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`West? You're kidding me. We're deep enough south as it is, and you want to break off even further? What's even to the west? Some inland sea, if I recall? Doesn't go anywhere, just kind of takes up space.` `Indeed, but don't expect any beaches. It'll be more of a mire as we approach.` `Woah, hold up then. Why are we even bringing this along, then? That's just asking for trouble. It's already two moons' time back to the border up north. If this gets stuck... we can forget holiday.` `Don't make me answer why. We're in the Manhome, so if we leave it behind, we'd never find it again when we come back. Maybe in the more civilized world, but not here. So we'd need one to watch it, but only one of us speaks 'man. And you know what they say, a stranded elf...` The two companions bickered as they paced through Manhome, but the bickering was not in the language native here. `Yeah, yeah, a life thrown away had better be for your love.`
Elves had a lot of superstitions they carried with them. Your species doesn't stretch beyond written history by being careless or carefree, but by many indications, their time was just about up. Elven families didn't double or triple with just a few good seasons of harvest, heck, few could claim to have doubled in the last five hundred years, save for that one stretch, the time of troubles. An elven body required a pure, precious soul, and the only match was... well, all of the elven souls were currently indisposed, every last one of them. An elf always bristled at the thought of being stranded and alone - they never knew where their soul would end up, if something would happen to them. But if misfortune were to happen, and one was among family or friends... they liked to imagine they would linger for long enough to sponsor a newborn child. Knowledge of such reincarnation could help steel a mind against harsh realities, but it also brewed fear if one were to break kinship. Kin was not hard to come across back at the winter fields of home, but out here... it wasn't spoken of in polite company, but there was more than one general bounty for the head of an elf found completely alone. And those bounties weren't being paid out by some depraved human, dwarf with a grudge, or troll hoping to inspire some bloodsport in his tribe.
Two horses were bridled and pulling it now, but the wagon was an elven contraption, and elves did not wait long for the moods of animals, nor did they shy away from labor in the sun. (Though it could be said, their weakness was a stormy day, unless the leaves of a forest sheltered them well.) None of the three had a strength of a horse, but branches stuck out of the wagon as if it were a tree itself, exactly thick enough for a hand to grip and push, and it was often up to one or more of them to keep the thing rolling when the primary tuggers needed a bite of grass and to lap at some water. Even now, the horses had plenty enough energy, and the third companion still chose to push, rather than step inside the vehicle and ride along, though he could have been across a field and still understood well enough what they were talking about inside the wagon. One of the unique advantages of the elven tongue - the winds carried it to their favored species, much like the smallfolk had an unnatural connection to the earth, and how the stoutfolk had an affinity for divining metals. This third one spoke the human words, as well as his own, but he had never figured out what unique traits the foreign language could confer. As far as he understood, their tongue was as lackluster as their goods. That thought had occurred to him several times, and finally he had to ask.
`I'm the orator to the humans, but remind me, how'd we end up in this bind? It wasn't my work to arrange this meeting.` `They're simple, but they're not completly at lack of talent. One wrote quite nicely to us, actually.` `To us? Must have been difficult to deliver, if we're ten days back from our plans already.` `That is to say... not to us, but to an elf. The next elf the message could find. That's us all the same.` `Well, you've got me interested now. I might look forward to meeting a human who can converse with us.` `Sorry, but you're still going to be "Vorwen" to her. Her handwriting was legible, but sloppy. It didn't bode well for her ability to speak.` There was a reason that the three of them each had a small swath of languages at their disposal. Elven was the oldest, but apparently the least easily picked up. He shook his head, his fantasy of meeting an interesting and capable human already dashed. `You said 'her'? How do you figure that.` His companion sighed, wondering if the sun was bleaching his brain as well as his hair. Right now they all three shared her hair, its color at least. `Maybe you should get inside here, and stop being a horse for a little while, or else I might need to give your head an extra wash tonight.`
They completed their discussion, about the contents of the letter. It wasn't going to be about a trade offer, unfortunately. "Vorwen" wondered why they were coming at all, then. They were merchants. A merchant not intending to engage in business wasn't much of a merchant. She refused to tell him too much - he was their lead point on this, after all, she could only vaguely describe some sort patronage. Patronage was not usually an affair of their kind, but broadly speaking, their affairs were profits, and if this could turn out to be worth their while, it would certainly be less of a goose chase than finding any human craftsman, in any city at all, who could do better than a higher race's first-day apprentice. All of a sudden, the wagon halted, and "Vorwen" cursed. `Stuck in mud, I bet. I shouldn't have been out there pushing.` `Didn't I tell you? We're not going to the murky sea, I only said the sea was further on in this direction. I think your sibling has found the lodge.`
