little enough trouble for me. But rather than continuing on with my thoughts, I refocused my attention on Joylin. After all, the dwarves may not be my favorite people in the world, but that does not mean I should be ruse…I had asked, after all.
"Well, in His infinite wisdom, Moradin blessed we dwarves with the Thundering. After that our birthrate just got higher and higher. And for as many single babes that were born, there were Thunder twins to match. The Thunder twins are all dwarves who are particularly blessed by Moradin, as many of them have magical skill, and courage enough to learn to use it…like myself and my sister," Joylin finished.
"Ah, now I understand," I told her, although I still wondered how it was that a dwarven god had imbued his people with magic…but with the deities, I suppose anything is possible.
Joylin went on to explain that she specialized in teacher Conjuration and Transmutation magic…basically, she summons things and turns rock to mud, and the like. If Sera's interest turned in that direction of magic, it would be from Joylin she would be learning.
Sera did not seemed bothered by this, and indeed, seemed quite fascinated with Joylin. I am not certain how well she remembers Hank or Ranon, so I don't know if her interest in Joylin stemmed from her being a dwarf, or her use of magic. Still, she has never met a dwarven woman…nor had I for that matter…and Joylin certainly was…unusual.
Liralyn informed me that the rest of the magic instructors would be returning in a week or two, closer to the start of the term. Among them were a gnome illusionist…typical, a human who focused mostly on divination, and a bit on Necromancy, a ½ bronze dragon who worked with the sorcery-skilled children, and an elven Evocation master.
Strange, that while my cousin went into great detail about the other teachers, she spoke very little about the elven one…I wonder why.
I met dozens of people over the course of the day…most of whom welcomed me with smiles and handshakes. I was not used to such…well…friendliness. I think that I might not have made a very good impression, for I was slow to react to their welcome.
My fellow smithing instructors, with whom I would be sharing the forge, proved to be a human and a dwarf… unsurprisingly.
The human, Tully Thistledown was a few inches shorter than I am, but broader than me by half…and believe me, I am not that small. He had dark brown hair that more resembled a mop than hair and a mustache that seemed to cover half his face. I can still recall being back on Ruathym, and knowing that my lack of facial hair had the Ruathym thinking that I would never be a "man." I remember being angry about it then…and yet now, I can't imagine what it must be like to have bristly fur all over one's body…and having to scrape it away with a knife blade if you didn't like it. Working in the forge, I mused, having so much hair was surely a fire hazard, but it did not seem to bother Tully much.
Nor did it seem to hinder my other fellow smith, who had a flame-red beard that went down to his knees, even after he'd tucked it into his belt. Magnar Lodestone, however, didn't seem the type to be bothered by very much at all.
Unlike Tully, Magnar instantly let me know that he had no trouble making himself heard. After giving me a critical once over, he held out a meaty hand to me. When I accepted it, he squeezed tightly, testing me I suppose. Well accustomed to this game, for it had been a favorite on Ruathym, I merely squeezed back, not wincing once, even when I heard my joints pop.
"Well, ye're no weakling, that's for certain," Magnar declared upon releasing my hand. "But can ye work the forge?" He asked. Before I could respond, the dwarf, whose head stopped just short of my upper torso, demanded to see some of my work. Not having planned for such a thing, I had nothing with me, save for the Fury of Battle, which was stored safely in my enchanted glove. I snapped it out, and gave it over to him. He turned it over, looking down the length of the blade, running one stubby finger along the mithral traceries on the steel.
"Odd…" he muttered. "Don't look much like straight elven work at all, does it. Bit o' dwarven skill here by the handle…the blade's human work for certain…northern work at that…but the tracery, and the magic…that all has an elven feel to it." He then handed my sword back to me.
"Fine piece of work…can hardly tell that it was ever broken."
"How did you know it was broken?" I demanded, annoyed.
"There's not a mark on the blade…it's perfectly balanced!"
"Now, now, don't get yerself worked up, laddie," Magnar held up his hands. "It's only that I recognize the sword…pops up in dwarven history a time or two. Thought how you managed to find and reforged the Fury of Battle is a tale I'll have to hear sometime. As for yer work, well, it's fine enough, it is…although, for meself, I'd like know where you picked up so many styles. Rumor has it you trained with the north folk…Luskan is it?"
"Ruathym," I all but growled.
" Ah…knew it was one of the two," Magnar nodded sagely, ad though he didn't realized I had been insulted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the quiet Tully was trying his best not to laugh.
