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Pinefell to Hoofcross, Lands of the World-Tree

Gravelbrook Dura, First Daughter of Clan Gravelbrook

Grandfather often said that the best elf was the one that you never spoke to. Even the best of elves were bothersome on good days, an undeserved combination of arrogance and self-righteousness that infuriated any good and humble dwarf. Anecdotally, he would claim his horns grow an inch every time he's forced to interact with one.

Grandfather was already about ten feet tall, and had horns big enough for all of her younger sisters to hang off of at the same time. She was fairly certain that he was exaggerating, even if every other dwarf of the hold she had spoken to before had claimed similarly. 'Taller goblins that think they're better than you' elves were sometimes described as.

'Thank the saints that they stay in their forests nine times out of ten, it's the tenth of times that you have to be wary of. An elf that feels the need to leave is a troublemaker, sight-seer, or a hero, and if there's a hero riding out then some very bad times are about to fall upon us all.' Great-Grandfather, long having grown too tall to fit in the chambers of their clan and with a beard longer than some of the tapestries of their home, rumbled to her with aged and heavy eyes once, in the brief hours he was awake.

Dura supposed that she was experiencing one of those rare, one in ten encounters with an elf.

Mallorn's ears twitched in response to some sound that she couldn't parse, his head slightly tilting to allow for better hearing. They stuck out of the side of his dark-brown helmet, which covered the back, the top, and the front but left room for them to stick out of the sides and swivel about. Much the same as dwarven helms making allowances for their horns, simply differently-shaped.

The front of the helm was a mask of the same dark material, which was smooth save for the holes for sight and accents of white and gold filigree. From the side of the mask, through the slots that allowed for the ears to pass through, she could see glimpses of his jaw and flashes of neckline. This neck disappeared into a hardened collar of leather and yet more dark brown plates, and then into a sort of half-plate that covered broad sections of his body, but lacked many of the smaller, finer components that would normally cover exploitable gaps.

These gaps were instead covered in shrouds and wreaths of hardened leather, behind which no actual skin save the exposed fingertips were visible. Exposed to allow him to fire those arrows, with a segment of the gauntlet above that folded down to cover the hands in closer combat.

Wood and leather. She didn't know how he had gotten scammed into accepting it as armor, but she couldn't help but pity him for it. Armor was supposed to be made of good metal, bronze or steel or anything, not wood of all things.

She had heard that elves use wooden armor, but she had thought that was metaphorical, not literal.

Mallorn was working to change that, at least, so probably wasn't all that bad for an elf.

"Look at me long time, hm?" He spoke, turning down to look at her and speaking in basic but unstuttered mannish. His tone was teasing behind the featureless warmask, and his ears twitched down in a manner she had begun to recognize as amused. "Melui Naugrhien." Words in elvish she didn't recognize, there were still many of those, despite her efforts in understanding the very strange elf who had taken it upon himself to escort her from his woods.

She assumed they were his woods, at least, mere good fortune that the goblins took her up to someone else's doorstep, and that he was hospitable enough to make sure a guest returned home safely.

She huffed, turning away and looking out towards the long-winded and shoddily-wrought road. Not a single paved stone in sight as they led from the logging village and down towards Hoofcross. The river had no banks built up to control its flows and floods, the road-shrines were made of wood, and overall everything was of rather impermanent construction.

Every dwarf knew two things as truth. The first was that proper construction used stone. The second was that a proper dwarf was uffish.

With that in mind, she had her reply. "Your armor is ugly, difficult to not look." She replied with a matter-of-fact nod.

"Hm! Yes yes. A good reason." He spoke in smooth rolls and turns of the tone, like water-carved tunnels that had never seen the sun. "I trust you." His tone indicated anything but, with a light-hearted undertone and a nod of sincerity. His ears twitched to the side once more, bringing his attention away from her before she could reply.

"...What do you hear?" She asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly and looking up to him. Elves were born rather tall, from what she knew, but stopped growing completely after a point. They were much like humans in this way, in a rush to get large and then falling short at the end. Dwarves, slow and steady as they were, ended up much larger than anything else. It was only natural, after all.

"We are followed." He explained in a casual manner, making her heart skip a beat, a tilt of his ears indicated that he was considering something. He didn't seem overly worried about the current situation, so she forced herself to relax and dismiss the sudden images of green skin and hooked noses.

"B-by what?" She asked after a moment.

"Do not know." His ears twitched again as he raised a hand and pointed. "Wind that way, no scent. Sound is not shoe. It's…" He looked down and to the side, face hidden behind his wooden mask. "Hard foot. Lobrob." Then he made a sort of downwards knocking motion and clicked his tongue a few times.

Hard foot, knocking motion, clicking… She furrowed her brows. "Goat?" She asked, trying to puzzle out what he was referencing, raising her hands up to extend her horns with curled fists.

He shook his head, then made an expanding motion with his hands. "More Big."

"Bull." She changed her hand-shape to a different horn-shape.

"No horns." He waved hands in denial.

Hooves, bigger than a goat, no horns… Her expression turned to one of realization. "Horse?" She raised her hands up in the same sort of clopping motion that he was doing earlier. "Neigh?"

He paused at that, before reaching up a hand to smack at his own face. She tried to hold back her giggle at that clear gesture of 'why didn't I think of that', but was unsuccessful.

"Yes." He replied with a rueful tone. "Neigh. Roch. One I think. Four clop-songs, four hard-feet. That direction." He replied with a point of his finger to their left and back a slight ways.

She frowned and considered that for a few moments. "How do you know it follows us?"

"Direction change." He raised his hands in a prayerlike gesture, then turned one away. "We walk on road. Sound only gets closer. If going to road, then cross road far back." He shook his head. "Follow us, track somehow. Wind not right for smell."

