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teine-mallaichte · 2 months

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An unexpected encounter

Echoes of the forgotten war master list.

Caelan hated this little town. The guildmaster had warned him that it was a small guild with limited members. The dwarf had explained that no one really wanted an escort mission, especially not for a mage scholar. Caelan should have listened; it had been three days and he was still stuck in this damn town. What sort of name was Oakwood for a town with no oak trees anyway?

Pushing open the creaky wooden door of the guild building for what felt like the hundredth time, Caelan was met with the familiar scent of aged wood and leather. The guild was quiet, with a few members scattered around, engrossed in their own affairs.

The room buzzed with subtle activity. To the left, two young adventurers pored over a map, their animated whispers and occasional bursts of laughter breaking the silence. Nearby, a grizzled warrior methodically sharpened his sword, the rhythmic sound of stone against metal creating a steady background hum.

"Ah, Stormweaver. I have a question for you," the dwarwhen guildmaster, a burly figure with a braided beard adorned with metal rings, his expression uncharacteristically hard.

Caelan raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the guild hall, "A question?"

"Aye. Your family, elites yes?" He crossed his arms and seemed to be appraising the mage.

Caelan nodded, sensing a shift in the conversation's tone. "Yes, that's correct. Why do you ask?"

Arfam's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he tapped his fingers on the counter. "You got any conscripts?"

Caelan’s brow furrowed at the unexpected question. "No, my family has always opposed the practice."

Arfam grunted, as if that answered some unspoken question. He observed Caelan for a few more seconds before his demeanor seemed to return to its usual joviality. "I have good news for you," he stated, while seemingly sorting some paperwork, "I got you an escort."

Relief washed over Caelan, "Really? Who?"

The guildmaster looked across the room, and Caelan followed his gaze. The guild building was bathed in the afternoon light. Wooden panels lined the walls, their surfaces worn smooth by years of use. Maps of various regions and quest posters, some yellowed with age, adorned the walls, telling tales of adventures past and present. Several long wooden benches were arranged in rows, providing seating for guild members and visitors alike. A few small tables were scattered around, each one bearing the marks of countless meetings and discussions.

In the corner of the room, at one of these small tables, sat a figure cloaked in dark red. The cloak was well-worn, its edges frayed and damaged, hinting at many journeys. The figure remained still, almost blending into the shadows.

Caelan squinted, trying to discern more details about the figure hidden in the shadows. The cloak was well-worn, edges frayed and damaged. The figure was unnervingly still; had the guild master not pointed them out, Caelan was certain he would not have noticed their presence.

When he reached the table, the figure shifted slightly, revealing striking silver eyes and long black hair framing a pale face.

"Are you the mage?" The man's voice was low and measured, but with a slight edge of weariness.

Caelan nodded. "Yes, I am. My name is Caelan Blackrock, though some call me Stormweaver."

The figure tilted his head slightly. "I have heard of you. I'm Eldrin," he replied. There was a pause before he added, "Frostblade."

“Nice to meet you, Eldrin,” Caelan said, extending his hand. “I’m glad you accepted the quest. I’m headed to the northern ruins, and it’s a long journey.”

Eldrin hesitated before shaking his hand, his grip firm but unnervingly cold, "I have what I need. I travel light."

“Alright then,” Caelan said, attempting to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice. “Meet at the northern gate at first light tomorrow?”

Eldrin nodded curtly. “First light,” he confirmed before turning to leave the guild building.

After he left, Caelan looked at the guild master. "Not a talker, huh?"

Arfam chuckled. "Aye, that’s one way to put it. Eldrin’s got a reputation for being quiet. Not much for words, but they say his blade speaks for him."

Arfam chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Aye, that’s one way to put it. Eldrin’s got a reputation for being quiet. Not much for words, but they say his blade speaks for him."

Caelan raised an eyebrow. “That’s reassuring, I suppose. I’m guessing there’s more to this than just a preference for silence?”

Arfam’s gaze grew distant, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the counter. "He has his reasons…" Arfam said, "I've known him about six months. He is reliable and competent, but… guarded."

Caelan frowned, absorbing the dwarf’s cryptic words. “Guarded? Is there something I should know about him?”

Arfam’s eyes flicked toward the door through which Eldrin had just exited. “Not my place to say. It is nothing that should impact your quest, though."

Caelan took Arfam’s words with a grain of salt. Every guildmaster had their secrets, and every mercenary had their shadows. Something about this situation felt a little more unusual than most, but Oakwood seemed to be a strange place, so perhaps it was expected.