Before I had a chance to say anything more, Liralyn all but dragged me off, saying that there was still much to see, and barely enough hours in the day left to see it all in.
She showed us nearly everything at the school, discussing the various courses of study offered. Nearly every basic type of adventuring profession was covered…easy enough I suppose, for many of the teachers had been members of Liralyn's old adventuring group, The Myth Knights. I thought ruefully back on my former adventuring party, and how Lita joked once that the party's name should be " five guys without a clue." How very true her statement was.
Then, almost as though she'd been reading my thoughts, Liralyn asked about them…my adventuring group, that is. As a bard, she was more skilled than Tobias, for she managed to pry bits of information out of me that I did not even wish to think about. When I finally answered the bulk of her questions to her satisfaction, Liralyn shook her head.
"You see, my Nightstar cousin? That situation…the distrust, the ignorance you all had for each other…that is the very thing we are trying to stop here, at Everall. Think of it…all of the great wars, and battles fought…even as recent as the battle at Evereska…the Dragon war in Cormyr…if all of the races had worked together evil might have been defeated so much quicker! Look at the battle for Mithral Hall! The story goes that the combined forces of the dwarves, the barbarians of Settlestone, and the forces of Silverymoon defeated a drow host bent on destruction! If we can but take that foundation and build on it, using the ideals of Myth Drannor and Silverymoon…just think of the differences it will make!" I could tell by her voice that she was excited, that this dream of hers was an all-consuming passion. She truly thought that her plan at the school would make a difference. I had to admit that I admired her determination, and, to a degree, envied her strength of belief. I believed in so few things…and certainly nothing with the surety, and the fire of my fair cousin! And yet, as much as the ideals were worthy, and as much as I wanted to believe it could happen, her words, spoken so convincingly in a bard's manner, I could not ignore the lessons taught me by the past. The goal that Myth Drannor had strived for had failed, not only because of inner turmoil, but because such a thing as the unification of the races is not something that the forces of evil wish for. Dissention is how darkness gets its foothold, and isolation is how evil groups like the Zhentarim and the drow have endured. And I wondered, just whose ire would Everall attract? And when?
Yet for all of these thoughts, I said nothing. After all history may repeat itself…but if we learn from it…who knows? I am no diviner, to predict the future…no Alaundo. Like all mortals, I can but watch, and by the queen's command, I will do what I may to make it work. And judging by the people I have met thus far, I am not the only one.
For the rest of the tour, Liralyn showed us the ins and outs of the buildings, speaking to me quietly about the defenses around and on the school. Most of the defenses were magical in nature, but she and others had convinced various guardians of varying power to keep watch on the school. Several of the guardians, she told me, were dragons.
Cautiously, I asked what type of dragons, and she told me that they numbered a bronze, and gold, and an emerald dragon among them. No silver. I wasn't certain whether to be relieved or dismayed. After all, I do want Sera to learn about her draconic heritage, but at the same time, there is a fear within me, that if I let her learn, she will leave me. I cannot say what such a thing might do to me, only that it could never be good. But thankfully, for now, the point is moot and to be put off until an indeterminate time in the future.
Later that night, at Liralyn's home, Sera and I met more of my cousin's children…including Zelairwyn. Two of the children, a son, Rhylaun, and a daughter, Lauralen, were away, visiting with their fathers and would return at the start of school. I'd already met the "door elf," young Leithanis, and the infant, Rylanil. That left 3 others…Zelairwyn, Mistlyn, and Kailen.
Kailen, at a mere 6 years old, was actually a half-elf…yet one more example of members o my family getting…into trouble, with humans. Still, he was polite enough, and reminded me a bit of my little brother.
Mistlyn, a girl, was a few years older, and definitely showed signs of having a Sy Tel'Quessir, a sylvan elf for a father, with bright red hair and tanned skinned. She was very quiet, however, and would not meet my eyes.
Judging by the wide variety of appearances her children have, I seriously doubt that any two of them share the same father. It seems that my cousin is rather…fond of male company. To be fair, one could probably surmise that she sought comfort over the loss of the Prince, so long ago…and yet somehow, knowing women as I have come to know them, I doubt it.
Then there was Zelairwyn. He came late to the table, with a frown on his face. I gathered from Liralyn that he'd been confined to the grounds after his last escapade, which involved a jaunt down to Archendale…quite alone and quite against his mother's wishes. The boy had shoulder-length black hair, ink-glossy and tied in a tail at the nape of his neck. Already, he was nearer to six feet than five, something he'd most assuredly inherited from the Moonflower side of his family. However, with his golden skin and silver eyes, it was equally clear whom his mother was.