She swallowed, and considered that. If there were hooves following them, then that meant a horse. A wild horse wouldn't be following them like this, so that meant it had to have a rider.

She angled her walking to be a half-step closer to Mallorn, and replied. "What will we do?" She asked, reaching down and grabbing at the manknife at her belt. It was a poor working, but far better than any of the goblinknives she had traded for it.

Not that she had any real expectation of being useful in a battle to come. The daughter of a milling clan preparing for a betroathal and decades of having children hardly made for an effective combatant. Especially not compared to-

Four thunks and strangled gasps of pain. A flash of panic. Her captor's tense and sudden threats. A tall figure falling from above like a furious stalactite. A blank wooden face. Bright green eyes. A gentle smile.

-Mallorn gave a brief hum, before tilting his head. "Wait, then speak." He eventually declared.

She considered that, before giving a somewhat disgruntled noise. "Wait and speak? What if it's an enemy!?"

"Then I fight." He replied easily, reaching up to take the bowstring from where it hung loosely over his neck and stopping to string that heavy longbow carried from hooks on his belt.

"And if they are stronger than you?" She reached up to poke him sharply in the abdomen, hand smacked away quickly by one of his.

"Then I win with smart." He reached up to adjust the quiver on his back, drawing four arrows from the bunch and carrying them in his draw-hand. He still sounded utterly unconcerned with the potential threat approaching them, by his own admission.

"And if you can't?" She was still less than impressed with his reasoning.

He visibly stopped to consider that for a moment, raising a finger to tap at his chin as he thought.

Eventually, he declared confidently. "I die. Very funny."

She grabbed him by the side and did her best to shake him about, an angry growl in the back of her throat, which only intensified with the barks of laughter from the tall, stupid elf.

She was starting to understand the words of her elders.

—

Mallorn

The hoofbeats kept a relaxed pace as they approached, closer and closer from very far away. It was only the breaking of the treeline and the exposure of more open plains that allowed him to hear them at all. It took another minute or two for them to actually arrive after first hearing, more than long enough for Mallorn to gently guide the dwarf under his protection towards more open ground, where his arrows will be more effective.

A horse would be more effective too, but he was betting on being able to hit a moving target faster than the moving target could hit him. This was all paranoia anyways, it was entirely possible that whoever was currently approaching had no hostile intent and was just tracking them for an invitation to a bake sale.

He somehow doubted that, but there was no harm in starting with a friendly chat.

He glanced down at the nervous looking dwarf, who was currently half-hidden behind his leg and torso. Well, no harm in starting with a friendly chat, assuming there are no hostages in the scene. He would've told her to stop pressing her bust into his rear, but he didn't know all those words yet, so he instead resolved to ignore it.

He huffed in faint amusement as the horse and rider came over a distant ridgeline, staring over the plain leading down to the riverside road and pausing to evaluate them at a distance.

Mallorn could make out most of his features from here, and it was most certainly a he. A human man on a grey stallion, with dark gambeson and a hooded cloak, with a crossbow strapped to the saddlebags and a hatchet strapped to his belt loop. He wasn't quite close enough to make out the eye color, but his hair was a deep black, and his skin lightly tanned.

The man considered them for a moment, clearly seeing that they could see him, and raised his hand in a greeting.

Mallorn raised a hand back.

With that, the man dropped his hand and ushered the horse forwards with a relaxed trot, coming down across the field of poppies and haygrass and towards them, hands clearly raised and holding the reins. A show that he was not reaching for his weapons then.

"Greetings!" The man called out, most surprisingly was that his word was in elvish.

Mallon felt an ear twitch. "Greetings, friend. Why are you following us?"

The man was somewhat taken aback by the direction questioning, reaching up to scratch at the thin mustache and beard on his face. The eyes were cold and evaluating, but not inherently hostile. "Why? Well, being blunt with you, friend, my mistress sent me here to extend an invitation."

"An invitation?" Mallorn made sure to let his suspicion be audible.

The man nodded in a distinctly untroubled manner. "Yes, but being honest with you, it's more of an assessment of character. The last elf to come through the way you did left quite the poor impression, and she'd very much like to not let the next go unheeded."

Mallorn sighed, letting his ears fall flat and reaching up to tap two fingers against his mask. Somehow, he was entirely unsurprised, and found that he couldn't exactly blame whoever this mistress was for the reasoning. "And how did you pursue me?" He asked the next pertinent question.

"My mistress laid a spell somewhere that did… uh…" He raised a hand and rotated it around in a lost manner. Eventually, he just gave up entirely and raised his other hand, showing a sort of compass pointed in his direction. "It's some manner of magic. I'll be honest and say I don't rightly understand it."

Detect all elves? That would be too inconsistent. Detect elves that emerge from the Greenwood, or from outside the borders? Again too inconsistent, the world was a big place and there were probably many elves wandering around. Detect elves in a vicinity that are not behind wards? A maybe, but that seemed like the wrong way to go about it.

If you wanted to trap a rabbit, you lay a trap outside its burrow. A spell around the perimeter of the Greenwood that marks elves that pass by, and a compass that homes in on those marked by the spell.

That was annoying, if true. He'd need to ask whoever this mistress is to remove it, and that meant going to talk to her. He didn't have much reason to not go talk to her, with her entirely justified reasoning, but the chance remained that the fellow before him was lying.

"I would be happy to go meet your mistress, but I have a duty to attend first." Mallorn declared, reaching over to pat Dura on the head. She let out a cute lil yelp as her tension was interrupted with the random physical gesture. "I have to escort this one back to her family, in Father Erem. Only after will I be free to follow after you."

She grumbled at him, pulling back and swatting his hand away from her head.