Elves had a lot of superstitions they carried with them. Your species doesn't stretch beyond written history by being careless or carefree, but by many indications, their time was just about up. Elven families didn't double or triple with just a few good seasons of harvest, heck, few could claim to have doubled in the last five hundred years, save for that one stretch, the time of troubles. An elven body required a pure, precious soul, and the only match was... well, all of the elven souls were currently indisposed, every last one of them. An elf always bristled at the thought of being stranded and alone - they never knew where their soul would end up, if something would happen to them. But if misfortune were to happen, and one was among family or friends... they liked to imagine they would linger for long enough to sponsor a newborn child. Knowledge of such reincarnation could help steel a mind against harsh realities, but it also brewed fear if one were to break kinship. Kin was not hard to come across back at the winter fields of home, but out here... it wasn't spoken of in polite company, but there was more than one general bounty for the head of an elf found completely alone. And those bounties weren't being paid out by some depraved human, dwarf with a grudge, or troll hoping to inspire some bloodsport in his tribe.
Two horses were bridled and pulling it now, but the wagon was an elven contraption, and elves did not wait long for the moods of animals, nor did they shy away from labor in the sun. (Though it could be said, their weakness was a stormy day, unless the leaves of a forest sheltered them well.) None of the three had a strength of a horse, but branches stuck out of the wagon as if it were a tree itself, exactly thick enough for a hand to grip and push, and it was often up to one or more of them to keep the thing rolling when the primary tuggers needed a bite of grass and to lap at some water. Even now, the horses had plenty enough energy, and the third companion still chose to push, rather than step inside the vehicle and ride along, though he could have been across a field and still understood well enough what they were talking about inside the wagon. One of the unique advantages of the elven tongue - the winds carried it to their favored species, much like the smallfolk had an unnatural connection to the earth, and how the stoutfolk had an affinity for divining metals. This third one spoke the human words, as well as his own, but he had never figured out what unique traits the foreign language could confer. As far as he understood, their tongue was as lackluster as their goods. That thought had occurred to him several times, and finally he had to ask.
`I'm the orator to the humans, but remind me, how'd we end up in this bind? It wasn't my work to arrange this meeting.` `They're simple, but they're not completly at lack of talent. One wrote quite nicely to us, actually.` `To us? Must have been difficult to deliver, if we're ten days back from our plans already.` `That is to say... not to us, but to an elf. The next elf the message could find. That's us all the same.` `Well, you've got me interested now. I might look forward to meeting a human who can converse with us.` `Sorry, but you're still going to be "Vorwen" to her. Her handwriting was legible, but sloppy. It didn't bode well for her ability to speak.` There was a reason that the three of them each had a small swath of languages at their disposal. Elven was the oldest, but apparently the least easily picked up. He shook his head, his fantasy of meeting an interesting and capable human already dashed. `You said 'her'? How do you figure that.` His companion sighed, wondering if the sun was bleaching his brain as well as his hair. Right now they all three shared her hair, its color at least. `Maybe you should get inside here, and stop being a horse for a little while, or else I might need to give your head an extra wash tonight.`
They completed their discussion, about the contents of the letter. It wasn't going to be about a trade offer, unfortunately. "Vorwen" wondered why they were coming at all, then. They were merchants. A merchant not intending to engage in business wasn't much of a merchant. She refused to tell him too much - he was their lead point on this, after all, she could only vaguely describe some sort patronage. Patronage was not usually an affair of their kind, but broadly speaking, their affairs were profits, and if this could turn out to be worth their while, it would certainly be less of a goose chase than finding any human craftsman, in any city at all, who could do better than a higher race's first-day apprentice. All of a sudden, the wagon halted, and "Vorwen" cursed. `Stuck in mud, I bet. I shouldn't have been out there pushing.` `Didn't I tell you? We're not going to the murky sea, I only said the sea was further on in this direction. I think your sibling has found the lodge.`
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