He slumped into his chair ungracefully, and picked at his dinner. When Liralyn introduced him to Sera and myself, he looked up long enough to glare, even as he nodded a greeting. Great, I thought at that moment. As though this task wasn't going to be hard enough, the brat seemed as though he was prepared to be difficult. Still, in him I saw a measure of my own anger, my dismay with my parents' decisions for me…both my elven parents, and the Windreiver's. And I decided that I had to try to handle the whole situation very carefully. After all, hadn't I bolted under restrictions that I'd felt confining? I had to assume that Zelairwyn Sunstar would do the same. But just how I was going to be able to befriend him, when the few friends I have, I am still bewildered as to why I have them, is beyond me.
The next few days passed quickly enough, with Sera and I settling in to our new home. I was given a small workshop in the smithing building, and my two fellow teachers there informed me that the shipment of metal they were expecting for the coming school season would be arriving soon. Magnar added, in a voice bursting with anticipation, that they would finally be getting some interesting materials to work with…beyond the usual steel, irons, copper silver, and gold. He'd ordered some fever iron and icesteel from his cousins, near Sundabar, and he'd even managed to get his hands on a bit of Adamantine and Mithril. I have to admit, the prospect of working with new metals was intriguing tome, as well, but how I'm going to teach children how to do likewise is something I am still working on. I'm thinking that I will watch Tully and Magnar and see what they do first.
In the large learning hall, where the knowledge skills, reading writing, languages, and such are taught, I was given a small classroom where I would be teaching elven history. I shared the room with a halfling woman named Lyly, who teaches basic reading and writing, and other practical skills, like cooking. She was about middle age, for a halfling, although what that is in actual years, I do not know, and was not impolite enough to ask. As I was putting some of the books I'd brought with me from home, all of elven history, of course, I couldn't help staring at Lyly. Something about halflings fascinate me. They are so tiny, Lyly is no bigger than Sera…the top of her head does not even reach my waist…and yet she looked just like a tiny replica of a full-grown human woman. It's fascinating…and sometimes I wonder why the gods chose to make the races of the world so very different from one another.
Still, Lyly seems quite pleasant…although she has already developed a habit for treating me as though I am a youth, calling me "dear, boy," and glaring at me if I forget to wipe my boots off before entering her pristine classroom.
And finally, I met with the instructors in charge of the various battle forms, early yesterday morning...with whom I am to be assisting.
As a group, they varied widely, and I wondered how in the world they all managed to get along.
There was Vartyn Brindylow, a grizzled little gnome fighter who was an original member of the Myth Knights. He favors the simple weapons, like slings and staves, but also seems quite adept at the use of the shortsword.
West Greaycastle was a human with short, closely cropped brown hair, and a very serious demeanor. A devout follower of the gods Torm and Tyr, he reminded me more than a little of Calvin, although unlike Calvin, this human was younger, and placed more value on ground fighting, and the various martial arts.
Rogan Merillon arrived a bit later than the others, aimlessly spinning an arrow shaft between his finger. Browned skin, rust colored hair, and a slight tilt to his hazel eyes allowed that he had some sylvan elf blood. I gathered from the others that Rogan was a man of few words, but that if it could be shot, hurled, pitched, or slung in any manner, Rogan was the man to do it.
More familiar to me were Bran Stormwind and Kellenes Dakarios. Bran was a northman, blond and broad, from an area called Ten-towns, up by the spine of the world. He reminded me keenly of the Ruathym folk, only he soon proved to be far more articulate, more willing to learn new things. He was not young, but I doubt that he'd seen his thirtieth year, either. He chatted briefly with me, a great axe resting easily across his back. He told me that he'd come to the school for a desire to learn…that he'd been one of the very first students. After learning how much more to the world there was than raiding and following the orders of shaman and chieftain, he decided to stay on, and teach…to try to persuade other barbarian youths, like himself, to come here and learn as well. He added that he thought if the tribes could only learn, their lives would be so much greater. I quickly saw that he must have been an early convert of my cousins, so great was his desire for unity among the races. He, apparently was the one whom I would be assisting with. He'd managed to convince several boys from his own home, as well as a boy from Rashemi, and two more from among the Uthgardt to come to the school…and it would be up to Bran and I to convince to teach them their home-styles of fighting, as well as encourage them to learn other styles…and to learn more than just fighting, at that. Bran added that he was anxious to see a bit of my style. He'd never been to Ruathym, he told me, but the prowess of the sea-raiders was legendary, and he was never to old to learn new things, he added.