The man nodded his head slowly at that, considering the sentence. "So, you'll be fine with meeting her, but only after bringing this one back to Erem?"

"Correct."

The man shrugged. "I'd say that's fine, but I'd ask to accompany you along the way. If the mistress found out I left you unwatched, she'd probably whip me."

Mallorn once again couldn't fault the logic, and so merely sighed and nodded. "That should be fine, although I warn we have little in the way of supplies or coin to sustain you along the way."

The man waved it off, trotting up to them, closer, and dismounting from the grey stallion. The horse looked relatively healthy, albeit somewhat plain. "I've coin and rations enough, for just a trip to Erem. Down to Hoofcross and over the bridge, right?"

"That's right."

"Rayne the Bastard." The man introduced himself, offering a gloved hand for a shake. Mallorn reached over and took it, giving a firm shake in turn. A strong grip and three quick pumps, before they released and pulled back at the same time.

"Mallorn."

The man raised his brows. "...of Greenwood?" He asked with a raised brow. He knew both elvish naming schemes and the name of the region in specific. That was not improbable with the backstory the man had claimed, with an elf from greenwood previously causing issues in the region and his mistress being familiar with them.

Fortunately, he was wrong.

"Nay." Mallorn replied with a smile hidden behind his mask. There was a delightful little feeling in his chest every time he was reminded of his newly-captured freedom from those woods and the elves therein.

The man nodded contemplatively at that, before looking down at the dwarf woman glaring suspiciously at him. He gave a grin then feigned a woman's curtsey. "A ~~~~~~ to meet the little lady." He introduced in an exceptionally sarcastic manner, with a drawl and a grin, this time in mannish. Mallorn could tell that the word was 'pleasure' from the context of the sentence, and his brain felt all that more wrinkly and robust.

"A pleasure to meet the ~~~~~~~~." She replied with hands on her hips and a flat expression. She had clearly understood bits and pieces of the conversation, and could reach tone and postures well enough to get the general gist of what was going on. At least, Mallorn thinks so, she could be lying.

Rayne the Bastard, as he was apparently named, threw back his head and laughed. He turned a grin towards Mallorn, and pointed a thumb down the road. "Towards Hoofcross then? I suppose I'll walk along, Brutus here could probably use the rest from hauling my ass about the past few days."

"Towards Hoofcross." Mallorn nodded in turn, reaching down to give a reassuring pat on Dura's shoulder and unstringing his bow, putting away the string and hooking the body back to his belt.

He made sure to keep his sword arm low and himself between the new man and Dura. Extending an olive branch didn't mean showing your back, after all, and anyone named Rayne the Bastard was either unlucky or had earned it.

That, and Dura was just so cute whenever he poked the side of her neck and pretended to have done nothing. The glares were almost enough to make him giggle.Last edited: Feb 3, 2025 Like ReplyReport Reactions:gokuchiefkarkat, HavocOrder0999, Hope Bones5 and 2,087 othersBrosefFeb 3, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 5 New View contentBrosefAmateur WriterFeb 5, 2025NewAdd bookmark#1,213The Greenwood

Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

Rasil was always his most relaxed in the quiet of the woodlands, far from the busy conversations of his fellows there he found so much disagreeable about. The first time he had asked to go camping had been fifteen. She had been expecting the same surly and sullen boy at the time, and so proposed a single day, and three if he behaved during the trip.

It was the first time she had seen an unguarded smile on his face. The second day, resting against the crook of an oak root and listening to the sounds of the woodland about him. Not a smirk or a toothy mockery or coldly polite raise of the lips. Lady Greenwood had been cool and unsurprised when Titania told her of it, upon their return. Resigned above anything else.

The first trip turned into a second, then a third. Soon it had become something done every summer, a month in the greenwoods under canopy and star. Just herself and her student, delighted by the space and quiet and company. Private moments and secret jokes exchanged, by a boy finally comfortable enough to let out unguarded laughter.

She cherished those moments.

The dog of unbroken earth trotted up to her, bark-skinned and grass-furred, tail dropped and expression sad as it padded in one spot.

"Not here either?" She asked, dropping into a squat and reaching over to rub the elemental's head. The doglike spirit leaned into her gentle scratching, giving a slight whine.

"No?" She tilted her head. "You did smell him?"

Another padding, then a circle and a point using its entire body. She narrowed her eyes, standing up once more and listening carefully in that direction. The sound of gentle flowing water crept through the trees and brush, reaching her ears and provoking a considerate twitch. That was the western river, which she had not yet had the opportunity to take him camping near yet. She had been saving that for his twenty-fifth year.

Teresa did not report a fishing rod on his person. She frowned and began a series of bounding leaps, great distances covered by each with the strength of her blessings and mana, conquering broad swathes of the woodland with each brief trip through the air.

Several minutes later, she slowed her pace and dropped down from the treeline, landing as softly as she could manage on the banks of the western river with a slight frown. A gentle flow that babbled through rock and root as it wound its way southwards towards mannish lands.

The dog spirit padded about, emerging from a nearby oak and trotting up to the edge of the river, before giving a small whine and looking up at her.

"...The other side?" She asked.

The spirit whined again. Her frown deepened as she considered the stream. It was relatively broad and shallow at this entry-point, more than capable enough to walk within. If Rasil had entered it but his scent did not emerge upon the other bank, then he had waded within the stream for a long enough distance for the scent to emerge elsewhere.

She had taught him to conceal his tracks before, a handful of small, basic lessons. If he had come here during the first day, then traveled along the river for a significant distance, then the current and time would have drowned a significant portion of his scent. Even now, only the faintest traces of his oak-smoke and honey smell remained along the bank.