The next morning, Caelan arrived at the northern gate with the first light of dawn. The air was crisp and cool, and the streets almost abandoned. Eldrin was already there, standing silently, leaning against the town walls with his hood pulled up over his head. The only noticeable difference from the man yesterday was the dual daggers strapped to his back and a small pouch on his belt.

“Good morning, Eldrin,” Caelan greeted, trying to infuse some cheerfulness into his tone. “Ready to set out?”

Eldrin looked up from under his hood, his silver eyes reflecting the first rays of sunlight. He gave a curt nod and pushed away from the wall. Without a word, he began to walk down the road.

Caelan sighed internally again. It was a two-day hike to the ruins—through areas known for bandits and less-than-friendly wildlife—and then he planned to be at the ruins for a few days. If Eldrin refused to speak the entire time, this could be a long week.

As they left Oakwood, the town quickly faded behind them, swallowed by the dense forest that stretched ahead. The early morning fog clung to the underbrush, and the path was damp beneath their boots. The morning's travel was relatively uneventful, with the landscape slowly changing from the rolling plains surrounding Oakwood to denser woods and rugged terrain as they moved north. Caelan attempted several times to make small talk, each attempt only gaining curt monosyllabic responses.

“You know,” Caelan began, “this path reminds me of the time I went on my first quest. It was a simple retrieval mission, but it felt like the most important thing in the world back then.”

The mercenary barely reacted, maintaining a consistent pace, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

Caelan chuckled as he recalled the rest of that adventure, “I was supposed to retrieve an ancient scroll from a ruin, but I ended up getting lost in a labyrinth of tunnels. Spent two days wandering around, convinced I was going to die down there," he paused, glancing at Eldrin who still seemed disinterested. "I ended up triggering an ancient trap, barely escaped with my life, and the scroll was singed around the edges. The client wasn’t too happy.”

Eldrin glanced across, showing a hint of interest for the first time. “You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble.”

“Trouble seems to find me,” Caelan replied lightly. “What about you, Eldrin? Have you had any close calls?”

Eldrin’s eyes, reflecting the shifting light through the canopy, showed a flicker of something Caelan was unablwe to identify, “More than I care to recount,” he said quietly, seemingly unwilling to elaborate.

After a few moments of silence, Caelen spoke again, “Have you ever been to the northern ruins before?”

Eldrin shook his head without breaking stride. “No.”

Caelan pressed on, undeterred. “I’ve heard a lot of interesting things about the ruins. They say there might be artifacts left behind from the war.”

Eldrin’s pace faltered for a moment, and he glanced at Caelan with an unreadable expression,“You seem quite eager to uncover the past. Most would rather leave it buried.”

“History is often told by the victor,” Caelan replied, his voice thoughtful. “Understanding both sides might help us learn from past mistakes.”

Eldrin stopped walking and turned to face Caelan, his silver eyes intense. “And what if some things are better left unknown?”

Caelan paused, taken aback by the question, “I believe that knowledge has its own value,” he said slowly.

Eldrin’s gaze softened slightly. “Few would agree with you. Most are content with the stories they’ve been fed. Seeing the elves as, as the villains of an anciet war, and their ruminants as mere status symbols.”

Caelan nodded, his expression serious. “It’s the pursuit of truth that drives me. The world is often more complex than the myths we inherit.”

Eldrin regarded him with a long, unreadable gaze. Caelan couldn’t help but feel like he was being weighed and measured.

Finally, Eldrin nodded, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—respect, maybe even approval. “That is a rare perspective,” he said softly.

A crunch of footsteps on dry leaves abruptly halted the attempted conversation, Caelan’s eyes darted around the dense forest, catching glimpses of shadows flitting between the trees. He glanced at Eldrin, who seemed to sense it too, his hands having moved quickly, drawing forth his duel daggers.

In the dim forest light, the daggers appeared almost ethereal. Each blade was forged from a crystalline substance that resembled pure, translucent ice. They glistened with a pale blue hue, catching the slivers of light that filtered through the canopy. The daggers seemed to hum faintly, the icy aura around them distorting the air and casting fleeting shadows of frost on the ground. The sight was fascinating to Calean, his attention motentaly wavering from the potential of an incoming attack.

As the bandits emerged from the underbrush, their grimy faces obscured by scarves and masks, Eldrin was a blur of motion. His daggers sliced through the air, wisps of frost trailed behind them, leaving a faint, ephemeral chill. The first bandit to charge at him was met with a swift, effortless sidestep.