Kellenes Dakarios was a moon elf, one of my own, although he'd never been t Evermeet, he told me. Small, and slight, he was only a little more than five feet tall. He specialized in two weapon fighting, and taught those who wished to learn, to use both hands equally during battle. Being that he's ranger, it is unsurprising that he should know such skills. Kellenes had long, dark hair, and typical moon elven-blue eyes, and moved like a cat. Yet, as he spoke to me, asking questions, and answering my own, I sensed a tenseness in his manner towards me…and I don't know why. Perhaps it is because I am a noble, or perhaps that I look so different from most elves…but it was there. I did not imagine it. The tenseness got worse when he mentioned that his brother, Kalanas was also a teacher here…the evocation teacher, in fact. Odd.
The one woman there was Torienne Swiftblade, another halfling. I confess, I chuckled when I saw her join the group. She strode up to me as soon as I did, and glared up at me. She was a pretty doll f a halfling, with gold curls, and sky-blue eyes. She demanded what I thought was so amusing. I shrugged, and asked her if she was in the right place…that the cooking building was on the other side of the school. I know…stupid, right? But sometimes I can't help my chauvinism. I knew I'd made a mistake the moment that all my fellow males groaned, and took a few steps back, away from me.
The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, on the ground, my head ringing from a connection with the hard-packed dirt of the tilting yard, with a very sharp dagger pricking a very…sensitive portion of my anatomy.
"I'm here to teach the students…and the rest of you over-grown rocks humility…and the merits of a stealth and a dagger over roars and an axe," the vicious little doll informed me with a smile. The laughs of my fellows caused my ears to burn, my face to flush pale blue…but I did not summon my anger, for I knew that, in truth, I'd deserved it for my foolish presumption. Lita, I think, would have done far worse than merely knock me down.
At that point, another voice cut in on the moment.
"Ah…come now, Torienne, my dear…leave the new one alone. We are all well aware of your skills. Forgive him." The voice was cultured, and articulate, as the speaker lent me his hand to get up. When I straightened, and saw the speaker's face, I swear my jaw must have dropped out of shock.
The man speaking was a half-orc!
I tensed, but did nothing…after all, I had been warned that all races were included at the school…but a half-orc...and one who did not speak like a simple-brained fool was something I had not expected.
Then I took in a bit more of his appearance. The man wore half-plate armor, gleaming and brightly polished in the morning sun. Over the armor was a tabard, adorned with the symbol of Tempus, embroidered onto the fabric. His wide face bore the stamp of both human and orc heritage, but he was neatly groomed, his black hair combed and short. In short, I realized, he was a paladin of Torm. Imagine! A half-orc paladin!
"I am Harl Fangsson, and you must be Keledrial Nightstar." I nodded mutely, probably looking like a fool.
I quickly learned that Harl was the unofficial leader of all the fighter teachers. His very aura commanded respect, and the others seemed to have no difficulty in accepting this…and though I have always been taught that orcs are enemies, I felt the same way. This was a man that others would follow…like Calvin could have been with but a bit more effort. Harl's style of teaching focused more on mounted combat and mounted archery.
After the initial meeting, I went through a test of sorts. What this means is that I was made to fight all of them in one manner or another. Harl explained that this was so they could gage my skills, and where I could best be assistance. Although my cousin had stated I would specifically be aiding with the barbarian teacher, I soon learned that among this group of warriors, they decided who would do what.
I was not required to battle Torienne again, for it was already proven that she could defeat me…although, in my defense, she surprised me. I was evenly matched with most of them…Kellenes, Bran, West, and Vartyn. Harl defeated me, much to my annoyance, and my archery skills were passable, Rogan declared, but I was nowhere near his skill.
It was finally decided that I would aid those teachers concerned with melee ground fighting, assisting them with students.
After the meeting, which did not go too horribly, although my muscles ached from the workout I'd just gone through, Harl drew me aside.
"I've heard that you brought a horse with you…a great back beast, smart as anything."
"That is true," I replied, marveling once more that I was conversing with a half-orc…and more, that I did not feel hostile towards him.
"Grim was telling me about him…said the horse seems to be able to get out of any confines."
"He is half-moonhorse," I explained. "And his sire was no fool either."