She glanced up the stream, then down the stream. It thinned out as it went northwards, eventually ending in mountain flows still thawing in the early summer. It strengthened and merged with other streams as it went southwards, eventually combining with the Midden Sea. It ended at the mouth of the mannish port city of Threeway.

He was not camping in any of their previous locations. He was attempting to cover his tracks, traveling in a section of the woodland he was unfamiliar with. He did not want to be followed.

A terrible suspicion began to form in her mind.

Was he impetuous enough to do that?

She considered what she knew of the boy for a moment longer, before her ears fell.

He absolutely was.

She began to move again, this time bounding in a northwards direction along the riverbanks, taking long and deep inhales between each bounce. If he was truly seeking to get away from everyone, then he'd travel upstream, towards the quiet of the mountains and the hidden places therein. It was summer, so they'd be as warm as they would ever be currently, giving him plenty of time to establish a basic shelter and hide in time for winter.

Monsters dwelt in those places, far from the arrows of elves and men, and they would capture him with great swiftness. A child would understand this danger intellectually, but their perception would be warped by inexperience and ego. Of course they can handle a few monsters, they would think, they're just monsters.

Rasil was more than prideful enough to believe something like that. He was stubborn in how much of his own competence he believed in.

Eventually, an hour or so later, she slowed down once more, coming to stop around much shallower waters, with rocks that littered enough of the surface that it was impossible to step entirely around them. He would've climbed over and around them in making his way further up the stream and into the mountains.

And yet, the scent of oak-smoke and honey was nowhere, not even faintly. Merely the smells of creekwater and moss-laden stones.

She frowned again, taking several confirmatory sniffs before frowning upstream, and turning to look downstream. Civilization was found downstream, she had taught him the basics of navigation, she knew that he knew this. So if he hadn't traveled upstream to avoid others, then he had traveled downstream to join others.

Others who were not elves. Many men and dwarves and dark elves, but very few elves.

She furrowed her brows. Silly boy, has your romanticism overtaken your caution? Running off from home so young to see the world? Could you not wait another twenty years, could you not wait to ask her?

Despite all of his words and glares and little grumbles, Rasil was absolutely an Elf.

She began another bounding run, southwards and downstream this time, leaping over rock and shrub and fallen logs as she did. Not once had he expressed interest in the wider world. The extent of his interrogations was a disinterested hum whenever a detail was revealed, but he was a clever boy, and this is not something he would do without thinking long over the matter.

In hindsight, it was clear that he had never asked about the wider world to prevent any initial suspicion for when he fled in this manner. If she had known of this desire, she might have pursued immediately.

He had not told her of this desire, to flee the Greenwood and leave all these things behind him. Perhaps she wasn't as close to his heart as she had thought.

How shameless of her, to assume. She'd redouble her efforts for the remainder of his time under her care. Ten years was not enough, mayhaps ninety would.

Two hours of bounding run was enough, the faint scent of honey and smoke appearing once more upon the banks of the river, and curving to the side and then scrambling up a tall oak to rest for some time, then down again and continuing along the riverbank. He had sought shelter in the branches for his rest in an unfamiliar region.

She smiled faintly. Just as she taught him.

She continued her bounding pace southwards, following the smoke and honey down to the borders of the Greenwood territory. Another pause, then a frown as she raised a hand.

The spirit stepped forth from another tree, a pine this time, before trotting up to her and wagging its tail. She knelt to withdraw a bit of parchment, emergency inkpot, and fine quill pen. A letter was rapidly written upon the parchment, before held up for the spirit to sniff curiously.

"You have served me well, little one. Please take this letter to the Greenwood estate, and your duties will be complete."

The wooden dog stared at the letter for a few moments, before reaching forwards and gently taking hold of it in a dry wooden mouth. Being made of wood and bark meant very little saliva to ruin her handwriting. Then he reached up with one paw and rubbed behind its ears a few moments more, not yet leaving.

She obliged the noble beast with many good scratches behind its ears and under its neck, after which it waggled over to disappear into the pine. A noble little spirit, the hound of Greenwood was.

'Rasil has run away from the Greenwood. He has fled southwards along the western river, beyond the wardstones. I am following him.'

-Titania​

—

Hoofcross, Bridgetown

Mallorn the Elf

"So that's Hoofcross?" Mallorn asked, doing his best to speak in mannish. He wouldn't be learning anything if he stuck to elvish the entire time, even if it was easier than not now that this additional fellow was present.

He had been repeating the words for explaining where they were going a few times in his head, not eager to screw it up later.

The town was significantly larger than the logging village, but not to the degree that he'd call it a proper city. Situated directly on top of the mighty river and surrounded by grey wall, perhaps twenty feet high. The wall terminated in great gates to the east and west, and was broken up by great gates for the river-travel to flow over.

The center of the town could be seen from the little hill they were upon, and through one of the river-gates, and was dominated by a truly enormous bridge of stone and wood, which sloped gently upwards to allow unmasked ships to pass beneath, and for great rows of carriages and carts and cityfolk to pass over. This greatbridge was flanked by two smaller drawbridges, which were currently pulled up, and he imagined would be used for repair and emergency if the greatbridge were to collapse.

All in all, it looked very much like the town of origin for some plucky young adventurer chosen by a Goddess to defeat the Demon King with a special power bestowed upon them. It was almost charming in how nostalgic it was to look upon it.

The only strange thing about the scene was the very clear shanty town built encircling the entire city, wooden structures of exceptionally crude manufacture often stacked on top of each other, doors and windows too short to be useful to humans. The occasional glimpse of green skin told him that these were goblins, and therefore a goblintown, and no one seemed particularly surprised by it.