With a sharp incantation, Caelans magic roared to life, a gust of wind whipping through the underbrush. Catching the bandits off guard, sending their ragtag formation into disarray. The air grew charged with energy as he summoned a wall of fire, the flames roaring to life with a ferocious crackle.

The fire’s heat was immediate and oppressive, searing through the cool morning air. The scent of burning wood and singed leaves filled the clearing, and the blaze cast a wild, flickering glow that illuminated the scene with an unsettling light. The bandits’ panicked shouts were drowned out by the roar of the fire, which surged and writhed, its tongues of flame flickering dangerously close to the dense foliage.

Eldrin visibly flinched away from the flames, hesitating slightly before darting around the edges of the fire, towards the bandits. Each strike of his daggers sending frost trailing in wispy tendrils, creating a stark contrast against the fiery backdrop. The frost seemed to form intricate patterns in the air, a delicate dance of ice and light that was both beautiful and deadly.

One attempted to flee, his figure darting into the trees, but Eldrin was faster. With a swift, practiced motion, Eldrin drew a throwing knife and sent it whistling through the air. The knife struck true, embedding itself in the fleeing bandit’s back, and he collapsed, a cry of pain muffled by the forest’s thick underbrush.

Not to be outdone, Caelan drew upon the magic that had earned him his moniker - Stormweaver -unleashing a chain of lightning. The electric crackle illuminating the forest in stark flashes, the jagged streak of energy surging forward, striking one of the remaining bandit and sending him convulsing to the ground.

The forest fell into an uneasy silence. The once frenetic cacophony of battle now gave way to the distant rustle of leaves and the soft whisper of the wind. The scent of charred wood lingered in the air, smoke curled lazily upward, mingling with the morning mist. Caelan and Eldrin stood amidst the fallen foes, their breaths coming in steady, controlled rhythms as they scanned the area for any lingering threats.

Eldrin sheathed his daggers, the crystalline blades sliding silently into their scabbards. He adjusted his hood, which had slipped askew during the fight, revealing more of his sharp features, jet-black hair, and pointed ears.

Caelan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts. He had seen elves before, at high-society events, where they were often paraded as symbols of status and exotic allure. They were always kept at a distance, treated more like curiosities than individuals. The notion of interacting with an elf in such an intimate and intense setting was foreign to him.

Eldrin’s gaze locked with his, the intensity in his silver eyes piercing through the dim light. “You saw,” he said, his voice sharp and laden with a mixture of challenge and apprehension.

“I saw,” Caelan replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “I didn’t realize… I… never thought Iwould meet an elf. I've read about them in books, and seen them on display at events and parties. But… I’ve never spoken to one before."

Eldrin’s posture tightened, “You think all elves are either hidden away or merely possessions of humans?" he snapped before looking away, "I broke my chains. I am no longer bound by the status or whims of humans.”

Caelan took a step back, his mind racing to process the revelation. Eldrin’s defensive stance and the cold intensity in his eyes made it clear that any misstep could escalate the situation. The air seemed to get colder, the mage suddenly able to see his own breath as frost creep across the forest floor. He had read about elves’ affinity for elements - how each elf was tied to an element in a way that subtly affected their entire being. Witnessing it though was a totally different experience.

"I didn’t mean to offend," Caelan said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I was just… surprised. This is not exactly a regular occurrence…"

Eldrin’s gaze didn’t waver, but the tight grip on his daggers loosened slightly. The frost in his eyes seemed to thaw, though his posture remained rigid. After a moment, he spoke, his voice softer but still wary, “Arfam believes you can be trusted. He has risked much to vouch for you. I will respect his judgment—for now.” He carefully sheathed his daggers, their icy glint fading as they slid into their scabbards. The chill that had enveloped the clearing began to dissipate, the frost that had crept across the ground retreating into the surrounding shadows.

He turned his gaze back to Caelan, “Trust is not something that is given lightly. I am willing to uphold our agreement as long as you are willing to display… discretion..”

Caelan's mind raced. He had never imagined that he would meet a conscript—he had only seen the polished, controlled versions at social gatherings, but here was something entirely different. Eldrin was not just a figure of lore but a person.

Caelan met Eldrin’s steady gaze. “I understand,” he said firmly. “I’ll be discreet.”

#echoes of the forgotten war #Eldrin #Calean #original fiction #OCs #original characters #world building

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