"I was wondering if I might ask a boon, then. Grim has told me that your horse is a stallion, and I have watched the animal. I would be interested in breeding him with a mare I have. My own steed was killed earlier this year, and I have not had occasion to replace him. A foal from your horse might serve admirably."
"You…want a foal of Lshrael's?" I asked, astounded.
"Why wouldn't I?" he replied, curiously. "The horse is quite magnificent." I laughed.
"Tell that to the people on Evermeet! His sire caused more trouble for me…no body wanted any of the foals…so my family has a stable of the black spawn. Well, if you want a foal, be my guest. I vow that Lashrael 2 will not complain," I told him.
"Excellent," the half-orc grinned. "I shall go to speak with Grim about it directly." He walked off towards the direction of the stables.
How very odd, I thought. Imagine someone actually wanting my horse to mate with theirs! I am beginning to think, that, unusual or not, this place might not be so bad.
I cannot believe this place! Or the foolishness…nay the sheer idiocy of my cousin, and the other teachers here! Especially my cousin! I do not understand why people have such a hard time understanding that drow…are…evil!! The entire race is evil, just as the duergar dwarves are evil, just as orcs are evil! And yet, where nearly everyone else in the world knows that drow are dangerous, know that they should be avoided or killed, here, at the Everall school of fools, they have not only invited a drow into the school, but have allowed him to teach as well. The Evocation teacher of things! Now I know why Kellenes Dakarios was so nervous when he mentioned his "brother." I would be nervous as well if I were insane enough to call a drow elf "brother."
And as though this was not bad enough, the students have begun to arrive…and there are no less than three drow children among them! To make matter still yet more horrible, one of them carries the name Rhylaun Sunstar…my cousin's second born son…who just happens to be the son of the Evocation teacher as well. My first assumption was rape…after all, certainly no such child could be born to a gold elf willingly…or so I thought.
My assumption, naturally, was proved wrong. Because it is, of course, perfectly normal in this day and age, for Ar-Tel Quessir to willing take a Seldarine-cursed drow as a lover!!
Naturally, when I first saw Kalanas Dakarios walking through the school, openly…I thought I was hallucinating… surely such a thing could not be happening! And yet, no matter how many times I blinked, or the number of times I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, there he remained. He wore plain clothing, breeches, a vest with many pockets, and a white linen shirt, but despite the attempt at normalness, the white hair and black-as-sin skin gave away his true nature. Certain I had to act, I stalked towards him, snapped the Fury of Battle into my hands, feeling sure that my sword would taste the blood of the hated drow for the first time.
I kept the grin from my face as I approached, with him still unaware. I almost smiled when he turned and saw me, golden eyes widening in shock. His fingers flashed through the motions of a spell…a hold person spell. My moved to match his, as my counter spell caused his to fail. I raised my sword, about to bring it down, knowing that, even as he tried get off an armor spell, that he would not be able to cast it in time.
What I did not expect was that I would be tackled moments before my victory, by no less than four people. Bran Stormwind, Harl Fangsson, Mallorn Nightstar, and Fiarosyllaen the ½ dragon sorcerer grabbed me, forcing me to the ground. I struggled to get up, roaring, my muscles straining to throw them off. Their voices shouting in my ears, I couldn't hear what they were saying, I was that close to the border of rage. My mind cleared when I felt the distinctive point of a blade against my throat. Glaring down at me, his longsword held steady at my throat, Kellenes Dakarios looked very angry.
"Leave him alone, Nightstar," Kellenes growled, trying to sound dangerous. I was less than impressed. I'd gone easy on him earlier…but in the face of my rage, I would have cut the deluded bastard down in a trice.
"Keledrial," I finally heard Harl speak, urgently. "Kalanas is one of us…one of the teachers. He is not evil, and he will not harm you."
"Nay, he won't, for I'll kill him first," I threatened.
" You so much as touch my brother and I'll cut you apart, you intolerant bastard!" Kellenes dug the point of his longsword in a bit deeper, drawing blood.
"Kellenes," the drow spoke for the first time, laying a dark hand on the moon elf's shoulder. " That's enough. No harm has been done, and it is not as though I am unused to such reactions."
"You shouldn't have to be "used" to such reactions," Kellenes snapped, glaring at me all the while. "Some elves," he met my eyes, " should pay better attention to their history, that they might know of Elistraee, She who guides all good drow."