"Aye, looks it." Rayne replied with a rather unimpressed tone. Then, a laugh burbled up in his throat. "You know why it's called Hoofcross?" He grinned, turning to look at him more directly.

"No." Mallorn shook his head. Dura looked up from her place on his other side to give a similar look of mild curiosity.

"Two stories. The first is that a battle was lost here, when a ~~~~~ fell of his horse, the legs crossed. He died, and the battle was lost, and the victors named the town to ~~~~ them." Rayne waved a hand, clearly showing lot little he cared for that tale, raising a finger and grinning before he begun the second. "The second was that the first ~~~~~~~ was born here."

"...~~~~~~?" Dura asked with a raised brow.

"I don't know that word." Mallorn frowned.

"Centaur." Rayne translated, holding back a laugh.

"...And how was the first Centaur born?" Mallorn asked, a small smirk growing on his face as he read the tone, guessing where the joke was going ahead of time.

"Well, only one way to do it, rightly." Rayne pretended to be serious, before letting a wide grin cover his face as he pointed a thumb at the bridgetown. "A ~~~~ was caught ~~~~~~ their horse here."

Mallorn could tell what the missing word was from context, letting an amused snort out to contrast Dura's offended yelp. "That's dirty!" She claimed, a hot flush on her face.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Bastard." Rayne replied with a mocking grin and a hand on his chest.

"Are there normally this many goblins in towns?" Mallorn asked in elvish, reaching up to scratch at his neck in thought. He wanted to be clear with this question.

"Hm?" Rayne glanced over to him, then over at the shanty that surrounded the town walls. "Not quite this many, no. Hoofcross has a lot of travelers going through, lots of coin to pay for lots of goblins."

So goblins weren't just monsters here, that was good to know moving forwards, he supposed. Briefly he considered that he had done something wrong earlier, before remembering that even if they weren't goblins, they were kidnappers, so he was still probably fine.

Then he grinned and leaned forwards, hands groping the air. "Ah, is the Elf looking to partake in some goblingirls? Short, cheap and eager to please, I bet they'd throw in another discount for a big pretty boy like yourself."

He blinked behind his mask, before tilting his head. "...People pay to have sex with goblins?" He thought back to what the males looked like with a furrowed brow. Either there was significant sexual dimorphism at play, or people here were just desperate. Maybe both.

Rayne let out a long laugh at that, pulling ahead and not answering the question.

"What did you ask?" Dura looked up at him with furrowed brows.

Mallorn pointed a finger at the goblintown. "Green men are many. Normal?"

"T-then he asked if people p-pahaha p-paid to have ~~~ with them or not!" Rayne got through barks of laughter.

Mallorn noted that word as 'sex'.

Dura let out another offended little gasp, before turning to him and latching onto his side as they were walking. "Mallorn! ~~~~~ are very bad! You must not go around them, okay?! Not even once!"

So that was the word for 'goblin'. Mallorn raised his hands to place on her horns and tried to push her away from his side. "I was not! Let go, little dwarf!" He asked in a dispassionate manner.

"Not until you promise! Not one goblin. That's how you become a ~~~~~~~~~~~ and spend all your coin down in ~~~~~~~~~! That happened to my uncle! Now he has ~~~~~~~~ goblin children!" She cried out in a panicked manner, latched on even as her head bent back further and further from his pushing.

Rayne just kept laughing, even as they approached the outer bounds of the goblintown, road patrolled by guards in brightly colored tunics and alleyways crowded with curious greenskins.

Mallorn noticed that the vast majority were either women or children. Children were easy to spot, being tiny implike things wearing scant raggy clothes, running about and smacking at things. The women were likewise easy to spot, on account of their overall proportions, occasionally bit of jewelry or makeup, and scant raggy clothes.

They were also significantly less ugly than he was anticipating, and most of the goblintown smelled like cheap perfume more than shit like he had been expecting. Occasionally, he would spot signs in mannish letters with big arrows pointed at larger doorways, alleys practically choked in loitering females. The signs were advertisements, reading out times and prices in basic, blocky shapes and letters.

Mallorn frowned to himself, ignoring Dura latched to his side and glaring at every goblin who glanced their way.

Now he just felt a little stupid for asking his earlier question. Four hours for a copper coin felt ridiculously cheap.

"Stop looking!" Dura snarled at him, reaching up to smack at his chestplate. Small hand making a hollow thump noise as it impacted his wooden plate.

He rolled his eyes and ruffled her curly hair, ignoring her offended grumble as they approached the gates of the town proper in the light of a setting sun.

"Hail!" The guard at the gate gestured at them with a long spear. Not aggressively, but firmly. "Business in Hoofcross?"

"Just staying the night, we're heading to Father Erem." Mallorn answered in his best mannish. Thankfully, the guard didn't comment on it, which meant that all his mental practice had paid off!

"Eh, an Elf?" The guard reached up to scratch at his head, glancing down at the dwarf by his side and then at the man and his horse.. "Well alright then. You know where the taverns are?"

"I do." Rayne replied, raising a hand and waving off the question. "Thanks for the offer though."

The guard nodded, before leaning back against the wall and pointing a thumb towards the township. "Alright then, no ~~~~~~ business now, you hear?"

The word for 'funny', perhaps?

Mallorn nodded gratefully, and they walked into the township together.

"You've been here before?" Dura asked Rayne with a suspicious tone.

"Hm, yeah a few times." Rayne replied casually. "There's a tavernkeep that I know, and she owes me a favor. We can stay in her place tonight."

"I see." Mallorn responded with a nod and twitch of his ears. The town was exceptionally noisy, especially compared to the vast stretches of wilderness that he had traveled through to arrive here, but it was a new and not altogether unpleasant type of noise. The smell was again better than he had been expecting for a non-elvish town, mostly dominated by perfumes, baked goods, and alcohol.

