Jessi: Well this is a first for me. Three chapters in three days! Wow! Personally I blame the offer of cookies. How do you know my weakness?
Chapter Three: Lledr
Lledr Teithr was indeed the same as he's been on the day the band had gone their seperate ways, elves living for eight centuries and beyond. Like the majority of the elves Targ had encountered he was a moon elf. His skin never strayed from a blue-tinged white colour. The shoulder length hair and bright eyes were an extraordinary shade of deep blue.
His appearence wasn't the only thing not to have changed. From the looks of the robe and the bed hair Lledr was still a late riser.
"I must say that I never expect you to be here," Lledr settled back down on his seat, taking up his tea again. Remembering his duties as a host he gestured to the other chair, "Please do have a seat."
Targ carefully studied the chair, a typically elven creation, favouring graceful, sprialling patterns. He doubted the four spindly legs would support his weight.
"I think I'll stand... Unless you don't like that chair." The elf chuckled, eyes closed. The dragonslayer laughed too. It was just like the old days when everyone would be eating and laughing around a roaring fire, talking about past adventures and of family...
Family!
Targ's laughter stopped abruptly and his eyes took on a haunted look. How could he be here, laughing when Lowri was in the hands of the red dragon.
"This isn't just a social call is it?" Lledr's eyes were sad.
"No. Lledr... I need your help."
"...I'm listening," the elf's pointy ears perked up slightly.
"Do you remember that red wyrm? Barus-"
"Barustrysori," Lledr glanced at his right arm, his eyes closed on remembered pain.
The dragon turned, fire spilling from its wide maw. Lledr, his jump spell still in effect leapt for it, magic and elven dexterity propelling him across the cavern and out of harms way...
Almost...
The sleeve of his mage robes caught alight instantly. Screaming Lledr sunk to the floor, his eyes wide with horror as the pale flesh began to darken and blister.
"Cy' did an excellent job healing it but..." the mage glanced up, "Magic is my livelyhood... my life. Do you know what it's like? Almost having your entire career torn away from you? I'm just thankful to Corellon that the wyrm perished in the battle."
"Lledr... I don't know how... but Barustrysori is alive."
"No!" the elf's eyes widened, "That's impossible!"
"I saw him with my own eyes... He stole my daughter..." Targ's fist were clenched on the memory.
"Your daughter... Gods, Targ, I'm sorry..." the elf stood up, "... If this is true... I wish it wasn't but... I will fight by your side."
"...Thank you..."
Lledr lightly desended the steps of his home, an effortless show of innate elven grace. He carried a small pack in one hand, a bag of holding. His body was clad in mage robes of blue and white and his hair had been brushed into a glossy fall.
When he saw Rhawn he smiled and walked forward to stroke the subtle coat,
"This is a beautiful animal. Almost like an elven horse."
The mount Lledr had chosen was an actual elven horse, a light-footed mare, breed for speed, its coat the same colour as freshly fallen snow.
"Malurion is in Waterdeep... We should go their first then get Cy'. Then we can-" Targ stopped as another rider drew up beside them.
This horse was a chestnut coloured beast with a splash of white between its eyes. The rider Targ reconized as the elf that survived the orc attack. The warrior spoke to Lledr in more quick Elvish.
"Interesting. It seems that he wishes to accompany us... and won't take no for an answer, apparently," Lledr smiled, "He is young but a fearless warrior."
"His name?"
The young warrior tapped himself in the chest,
"Rhisiart."
The dragonslayer grinned,
"Croeso, Rhisiart." Welcome.