"I know my history, traitor," I replied. "I just happen to think the part about Elistraee is over-exaggerated. After all, if she had no guilt in the attack on Corellon, her own father, then why would she have left the Seldarine, when in doing so she made any of her so-called "good drow" followers outcasts along with her?"
"Because she wanted to fight Lolth and Vhaeraun where she would do the most good…among them. If she hadn't the dark drow would have spread across Faerun like a plague of darkness," Kellenes' hand tightened perceptively around the hilt of his sword, already pale knuckles turning white from the strain. He wanted to kill me…I could sense it.
"Isn't that a convenient answer, especially when she has been so very…ineffective at such a task," I taunted him. The tension between he and I was so tense that it was all-but tangible.
"That's enough!" the drow finally said, exasperated. He grabbed the blade of Kellenes' sword and jerked it away from my throat, cutting himself in the process. He looked down at me, wrapping his wounded hand with a cloth from his pocket.
"Look, I do not ask that you accept me, or believe me…only know that I am here because I believe in the teachings of the Everall school. I mean no harm to anyone in it, including you. And while I do not expect friendship, what I do expect is that you hold to the oath you gave to the headmistress upon your arrival to show no prejudice, regardless of race."
"I did not know that there were drow here when I made it," I sneered.
"Nevertheless," Harl stated, from where he had my right arm pinned. "It is an oath we all gave, and you are honor-bound to keep it, as are we all."
"Let me up," I muttered, knowing that they had me trapped by my own vow. When they hesitated, I all but roared as I repeated,
"Let me UP!" Slowly they relaxed their hold on me, and I was able to stand. On my feet I towered over the dark elf, and if an expression could slay, the one on my face would have killed Kalanas Dakarios where he stood.
"I gave my word, and so I must keep it…but do I perceive any threat from you, your head will not sit long upon your shoulders," I warned him. The dark elf nodded, a resigned look on his face. Beside him, his "brother" was not so accepting of my words.
"Harm my brother, and there will be one less over-grown, ill-mannered "noble" in this world," he spoke the word noble as though it were a curse.
"Here now, that's enough," Harl ordered. "We've students arriving tomorrow and the last thing we need is to have you two at each other's throats." Without another word, I snapped my sword back into my glove, and stormed off, getting as far away from the dark elf and those he'd managed to deceive, as possible.
Throughout the next few days, I had nearly every teacher I'd met, and some few I had not met, come up with ways to tell me what a "fine fellow," Kalanas Dakarios was…how he had never done one wrong thing since they'd met him…how he was a good father to his and Liralyn's son, Rhylaun…how if I would only give him a chance, I would see it too.
Give him a chance! Imagine! And it was a dwarf who told me that! Dwarves are supposed to hate the dark elves as much as any elf…maybe more, for it is their subterranean homes that the dark elves are constantly invading! How can people be so deluded? They quote me tales of other "good drow"…the followers of Elistraee, many of whom live in the forest of Cormanthyr, some of whom can be found near Waterdeep, whose numbers grow daily. While I cannot discount that such followers exist, what I doubted when I first met them, and still doubt, is their true intentions.
They tell me of a northern dark elf, whose name I heard in Silverymoon, saying that this Do'Urden is renown for his great deeds. I merely respond that the truth of a bard's tale is often over-exaggerated, and that this dark-elf is more likely a scout for some greater force, or at the very least has some ulterior motive in mind. After all, change what you like about a person surrounds, but you can never change the ways they learned in their youth.
My cousin Liralyn must have thought that learning about Kalanas and his "brother" would help me better accept them, and to that end, she sat with me after dinner, last night to speak of it. I can't say as how much of the story is true, for after all, she is a bard and the dark elf's lover…or at least she once was. Furthermore, she's female, and that makes her even more inclined to twist the truth…to flat out lie, when the situation calls for it.
She told me how Kalanas had been born on the surface, the youngest of four, and the only boy. His parents were followers of Elistraee. A group of Lloth worshipping drow raiders came to the surface from a city called Ches Nasad. The Elistraeens, caught unawares, were slaughtered, the children taken as slaves…Kalanas and his sisters among them. Kalanas was only five years at the time. She went on to explain that they'd been sold in the slave markets of Ches Nasad, to a vile Underdark merchant. Also bought was Kellenes, whose elven family had also been slain by the raiders.