It was a very 'yeasty' town. Bread and Beer.

Rayne led them confidently through sidestreets, leading his horse by the reins until coming to a stop at a tavern kept in the shade by the watchtowers, walls, and other buildings around it. He lashed his horse around the front, before stepping up to the door.

Mallorn glanced around, feeling eyes upon him but seeing nothing in particular. Mostly just cobbled roads and packed, slightly worn buildings.

He turned from his inspection of the roads behind them to the tavern he had been lead to the doorway of, and paused.

"Marcille! Are you still alive?!" Rayne called out, sliding up to the bar. A woman with dusky skin and pointed ears glared at him from a door leading into the back. Her dress was cropped and revealing, and her eyes were a light pink.

"Hey Bastard, what are yo-" She stopped as she turned to look at him.

More specifically, at his fair ears. She was hardly the only one, as most in the tavern were looking at said ears.

Because most of the people had long ears of their own, save their tanned and dusky skin tones.

Most of the people in the tavern were dark elves.Last edited: Feb 5, 2025 Like ReplyReport Reactions:HavocOrder0999, Hope Bones5, BlueJ$$spud and 2,150 othersBrosefFeb 5, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 6 New View contentBrosefAmateur WriterFeb 6, 2025NewAdd bookmark#1,561The Northern Wilds

Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of the Golden Oak

Honey and Smoke carried along the riverway, in bursts and moments, long stretches spent walking through the water followed by occasional climbs over troublesome rocks past obscuring foliage. He maintained a pace through the river to obscure himself as best he could, and were she less familiar with his scents then she may have doubted her course already.

But in faint wisps of a familiar smoke, his path was made clear to her.

That, and he didn't deviate from his along-the-river path. That made it very easy to follow him.

It was nightfall by the time his path emerged from the river once more, and trailed outwards. She paused in her bounding, landing upon a great river rock with a heavy thump, before rising up to sniff the airs. Aeris was lazy tonight.

His pace and the previous sleeping spot combined told her this was likely another place where he laid his head to rest. She swiveled her head about, ears twitching with the lazy winds as she took in the location, before leading from the bolder and to the shore, making her way towards the likely resting location.

Another bounding leap took her over the lighter, wilder foliage of the riverbanks and into denser wilderwood. Here the canopies were thick and overgrown, and the forest floor was starved of mana-rich sunlight, and the grass and underbrush was sparse and withered. This was a place where danger lurked in the branches, rather than the floor.

She frowned. Another bounding leap took her forwards, then another, then another.

A pause and inhale. The scent was strong and muddied here. Smoke and Honey and Musky Vinegar. The ground disturbed from a landing. He fell from his sleeping place. She glanced up.

She jumped, kicking from the side of the tree and taking hold of a lower branch, swinging around and up with it to land in the canopy of the oak above.

A flat hammock set between two branches, covered in strands of torn webbing. The scent of musky vinegar was thick here, as was the scent of honey and smoke. Too large for any mundane spider. An attack by a monster, followed by a collapse to the forest floor, then a travel through the branches.

He would have reached this place on his second night of travel. Five days since this attack. She rose from her crouched position.

Five days since he was captured. In the dark of the night, Titania's eyes burned a furious blue.

"O' Amarami, Mother of my Mothers, forgive me the violence I am about to inflict." She prayed dutifully, reaching down to take hold of her blade, drawing it from its sheath and letting her soul fill it. Her companion, ten hands long, single-edged, and finely-polished, was engulfed in howling winds.

The mixed scents of honey, smoke, and harlot carried through the canopy. No doubt towards her wretched lair.

She jumped along the trail. The branches attempted to impede her. Her sword removed them from her path.

The forest grew thicker and wilder, dead woods supported by lashed vines and branches tangling. The canopy grew denser, the trees grew older, and the branches grew tangled and malformed.

Howling blades of wind cut through them all the same. Shearing through bothersome bark and wood long before she landed on another set of branches. Behind her, long lines of snapping and sundered branches fell to the forest floor in the wake of her blade, carrying behind her for dozens of feet.

The scent of harlot grew thicker and thicker, smothering the sweet honey and smoke beneath wretched and malefic smells. Her face was impassive, her ears low, and her eyes bright as she leapt to the next branch.

The lair came into view, a shoddy hive of crude planks bound together with ivy lashes and webbing, built to hang between two mighty and long-dead oaks, fallen against one another and supported by a tangle of new growth and vines about. An ugly little garden surrounded the base of the malformed hovel, filled with ugly little flowers and wilted herbs.

She leapt, bringing her blade back and letting the winds howl to the same tune as her fury.

"Aeris."

A howling blade of wind ripped its way free from her swing, and traveled along the tangled forest like an enraged dragon, smashing into the upper half of the horrid little hovel and tearing the roof entirely off. The planks and webbing was ripped from the rest of the structure, flying back and torn into shards.

And the next tree after was torn by the howling blade of wind, and the next tree after that, before finally dying down against the heartwood of the third tree.

The scream of a harlot accompanied the sound of the roof being torn away, drowned out beneath the howling winds and the furious beating of her heart.

She landed in the midst of the hovel, now exposed to the air above. A modest fireplace made of crudely stacked stones, a pot of small game stew, a single table with two seats, and other tiny, commoner-level accommodations. Entirely unworthy of a scion of Greenwood.

A monster had almost tucked herself into one of the corners, ducked and hands raised to shelter her head from the sudden hurricane. Shortly cropped purple hair, a sweater of her own silk, long legs covered in black carapace.

The faint scents of honey and smoke stoked her fury.

"Where is he?" Titania demanded, sword covered in furious lashing winds.