The merchant had a fondness for pain, and abused both Kalanas and Kellenes, who, at the time, had no name that he could remember, the trauma of witnessing his parents murdered having driven it from his mind. Liralyn claimed that the two boys were tortured more frequently, for they were too small to fight back. Kalanas' sisters did not tolerate this long, being older, and protective. They managed to slay the merchant, and escape Ches Nasad, taking their brother and Kellenes with them. They claim that Elistraee guided their way back to the surface, and to safety with another group of Elistraee worshippers.
After their short time as slaves, Kalanas and Kellenes became inseparable, both taking up the worship of the dark elven goddess, out of respect for what she had done for them. Kellenes had chosen his name, so very close in sound to Kalanas, because of their closeness. They'd been raised by foster parents from among the dark elves.
So, Liralyn tried to convince me that Kalanas had never known evil, save for what had been done to him by other dark elves. He'd never even met a priestess of Lloth, she added.
It was an interesting tale. I could only think that Tobias, with his penchant for believing nonsense, and his acceptance of the dark elves we'd met in Skullport, would certainly have been entertained by it…perhaps would have thought of a way to make it into a song, that he might bather on about it endlessly. As for myself, I cared little. The whole point of the telling was to try to convince me that Kalanas Dakarios was not evil, had not known evil...but who is to say that the followers of Elistraee are any better than the followers of Lloth? Just because Elistraee puts on a fairer face, does not mean that she is any less devious than her mother, the goddess of lies and spiders.
The story did clear up the issue of Kellenes' warped loyalties and strange behavior, though. A moon elf raised by dark elves…I shudder at the very thought of it. And here I thought I had problems after living amongst humans, as one of them for so long.
School began half-a-ten day later. Students began arriving in droves, some returning, laughing and talking with old friends…some new, staring wide-eyed at the buildings for the first time…and staring equally as stunned at their fellow students. Even I was a bit shocked at seeing the Everall school filled with students for the first time. Knowing that there would be all races here is one thing…seeing it is an entirely different tale.
Dwarven children, of both genders, unbearded in their youth walked alongside thin elven children, not a one past, or even near their first century. Tiny halfling children cavorted with human youths. Gnomes, ½ orcs…even some that I would not have expected, a centaur, a few sprites, a red-haired youth who stood 7feet tall, and could not have been older than fourteen years, probably part giant was my assumption, and even a strange draconic looking creature that some one informed me was called a saurial.
Fortunately, the first day for the students was spent settling into their rooms, choosing their classes, and then learning where said classes were. That meant my teaching debut was postponed a bit longer.
At dinner that night, Sera babbled on ecstatically, about all the new people she'd met. Liralyn's children, the ones old enough to attend school were just as bad. Even Zelairwyn's habitual frown was not nearly as apparent, now that he had something to do.
However, and much to my dismay, Sera seemed to be growing quite friendly, not only with Liralyn's moon elven daughter, Lauralen, who was very nearly the same age, but also with the dark elf boy, Rhylaun. The problem with the whole situation though, is that I cannot think how to dissuade Sera from being friends with Rhylaun Sunstar, seeing as if I forbid her to go near him, she will only see it as a challenge, and do just the opposite. And naturally, no one but me sees any problem with it.
My first day teaching might have been a disaster, but for Magnar. I was given opportunity to watch how he began his classes, and so I merely copied him as best I could…however, I found that I could not chatter on as though my breath was endless, as Magnar did.
I tried to remember how my father, Brander had taught me how to work at the forge. Mostly, he had me work the bellows, and fetch and carry things for him, the first few years…but I knew that in this situation, things would be different. I may have plenty of time to teach them, but their focus would not be wholly on smithing, for one thing, as mine was forced to be. Furthermore, as there were 5 students in my class, I certainly couldn't have all of them work the bellows.
So, as Magnar did, I explained the uses for the tools, and had them work on learning to build a proper fire first. After all, heating metal was crucial in the process of creating things out of it…and if they could not master fire, there was no point in me wasting my breath.
I would like to say things were easy, and that, like Magnar, I did well, but I am not so certain. When they filed into the forge area, five pairs of eyes staring up at me, all with the expressions of "well?"…my stomach began to clench. I don't know what possessed me, or the queen to think that this would be a good idea. I am not social. I am not good with people. The only way I make myself known is by being blunt. I'm impatient. I didn't see how this would possibly work. I hardly know how it was I learned, let along how I would go about teaching others to do the same.