The wretched little monster swallowed fearfully, with the audacity to be confused. "W-wha-?"

Titania took a heavy step forwards. The monster flinched back. "An elven boy. His smell is here. Where is he?"

"E-eh elven boy…? I-I know who-"

"Where."

"H-he got away! I d-didn't catch hi-"

She took another heavy step forwards, looming over the cowering monster. "Lies. His scent is here."

"His bag! I got his bag! He avoided me!" She wailed, ducking low with tears in her eyes. "I tried to get him but I got his bag and I didn't get him and he left and I couldn't keep up and he called me old and fat and I'm not old or fat an-"

"Silence."

The monster quieted down into fearful whimpers.

"...His bag. Where is it?"

"I-it's under my bed… Over in the other r-room…"

She tilted her head. "...Move, and I'll kill you." She stated calmly. The monster whimpered and nodded, doing her best to stop fearful twitches and shivers. Titania calmly stepped from the main room and towards the bedroom. Slovenly, with more a hammock than a proper bed, and a single crude dresser pretending to be storage. Silk clothes hung on strands, in place of proper hangars, and there she could see Rasil's traveling bag sitting neatly next to a little silk-woven doll with pointed ears.

She tossed it aside, taking hold of his bag and inhaling deeply. Sure enough, smoke and honey lingered the strongest here. A robbery, and failed abduction.

She stood from her crouch, taking the bag up with her as she walked from the room and back to the monster. "You have attempted the abduction of Rasil of Greenwood, son of House Greenwood."

"I-I didn't know! I didn't know! I'm sorry!" She wailed, face near the floor and legs twitching.

"You attempted to bring him back here." She tilted her head, staring down at the monster. "Did you think this hovel was worthy of his stature?"

"I…I didn't know! I- I know it's not the best but I worked really hard on-"

She leaned in. "Did you think you were worthy of him?" She asked with a low and frigid whisper.

"I- I'm s-sorry…" The monster burbled and sobbed at the floor.

Titania's eyes gleamed a frigid blue in the dark of the night, brighter than the twin moons. The crime of attempted kidnapping of a noble son, attempted molestation of a noble son, inadequate lodgings for a noble prisoner, and theft of a noble's possessions. A long line of crimes to be punished for. Eventually, she came to a decision.

"Your life or your service. I will have one from you." Titania declared, allowing the monster freedom to choose. "Pick one."

"...I-I donwanna die…" She cried, tears coming down and staining the horrid little floor. "I don't wantta die…"

Titania's ears twitched. "Gather up what you can carry. From this day on, you are a servant. I will educate you on proper mannerisms, and then give you to him as a gift. He will use you as whatever he wishes." She tilted her head. "Your life is tied to his now. Deviate from this and it is forfeit. Do you understand?"

"I-I…" The monstrous servant reached up, trying to wipe tears away with her hands and failing. "I- understand…. I u-understand…" Tiny hiccups came from her. "I understand…"

'How loathsome.' Titania thought, eyes burning in the night.

"We'll be moving at once." Titania declared. "Be quick about gathering your things, monster."

"O-okay… okay…"

He wasn't captured, or dead. Titania found that immensely relieving.

—

Hoofcross the Bridgetown

Lucia, Dark Elf Rogue

She was always proud of how quick she was to jump on an opportunity. "Hey hey, cream and sugar, what brings you into our little watering hole?" She called out, leaning back from the bar and falling backwards, supporting herself with a leg braced under the countertop letting her entire body go horizontal.

With that, a great deal of sighs were had and ears were twitched, glares turned her way and frustrations bled out on hilarious gestures of microcosmal irritation. She let her flirty grin soak in the ambient irritation, delighting in the experience of everyone else being mad at her but unable to do anything about it.

Due to longstanding local tradition, the first to speak to the elf had dibs on them, and she was the quickest in the bar.

The elf was a beefy sort, brawny enough that she almost thought him a half elf, but the length and cute little motions of his ears confirmed that he was absolutely an elf. He was tall and broad in ways elves almost never were, and the hesitation at the door told her all she needed to know about how familiar he was with them.

That is to say, not at all, and she was going to have so much fun with him. She made a note to thank the Bastard later, for bringing such a scrumptious treat directly to her.

The elf turned to look at her, bright green eyes glaring behind a flat mask of ironwood, snorting as he made his way fearlessly into their den and towards the bar. Behind him, the form of a little dwarf followed, even more wary and frightened of all the dark elves around her, clutching to his side like a little girl following her papa. It would be cute if she wasn't a full grown woman, which made it just hilarious instead.

"The Bastard is a good name." The elf declared in distinctly unpracticed Mannish, clearly just now learning the language after however many centuries he decided to stay holed up in those silly forests.

She blinked at the words, leaning up enough to let him pass and eyes tracking as he leaned against the bar, next to the Bastard and next to her. That was perhaps the most blunt thing she had ever heard from an elf.

The Bastard laughed. "Oh come on now! Not even a fight? I thought you elves hated each other or something."

"I wouldn't say that." Lucia purred. "They're missing out on so much, you know, all backed up in their little forests. I'd really just like to show them some things." She swivled around her chair and waggled an index finger. "Dark Elves really just think Elves are pitiable."

"Elves don't think about Dark Elves at all." The Elf replied in simple elvish, his voice a smooth and rolling tone.

Lucia almost fell out of her seat as the Bastard let out a loud, heavy bark of laughter.

"Enough of that." Madam, the owner replied with a stern glare and whap of her knuckles across the countertop. "I saw the look Elfboy here had, this is your fault Rayne. What do you want?"

"Rooms for the night for myself and my companions, and some of your legendary cooking." The Bastard leaned forwards and let his chin rest on his palm. "Oh beautiful, wonderful, gracious, beautiful, and sexy Madam."