And yet, just as I was beginning to panic, I thought back to my days on Ruathym. I recalled the heat of the fire in the small room where my father worked. I could hear Brander's voice, deep and confident as he showed me what to do, how to work the metal. I remember the feel of his hands guiding mine, as I gripped the smithy hammer for the first time. He'd never been one for words, never very patient, or easy, but when he was teaching me, his voice and his example showed me what to do. And I learned. I wondered for a moment how Brander must have felt. Did he have doubts? It could not have been any easier teaching me, than it would be for me to teach them. These children, at least, had the desire to learn. I had only feared…that the work would kill me, that the fire would burn me, that I would fail. Not one of the sets of eyes that watched me showed any fear of failure.
So I showed them what to do, using my words only to explain the reason for doing so. They listened, and watched, and when I saw the desire to try appear, I backed away, and told them to do as I had done.
They were varied, my class, two human a thin brown-haired boy who introduced himself as Jaelen Hawklight. I quickly realized that this was the son of the red-haired thief, Rain, in my class as she warned me he might be. He had a quick mind, and quick hands, and he was the first to get the fire going, the first to reach the required heat. The other human was a girl with dark auburn braids. Larger than Jaelen, Sorcha claimed she came from the north, in the Silver Marches, from the tribe of the Black Lion. Her father was a blacksmith, and she wished to become one as well…only better. She informed me that she meant to learn all forms of metal-working, and better at it than any man in her tribe.
Besides the two humans, there was a sylvan elf boy, short with brown hair, and a blue line tattooed across his cheeks. He called himself Talath, which translates to "fox child" in elven. With his curious eyes, and his inability to keep still, I rather thought the name appropriate.
There was a dwarf girl who came already wearing a smithy apron, with her own hammer and tongs in the pocket. Morgana was her name, and she was there to see if elven work compared to dwarven, so she told me in a matter of fact sort of way.
And then there was Cullen. He stood far taller than any of the others, his head even above mine…it was not because he was particularly tall, but rather because from the waist down, he was a horse. The centaur youth claimed that he'd come to the school to learn everything; that he liked the dagger his father gave him, which had been a gift of the wood elves, and so thought he might learn how to make daggers like it. I found Cullen rather intriguing, for though there were centaurs on Evermeet, I'd never met one, only read about them. Cullen's hair and coat were black as Lashrael 2's, but he seemed to be far better tempered than my horse. I quickly realized that the anvils we had in the forge were going to be too low for him, and decided that I would have to speak with Tully and Magnar as to how we might remedy that.
Finally, morning passed, and the lunch hour was upon us. The students went on their way, and I went to find a place to have a bit to eat as well. Sera was supposed to meet me for lunch, but my daughter stopped by long enough to inform me that she wanted to sit with all her new friends, asking me if it was all right. I nodded my agreement, trying hard not to feel upset. After all, it was good that Sera was making friends…and yet, her decision meant she was starting to grow up…that she didn't need me as much any more. The thought was somewhat disheartening. Sera really is the most important thing in my life…and I wondered how much longer it would be before I was no longer as important to her.
So I ate lunch alone…or rather, with only Sanhandrian for company, and my familiar spent more time chasing another squirrel up the tree we were near than anything else.
For two hours following lunch, I was out on the tilting yard with Bran Stormwind, trying to explain the reasons for learning more than weapons to the children who'd come t the school from the "barbarian" cultures. Bran was not having much luck, and I, even less, for they did not yet respect me, thinking that my elven blood made me "weak," a familiar, if somewhat long unheard sentiment. The children made me remember my days on Ruathym…a good thing? I cannot judge. I am thinking, though that it will take some doing to convince these humans of the beliefs here...which, as I understand, the whole point.
My final hours of class before the dinner hour was spent on my elven history class. The class size was small, which is to be expected…I don't imagine that elven history...ancient history, at that is a subject that any child is interested in. What I ended up with in my class were all older students. 3 elves, a human, and a gnome. All but one of them were in training to be scholars or sages, with one of the elves to be a wizard. They all came prepared with parchment and pen, and books…serious demeanors as they chose their seats. As I began to speak, they all began scribbling notes down...all except one. And that one glared at me with an angry intensity, arms crossed over his chest, slouched in his chairs, quill untouched, almost as though he was daring me to protest his behavior.
That one was none other than Zelairwyn Sunstar. When I asked each of the students their reasons for choosing this class, as Lyly had suggested, each one of the others answered that they thought elven history to be a necessary and relevant part of their training. Zelairwyn only muttered that he had had little choice in the matter. I assume that his mother forced him to take the class, an action for which I cannot say that I thank her for, for he seems even more resentful than before. As if this weren't going to be hard enough.