"And I suppose you have the coin for it this time, or am I going to have to charge Mistress again?" She let her hands rest on her hips, glaring down at the utterly shameless man.

"The second please. And maybe more for a night of your loving." The Bastard asked with a kissy-face. A ladle smacked into his head, knocking his face into the countertop to the laughter of the patrons.

"Bastard." Madam grumbled, before pointing the ladle at the still and quiet elfboy. "And you! None of that haughty business in here. You're just a customer, which means take that silly helmet off indoors and keep your sword in its sheath, got it?"

The elfboy considered the ladle for a moment, before nodding, reaching up to slide the helmet from his head. Golden locks spilled out like a waterfall as his cute and fair face was revealed to the bar. As with everything elves did, it was very nice to look at.

Golden hair, green eyes, broad shoulders and stern look in his eyes. Lucia smirked. She had rolled jacks with this one, now just to catch him. She couldn't wait to see what his despair looked like.

As with any good seduction, the first step was getting him drunk.

She leaned forwards, catlike, and partially sprawled against the countertop. Madam gave her an annoyed glance, but did nothing to stop her. "You didn't answer my question, cream and sugar." She smiled teasingly.

"I wasn't listening." He replied in a fascinatingly unelven manner, blunt and stern, with green eyes glaring down at her in a way that made her tingle pleasantly.

"Pooh~ No need to be so mean." She flipped around, showing off her modest cleavage and well-toned stomach. Males really like that part of her. "I'm just curious about why an Elf has wandered so far from his safe little forest." She let out a chuckle with his shameless glance down at her abdomen. "Tell you what, I'll buy you some drinks for the story?" She offered with a serpentine wiggle.

"I don't drink alcohol." He huffed. The dwarf sent a shocked and appalled look his way.

"Spoilsport!" She declared. "What do you drink then, hum?"

He stared at her for several long seconds, before raising a brow. "Black Tea, hot and honeyed." He replied, with a deliberate look from her feet and upwards along her body.

She furrowed her brows and thought. Black Tea? That was a pretty elvish drink she supposed, but what about the look he gave-

Her eyes widened and her smile grew smug. He was flirting~

"Madam! Do you have any of that?!" She asked, turning around and smacking at the table, wiggling as she did. "If so, put it on my tab for Cream and Sugar here!"

Madam snorted at her. "Charging extra for it. The only tea in here is from my personal stock."

Lucia cringed and hissed, before letting out a sigh and nodding. "Yeah yeah, alright."

She recovered quickly, bouncing up and leaning over to tap the elf in the side. "Hey hey, you promised me a story in exchange for a drink, I believe!"

"I promised nothing." He responded like he was a dark elf already. "You made an offer and assumed I was taking it. If I was taking it, I would have said that."

"Bleh, don't be that way. You're acting like a dark elf you know?" She stuck out a tongue. "I'm already paying for your drink, be nice and tell me." She tilted her head, before smirking. "Or do I have to get underneath the table for you first?"

"D-dirty! That's dirty!" The dwarf stuck her nose into business that had nothing to do with her, grabbing the elf by the side and glaring at her.

"Dark Elf." She replied simply, raising a hand and laying it on her chest. Before turning back to the elfboy and nudging his leg with her own. "C'mon~ Do I really need to go that far? I just wanna know~"

Elfboy finally relented with a dismissive snort, he reached over and placed a large hand on the dwarf's head. "I found this one captured by goblins. I slew them, freed her, and I'm now escorting her back home." His ears twitched with the statement, even as the dwarf grumbled up at him about the hand on her head.

"Ooh, a regular Hero, huh? A woman likes hearing that." She stood up and leaned forwards, practically draping herself over him. He grunted and glared down at her, and the dwarf hissed. "A big, strong, heroic, hunk to sweep a gal off her feet? That's definitely not unlikable."

"Mayhaps if you were in danger." He responded dryly.

"Oh but I am, I'm scared of the dark see, and the only thing that can make me feel safe are some big strong arms holding me tight~" She whispered into his ear, breathy and smiling.

He reached up and flicked her on the ear, making her yelp and flinch back as the delicate flesh twitched in an aggravated manner.

"Yes, let the dark elf separate me from my ward. Surely nothing nefarious will happen to her while I'm distracted." He glowered at her, ears low and expression unamused. "I'm offended that you thought it would work on me."

She rubbed her ears, briefly confused about why he thought anyone would care about some dwarf. She laughed. "Oh, that's okay, she can watch." She declared happily, the dwarf flushing hot and angrily at that. After all, the dwarf wasn't the target, he was.

"Cup of tea." Madam declared, walking back out from the side kitchen with a kettle and a teacup, expertly pouring out a cup and gently sliding it towards him.

"Thank you." The elf bowed his head graciously, taking up the tea.

"Hmph. Polite for an Elf." Madam responded. "What's your name? I need it for the ledgers."

"Mallorn." He smoothly drawled, blowing on his tea before taking an experimental sip. He considered the taste for a few moments, before looking up at Madam and declaring. "This is excellent."

He seemed to have already forgotten about her. Lucia huffed, a predatory look in her eyes.

That's fine, she could just sneak into his room tonight.

'Mal-lorn' would be a pretty cute name for a Dark Elf.

"Is Rayne asleep?" Madam glared at the motionless man.

"He's been asleep for a few minutes. Your ladle knocked him unconscious." Mallorn replied dryly.

"Oh." Madam scratched her cheek. "I suppose I hit him too hard."Last edited: Feb 6, 2025 Like ReplyReport Reactions:HavocOrder0999, Hope Bones5, BlueJ$$spud and 2,266 others